The Beauty of Surrender (16 page)

“Ah, Ava. Come with me. I need to make love to you in my bed. I need it to be soft and beautiful and sweet. Like you, my Ava. My girl.”

She nodded, and he took her by the hand, led her upstairs. Outside, the rain fell, splattering the windows. The sky was a pale, pearly gray. And the sun was diffused, softened, as it shone through the glass.

They reached his bedroom, and he undressed her slowly, laying tender kisses on her skin as he removed each piece of clothing. And with every kiss she felt loved, cherished, adored.

Finally she was naked, and he shed his own clothes quickly. His arms went around her waist, tightened, and the press of bare skin to bare skin was exquisite. She breathed in his scent, as dark as the earth, that pure and clean. His mouth came down on hers once more, his kiss almost brutal but so full of emotion it made her want to cry again. But this time it was joy welling up inside her, chasing the pain away.

He lifted her, laid her on the bed, her body sinking into the down ticking, his body covering hers. She was wet, needy. But everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if in a dream, and she was in no hurry for it to be over.

His hands roamed over her skin: touching that sensitive hollow at her throat, her shoulders, then her breasts. His touch was as sure as ever but more tender than before. And she felt his love in every caress, even as his fingers tightened on her nipples. Pleasure was a languid current moving through her, taking her higher and higher. When he lowered his head over her stomach, his tongue stroking downward in long, lazy arcs, the anticipation was almost too much to bear yet too good to make him stop, to beg for him to hurry. She let her legs fall open for him. Then he was there with his warm mouth, licking at her sex, her swollen clitoris, his hands, his lips, and his tongue creating a steady pulse-beat of sensation moving through her like music. And in moments she was coming, crying out his name.

He made his way back up her body in a trail of hot, lovely kisses, until he was poised over her.

“I want you, Ava. Just like this. I want to be inside you. I need to be a part of you.”

“Yes, Desmond … I don’t need anything but you.”

She felt the tip of his cock poised at the entrance to her body. He kept his gaze on hers as he pushed inside. A long shudder of pleasure made her moan, then he was deep inside her, his hips moving. Desire built and, with it, emotion. She watched his face, his hard features softened by pleasure. By love.

“I love you, Desmond,” she whispered as he moved deeper, pushing sensation into her body.

“I love you, my Ava. My beautiful Ava.”

His hand came up and his fingers curled under her jaw as he thrust, over and over, a slow, rocking rhythm. Inside her body a fire was building, blazing, until she came in a dazzling flash, so intense it hurt.

“Desmond!”

He cried out, tensed all over, came with her, his gaze on hers. So beautiful, his face, his green, green eyes. They clung to each other long after the last waves had faded away.

“I’ll protect you always,” Desmond whispered into her hair, his breath still a ragged pant. “Care for you. I understand finally that I can. You are mine, Ava. Truly mine. It’s you who’s taught me what that means.”

“Yes, yours.” She had never felt so much that she
belonged
. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

And it was true. She’d only ever wanted to belong, to be accepted. To be loved. Maybe she’d had to fight to get there with Desmond, but he loved her. Loved her! It was like some sort of revelation, simply to feel his love. It was like being safe for the first time in her life. Safe. Cherished. Loved.

Perfect.

PART TWO

Soothing the Beast
Marina and James

Chapter One

“S
HIBARI IS
the ancient art of Japanese rope bondage. But Shibari is about far more than binding someone, rendering them helpless. It truly is an art.”

Marina Marchant scanned the faces of her audience as they sat in their folding metal chairs in front of the main staging area at Pinnacle. The workshops she presented were always well attended, and tonight was no different.

Except for him.

He sat at the back of the room, all dark eyes and brooding, rugged features, a scowl on his face. She thought it might be part concentration, part some sort of inner struggle. Interesting …

Why couldn’t she stop analyzing him?

She cleared her throat and went on. “But beyond even the visual art involved in Shibari, the art of sensation, is the art of what’s happening in the mind. Shibari contains symbols we can all relate to on some level. And I don’t mean only those of us who are interested in erotic restraint, in extreme sex. The psychological symbols involved are fairly universal in Western and Eastern cultures. What does that sense of being held helpless in another’s hands
mean to anyone? At the very root of it is the need to be rendered powerless, no matter the individual’s reasons. And those reasons are complicated, layered. Unique. That’s what makes the experience so fascinating. And for some of us, irresistible.”

She saw him lean forward in his chair, his dark, liquid eyes intense, and she had a profound sense of being watched. Not just looked at but watched very carefully. Examined. It didn’t make her uncomfortable, exactly.

Not exactly.

He was too beautiful, this man. Masculine. Must be well over six feet, and shoulders like a pro football player’s. The tattoo work she could see on his arms, peeking from beneath the sleeves of his simple black T-shirt, looked Asian in design: clouds, water. Gorgeously detailed work. The tattoos only seemed to accent how heavily muscled his arms were. And she did love tattoos on a man. Something so male about them. Something a little wicked.

Nice
.

Don’t lose focus
.

She pulled her hair back from her face, the long, auburn strands catching in her fingers, and she had an odd surge of self-consciousness. She’d given this lecture dozens of times. What on earth was wrong with her? She let her gaze wander over the others in the audience, a mixed group, men and women of all ages. She’d always loved that one could never look at these people and know what secret desires hid beneath their utterly normal-looking exteriors.

She glanced at him once more, found his eyes still glued to her. She looked away, paused to sip from her bottle of water, before she continued.

“Power play is all about what goes on in the players’ heads. Psychology. Regardless of how it might turn us on. Sex
is
psychology. What we desire, how we respond.

“I believe it’s important to explore your own desires, your own responses to different stimuli, in figuring out what you want, why you want it. The ritual of Shibari should lead you to a greater understanding
of yourself, but that will happen only if you take the time to see beyond the idea of simply being bound, or of binding someone else. Make it as much an inner journey as it is a physical experience, and you’ll reach the deepest levels Shibari can take you to.”

She continued with her lecture, recommended books to read on rope bondage and meditation, passed out a list of information resources. And he watched her the entire time, the beautiful man in the back of the room, his large body a powerful, enigmatic presence.

Who was he?

She wound up the lecture with an invitation to the Shibari demonstration she was giving the following month and a brief question-and-answer period. But she could hardly keep her attention on what she was saying. She kept seeing him in the corner of her eye, his short, black hair, his dark, watchful eyes. The small scar over one eyebrow, another along his jaw, making him seem even more purely masculine.

A surge of desire swarmed her body, warming her all over.

How long had it been since she’d felt this sort of attraction to a man? Certainly not since before Nathan …

No, don’t think of him now. He has nothing to do with this
.

No, but he was the reason it had been so long since she’d been able to look at another man this way. With lust swimming through her veins.

Stop it
.

Just finish up, go home. Have a glass of wine and forget all about this man
.

“Alright, I hope to see everyone next time. If you’re interested in joining Pinnacle and exploring further, please see Carrie at the front door for an application.”

As usual, several people approached her, and she answered a few last-minute questions as everyone filed out of the room. Everyone but him.

He stayed behind, standing by his chair, while she talked to people, while she gathered the stack of leftover handouts, put them in her purse. Finally he strode up to the front of the room—there was no other way to describe it—and came to stand before her.

She’d been right; he was well over six feet tall, broad and heavily muscled. And he looked vaguely familiar … and even more amazing-looking up close: large, dark brown eyes, his skin a smooth golden brown. His jawline was finely sculpted, broken only by the narrow scar that ran the entire length of the left side. His mouth was wide and generous, his face a bit too serious.

“Ms. Marchant?”

“Marina, please.”

His teeth were white, even. Perfect other than a small chip right in front.

“I’m James. James Cortez.” His voice was deep, as smooth as caramel with a touch of whiskey in it. “I’ve heard about you. That you’re a Shibari master. I’ve heard how you use meditation and trance states in your work, that you have a degree in cultural anthropology, which interests me very much.”

“My degree is in art, and I work as a private dealer, but I did study cultural anthropology. I nearly got my master’s, but I …” Why was she telling him this? “What can I do for you, James?”

“I think you may be exactly what I need.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” It didn’t seem like any sort of standard pickup line. He was far too serious for that. “What is it you’re looking for?”

He just stared at her for several moments, his dark eyes piercing. Then he said very quietly, “A way out of my own head, maybe.”

She nodded, couldn’t speak for a moment. God help her, he
smelled
right. Clean and sharp. Male. “Are you asking me to play you?”

The idea made her heart pound, imagining him in the ropes.
Her
ropes.

“Yes.”

She could see now that there were tiny golden flecks in his brown eyes. Like chocolate and honey.

“I … I don’t play men. If you’ve heard so much about me, then surely you’ve heard that.”

“Yes. I’m hoping you’ll make an exception.”

“And why would I do that?”

Other than the mad fluttering in her chest, the way her legs went weak standing so close to him, inhaling his scent.

Yes, that was exactly why she wasn’t going to do what he asked. She couldn’t stand weakness. Not in a man, and not in herself.

He moved in closer. She took a step back.

“I’ll be honest and tell you, Marina, that I need what you have to offer. I need to find some peace. I’ve tried everything else: standard meditation, silent retreats, hypnosis. I’ve tried to find it in the ropes, but I haven’t found anyone good enough, anyone who uses more than the ropes, the old bondage rituals. I need more. I need you to … help me.”

James watched as her lush red lips parted, made a little
o
. He hadn’t expected the woman to be beautiful. Capable, intelligent. But not this overwhelming beauty. The high cheekbones, the almond-shaped gray eyes that looked like crystal and smoke all at once somehow. The perfect, pale skin set off by the heavy curtain of dark auburn hair that waved around her shoulders. The tall, willowy figure that was as graceful as the way she moved her hands while she spoke.

He was being too damned poetic.

He was just … caught off guard. That was all.

Marina was shaking her head. “I can’t help you.” She picked up her coat and he reached out, helped to slip it over her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I really can’t help you.”

He held on to her coat for a moment, the black leather smooth and cool beneath his fingers. Her skin would feel like that: silky, poreless.

“I’m not your usual submissive boy. I don’t need all of that. I just need the ropes. I need someone who can understand the head trip. Who can guide me.”

“The ropes
are
the head trip.” She looked angry now, her gray eyes throwing sparks. “Look, I don’t play with men. I have my reasons for that. And it seems that you really don’t even get what the power exchange is about, so why would I want to play with you?”

“Because I need you. And I assure you, I do get it. Try me and see.” He needed her more than ever, now that he’d seen her. He needed to touch her, to run his hands through all that gorgeous hair.

But he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this in terms of sex. Sex had gotten him nowhere.

Impossible not to think about sex with this woman
.

He should let it drop, find someone else.

He didn’t want to do this with anyone else.