Temptation’s Edge (24 page)

He knelt in front of her and took one of her breasts in his big hand, kneading the flesh. It felt lovely, her nipple hardening. Then he used his fingers to pinch a bit of skin together at the underside of her breast and placed a pin there. The moment his fingers let go pain rushed through her.

“Oh!”

He smiled. “Yes, it’s a surprise, isn’t it? Breathe through it. You can do it. Inhale.”

She did as he said, following his instructions as he took her through some breathing. The pain was intense. So was the pleasure as endorphins flooded her brain, her body.

When he put a second clothespin on her she remembered to breathe. It still hurt. And brought an even heavier surge of desire. She knew she was absolutely soaking wet. She was hyperaware of it. Of the feel of the fishnets pressed into her skin beneath her thighs. The garter belt tight around her hips. The high heels on
her feet. Hyperaware of everything, including—or maybe most especially—Connor. His dark earth and rain scent. The rhythm of his breathing that caught a little at the same time hers did when he placed a pin on her. The heat of his hands as he pinched another fold of skin and put another clothespin on her.

When there were four or five—she’d lost count—he moved to the other breast. Pinched the underside of her breast in his fingers, clamped a pin on.

“Good?” he asked after she’d gasped, caught her breath.

“Yes. It’s good.”

He smiled once more. Then he leaned in and kissed her. His mouth was an unexpected shock of sweetness, then his tongue as he slipped inside. His hunger was another surprise as he absolutely devoured her mouth. And once more she felt a knot in her throat, tears that wanted to come. And unbelievable desire arcing between her thighs like electricity.

Need him…

He seemed to read her mind—not for the first time—as he slid a hand between her thighs and over her tight clit.

She moaned into his mouth. He kept kissing her, rubbing at her clit. Her hips arched into his touch. She thought she would come, kissed him harder, her breath coming in ragged pants.

He pulled away.

Desire was etched on his face, his mouth soft and loose. His eyes burned with golden fire in the green depths.

“What you do to me, girl,” he said quietly. He pulled in a deep breath. She did the same. If her mind wasn’t so muddled with desire and pain there would have been a dozen questions to ask him. She didn’t know where to begin. Couldn’t think now.

He blinked, ran a hand over his jaw. Reached behind her for another clothespin.

He put two more on her in quick succession, then touched the
first one he’d attached to her aching flesh, pulled on it gently. Pain shivered through her. She breathed into it, her body bowing a little. Pleasure was quick to follow.

“Ah, I love the way you respond. But I’m going to have you take in a deep breath for me. And as I pull the first pin off, breathe it out. And keep your eyes on mine, darlin’.”

She nodded, just a small tilt of her chin to let him know she understood. She took in a breath, held it in her lungs as he released the first pin.

Pain was a sharp lance, deep into her body.

“God!”

“Yes, breathe into it, Mischa. You can do it.”

He wrapped his palm around the back of her neck, massaged it as she tried to inhale, tried to do as he said. But the pain was a terrible thing. Until the endorphins kicked in again and her head swam with pure pleasure. It leached into her system, fueling her body. Her sex gushed with it.

“Oh…” she moaned.

“Yes, it’s good, isn’t it? Ride it out.”

She was dazed. Need and pain made her mind soar.

“I’m taking another one off,” he told her.

She inhaled deeply, let it out as the pain broke over her like a crumbling wall, shards biting into her: skin and body and mind. And panted until she melted once more in a pool of unbelievable desire.

He did it again and again, and each time was a new rush of pain, blade sharp, seeming to go deeper than her skin. Each surge of pain was followed by a lovely release of the brain chemicals that made her feel nothing but pleasure, her body burning with it. She thought wildly that she might be able to come, simply from this heady mixture of extreme pain and extreme pleasure, and all of it having to do with Connor.

When the final pin came off, her body arched into his, and she didn’t know whether she slipped off the bed or he pulled her off. But suddenly she was in his lap on the floor, and he was kissing her again, even as she rode out the last waves of pain. Her skin was on fire. Her pussy aching, soaking wet. Needing him.

He gathered her breasts into his hands, kneading the sore flesh, bringing a new rush of sensations. She pressed into him, drinking in his flavor, sucking his tongue into her mouth. Her hands were tearing blindly at his clothes. He pulled off his shirt, and her palms found the dense muscle of his chest, found his nipples and tugged on them, hard. He groaned. She did it again. One of his hands went to her hair, burrowed in, pulled her head back until she slipped from his lap and she was laid out on the floor.

He was on top of her, his thighs kicking hers apart, his jeans somehow gone. Then his cock, swollen, enormous, was at the entrance to her body, slipping in the wet folds. Her arms went around his wide back, trying to bring him closer.

“Come on, Connor,” she begged.

“I can’t…wait, damn it. Condom.”

He reached to one side; she turned her head and saw him pull a condom from his jeans pocket. Was grateful that he was prepared; she couldn’t have waited another second for him. She didn’t have to. He sheathed himself, held her thighs with hard hands and slid into her.

“Ah, God, Connor.”

His cock was huge, filling her, fucking her in deep, punishing strokes.

“Mischa…”

She looked up at his face, torn with pleasure. And once more she felt the tears brimming in her eyes. She didn’t know why. Her body was loving this, the good, hard fucking. His command of
her as his fingers dug into her inner thighs, holding her open and wanton for him. He was looking right at her. Seeing her tears, she knew. She was helpless to stop them. Even as his expression changed, his brows drawing together.

He stopped. Pulled her up into his arms.

“God damn it, girl,” he muttered.

He gave her one final squeeze before turning her in his arms until she was on her hands and knees on the soft Persian rug, and he was poised over her, spreading the cheeks of her ass apart so he could take her from behind.

She wanted it, that little bit of anonymity that came with him fucking her from behind. She closed her eyes as he slid his cock into her waiting pussy once more.

Yes, just sink into the sensation. Into his command. Don’t think of anything else.

Not even why the damn tears were coming, just from having sex with this man.

Soon enough it was easy to do that, to feel his big cock driving into her, bringing pleasure with it. He had one arm around her waist, his fingers twisting her nipple, drawing it out, making it long and hard as he thrust into her. His breath was at the back of her neck, then his mouth as he latched on to her flesh, sucking and biting.

“Come on, girl. Come again for me.”

She knew she would. Pleasure was spiraling inside her, a tight knot that was unraveling, blossoming in her body, spreading outward as his cock hit her G-spot over and over.

“Do it for me now,” he told her, his harsh tone leaving no room for argument. “Come, Mischa.”

She did, crying out, shivering in his tight grasp, her hips arching back, into his body, taking him deep.

“Damn, girl. So fucking tight.” He plowed into her, hard
enough to hurt. But she was still coming, sensation shimmering in her system. She didn’t mind it, yearned for the pain. For the sense of being taken over.

“Fuck me harder,” she ground out between ragged, panting breaths.

“Ah, Mischa, my girl…”

His hips slammed into her, his arm tightening around her waist.

Still she needed more. It wasn’t enough.

“Come on, Connor.”

“You want more?” he demanded.

“Yes. I need it. I need you to…
own
me.”

She couldn’t believe she’d said it. But it was true. She felt strange. As if she was poised on the edge of a great chasm, and only his roughness could hold her safe.

“Take in a breath,” he growled in her ear, his breath hot.

She did as he told her.

His hand came up around her shoulder, closed around her throat. He held her there firmly. It was a moment or two before she realized she could barely breathe.

He thrust hard into her a few times, let her throat go, and she pulled in a gasping breath.

“Again,” he told her.

She inhaled, his fingers tightened on her throat, and he fucked her hard as she exhaled, her breath a small trickle, before she inhaled, no more than a small, shallow breath.

She understood right away that she was in no danger. That he had it all under control.

Trust him.

Yes, completely. That was what this was about. She was in no real danger, even though the way he was temporarily cutting off her air felt a little scary. But after he did it once more, the fear
dissolved in the absolute certainty of her trust in him, and in his absolute command.

“No more,” he said, his hands going back to her waist as he rose up behind her. “Keep your head down, my girl.”

He held on to her as he drove into her in sharp thrusts, harder and harder, hammering blows that made her surge back into him, wanting every inch of him.

In moments she was coming again, unexpectedly.

“Connor!”

“Yes…Mischa!”

He came with a roar, his fingers digging into her flesh. And she loved it all—his throaty voice, his cock pulsing in her body with his pleasure.

He lowered his body over hers once more, and she felt him shiver. Just a small shudder that let her know his climax had been as powerful as her own. That he was affected by what had just happened between them.

What had just happened?

It had seemed to make sense in the moment. Now her mind was spinning out a dozen possibilities.

He’d been too rough with her.

She could trust him utterly.

No man should have that much control over her.

She was completely safe in his hands.

It had always been about being in his hands. Never another’s.

Dangerous. Not the sex. The feelings.

But it was Connor. Connor.

She loved him.

Jesus.

She pushed forward, disengaging from his body, his cock slipping from her.

“Mischa?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head again, crawling away from him, onto the bed. Crawling until she reached the pillows. She curled into them, letting her hair obscure her face.

“Hey,” he said, his tone more gentle than she’d ever heard it as he knelt at the foot of the bed, knowing not to get too close. “I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’ girl.”

“No. It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“I…”

But she couldn’t tell him. Not Connor. Not
her
, for God’s sake.

She would not turn into her mother. She would
not
.

She took a long breath, tried to force her voice to sound normal despite the hammering inside her brain. “It was just a little…much for me, maybe. I just need a minute.”

“Okay. Okay.” He got up and sat on the foot of the bed, waited a few moments, moved closer, slowly, until he was right next to her. He stroked her hair from her eyes, his fingers so gentle she wanted to cry. “You’re sure you’re all right? I’ve done a lot of the breath control before. I would never have hurt you.”

“No. I know that.”

“Do you?”

His gaze was dark, searching hers. She turned away. She didn’t dare look at him. She was afraid he might see the truth in her eyes.

“May I have some water?”

“Of course.”

She felt the mattress shift as he got up, heard the padding of his bare feet as he left the room.

What the hell was she going to do now?

She pushed her hair from her face, looking around the room.

It had become so familiar so quickly. Too familiar, maybe—the modern black furniture, all sleek lines, that nevertheless felt like warmth to her. The streetlights gleaming through the rice paper shades, how the light diffused, made everything in the room appear softer. Even the scent of Connor’s bedroom made it feel like home. More home than even Dylan’s place.

Maybe more than her own home in San Francisco, which seemed so distant right now.

Stop being an idiot. This is just another kind of bottoming out.

But was it?

She pulled in a breath, blew it out slowly, willed herself to calm down.

She would keep this to herself. Maybe take some time tomorrow, maybe over the next few days, to dissect it, see if it was simply a natural reaction to the extremity of their power play. Just because she’d thought the words didn’t make them true. Did it?

Connor pushed away from his drawing table and stood. He’d been up since seven, had been trying to work all day, but his concentration was shit. It was nearly three and he’d gotten almost nothing done. He rubbed a hand over his head, his gaze going to the row of windows. He’d hung the same shades in here as he had in the rest of the apartment when he’d turned this second bedroom into his office, but in here he kept them raised, leaving the windows open to the Seattle sky. He liked to see the shifting shades of gray in fog and clouds, those rare moments when the sun peered through. He liked to feel the pace of the city. It inspired him. Usually. Not today.