Authors: Kayla Stonor
“Keep still. This is a delicate operation.”
“I’m trying to, I swear.”
His voice was strangled and she grinned before pressing her lips against his exposed briefs prompting an immediate increase in girth.
He thrust towards her. “Please . . .”
She pulled back and he groaned his frustration as she turned her attention to unlacing his boots. Then she released his leg irons. She waited, head bowed, for him to kick out. Send her flying. Seconds ticked by and then his fingers gently touched her hair, a silent plea for her to continue.
She tugged his boots off and then his socks. Reaching up, she grasped pants and briefs together and pulled them as one to his ankles. He stepped out of them and then his hand was under her elbow. He supported her as she rose off her knees.
She looked deep into his eyes, entranced by the flames dancing in their depths.
He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. For trusting me.”
“I’m not trusting you. Not entirely.” Tahima picked up the leg irons, put a hand on the rigid bar of his handcuffs, and led him to the piton.
Immediately, Rossini tensed. She guessed his mind was racing ahead, trying to figure out what she had planned for him this time. It was the not knowing—the lack of control—that intensified the whole experience. A man like Rossini would fight the vulnerability it aroused in him.
How much courage did it take to succumb instead?
“Kneel,” she ordered.
He went down, but the shudder that shot through him came from a place of apprehension, not anticipation. She rested gentle fingers on the back of his right shoulder and waited for the tension in his body to dissipate. Finally, she felt the corded muscles beneath his shirt relax.
She crouched beside him. He watched as she threaded a loop of chain from the leg irons though the piton ring, pushed both the unlocked ankle bracelets through the resulting loop, and pulled the loop tight over the ring. One leg iron she locked around the chain connected to the other.
Rossini offered his cuffed hands to her.
She elected to release his left hand. She then locked the empty handcuff to the remaining leg iron.
He tugged his right hand experimentally and grimaced. “Yup. Not going anywhere.”
“That’s the idea.”
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. He managed to pull his left arm free and she dragged the shirt down his right arm to his cuffed wrist. Then she stood up. Except for the bandages around his arm and wrists, he was once more naked at her feet.
She walked around him, savoring the view. His lidded eyes followed her, his chest rising and falling. His cock looked so stiff she thought he would come if she so much as touched it.
The force of his need was overwhelming and yet he was so still. Waiting. In this moment, he was totally enthralled to her will. His submission stirred emotions in her that were so fierce she could hardly stand. What was she thinking? That she could indulge in one night of passion and then watch him disappear out of her life forever.
How would she feel then?
“Tahima?”
Indecision wracked her. Panic filled her chest. She ran her hand over her face. “I need to think . . .”
What to do?
She moved to her supplies, collected the oatcakes, chocolate, and a bottle of water. She placed them within his reach.
He stared at the rations, bewildered. “What’s going on, Tahima?”
“I need to think,” she repeated.
“Yes, but why?” He put out a foot to stand, but there wasn’t enough slack in the chain connecting him to the piton. He rattled the whole affair angrily. “Cazzo!” He reached out his free hand to catch her wrist, but she was out of reach.
His distress was clear, his cock straining for her, his freedom to move curtailed. She was confusing him, and she wanted to explain that it wasn’t him, that she was scared of the feelings he stirred in her, but her throat was holding back a clogging fear and she couldn’t speak.
Instead, she turned and walked out on him.
“Wait!
Tahima
! Talk to me!”
She couldn’t. Outside, she gulped in a lungful of crisp, night air.
Rossini bellowed after her, “TAHIMA!”
She moved to a nearby rock, wrapped her arms across her stomach and folded over to contain the scream fighting for escape. She hated herself for doing this to him. It hurt to hear his anguish, and she wanted to go back to him, she wanted to make love to him, but Rossini was everything she was trying to escape. He represented everything she loathed and despised. And he would destroy any chance of her ever finding peace of mind again.
That was when the terrible truth hit her. It was too late. She had fallen for him. Big time.
~ Chapter Eight ~
When Tahima ventured back into the cave, Rossini was asleep, but restless. He had found a position resting on his right side that naturally supported his cuffed wrist. He looked reasonably comfortable, his left hand resting close to the cuff that would normally restrain it. His cock had softened, but was still erect and, no doubt, the source of frustration preventing a peaceful slumber.
He was a beautiful specimen of a man. The firelight flickered over his naked, muscular frame. A sexy stubble darkened his lower face and accented his chiseled features. His skin was tanned and perfectly toned. She yearned to feel that body possessing her, filling her, loving her.
Damn it, she had to stop torturing herself.
She noticed he had eaten the oatcakes and chocolate. The bottle of water was half-empty. He would be starving by morning and she had no more supplies to offer. She wasn’t hungry herself—at least, not for food.
Her appetite leaned in another direction.
She noticed him shiver. The night air carried a chill and the fire was dying. She added more wood to the fire, trying not to make any noise. Crouching low, she blew softly into the embers until flames licked the thick branch she had selected. When the wood began to glow, she stood up then jumped. Rossini’s eyes were open, watching her.
“You okay?” he asked.
His unselfish concern brought a lump to her throat. Gian Rossini challenged all her preconceptions of a mafia heir.
“I’m scared,” she said, wanting him to understand he had done nothing wrong.
Rossini raised himself up on his right elbow, his eyes not leaving her once. “What frightens you? Me? This situation? Your feelings?”
Tahima moved around the fire, not close enough for him to reach, but not separated from him either. She sat down. “All of that and more. You’re a dom. You’re very good at it, even when you’re chained up.”
His lips twitched. “I’m not manipulating you, Tahima—trying to seduce you into sleeping with me, yes, but not to trick you or anything like that. It’s a baser need driving me. You have a knack for pushing buttons I didn’t know existed.” He looked down at his groin. “Well, let’s say, you’re driving me crazy.”
Tahima hugged her knees to her chest. “You certainly know how to stroke a girl’s ego.”
He looked hurt. “I’m not spinning you a line. But I do see how conflicting this must be.”
Tahima stared into the fire. “Part of the problem is I have to turn you in. You see, I never knew my grandmother. A heroin addict mugged her, he left her for dead. She was just twenty-seven.” Her voice cracked. “She was shopping with her daughter. My mom . . .”
She focused on the flames devouring the log she’d added to the fire. She couldn’t look at Rossini. He was so silent she didn’t think he was even breathing.
“My mom was there. She was seven and she saw her mother murdered. I think that’s why Gramps never got over it. He was a cop, but couldn’t protect his own family. Afterwards, he dedicated his career to smashing drug cartels. Mafia families like the Rossini’s.” She looked up and caught his devastated expression. “My mom killed herself when I was a little girl. I don’t think she ever came to terms with what she saw happen to her mother.”
Rossini drew in a sharp breath. His face creased as if in pain. “What was your grandfather’s name?”
“Falker. Detective Stanley Falker.”
His eyes closed then his head dipped.
“You know him, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard the name.” He met her eyes. “Stanley Falker was at the top of
my
grandfather’s hit list for decades. But Falker was always one step ahead.”
“That sounds like my Gramps,” Tahima laughed. Tears pricked her eyes until Rossini became a blur. She wiped them away. “If I let you go, it will be a betrayal of everything he worked for. It will be like saying it was okay my Mom committed suicide.”
“God, what a mess . . .”
Tahima bowed her head. “I know.”
“I’m not my father, Tahima. Or my grandfather.”
She shot him an angry look. Had he not heard anything she’d said? “I’m turning you in, Rossini. You’ll have to kill me to stop me.”
The line of his jaw stiffened. “That’s not what I meant, and don’t even suggest such a thing. I could never hurt you.
Merda
!”
Tahima started at the sudden ferocity in his voice, but said nothing. They sat there in silence for several long seconds. The fire crackled and burned. The cave grew warm.
Then Rossini sat up. He shuffled closer to the piton his right wrist was chained to and rested his left elbow on his knee. “I want to explain some stuff, but it would place you in a difficult position and I can’t do that. So I want you to know that I’m okay with you turning me in. I won’t cause you any trouble and I won’t pressure you to drop your precautions. I’m glad you told me about your family. It helps me to understand. But I would ask you to do one thing for me.”
Tahima swallowed nervously. “Go on.”
“Don’t think too badly of me until I give you reason—which I have no intention of doing, by the way—”
She raised a hand. “Stop, Rossini, while you’re ahead.”
His head tilted to one side. “I’m ahead?”
“Yes.”
Tahima felt a weight lift from her. She didn’t hold Rossini personally responsible for her grandmother’s death. How could she? He hadn’t been born. It wasn’t a Rossini who had actually murdered her grandmother, and she had no idea who had supplied the youth desperate for a fix.
Rossini claimed he hadn’t murdered his father, and she wanted to believe him, but that was for the law to determine. Justice would take its course. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him go and Rossini accepted that. He knew where she stood.
She rose to her feet and moved to where the contents of her bag were strewn all over the floor. She took off her key chain and dropped it by the stun gun, conscious that once again Rossini couldn’t take his eyes off her. She sneaked a sly look at him, then picked up the gun and swapped in the new battery, anticipating the hint of nervousness that crossed his face. Then she dropped the weapon by the zip lock bag behind her backpack.
He shook his head at her in mock rebuke, but his cock was back at attention forcing him to adjust his position. The conflict between his mind and body turned her on.
She started to undress slowly, practiced at making every piece of discarded clothing a promise of bliss to come. Rossini was entranced. He tugged at the leg irons in an attempt to move closer to her and got nowhere. She pulled off her hairband and shook out her hair. His eyes widened as it cascaded over her shoulders. When she slipped her panties off and stepped forward in one graceful movement, he moaned and blinked slowly.
She walked towards him, fully naked, at ease with his eyes roaming over her breasts and the soft hair she had allowed to grow back below.
“Damn you’re beautiful,” he said as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
Her nipples tightened. Fresh desire crawled from her breasts to the deepest part of her being. She wanted this.
She wanted him.
He lay back, inviting her to straddle him. She did, but as her knees touched the soft dirt, he moved towards her. Her stomach lurched to feel his left arm curl behind her as his body lifted and flipped her onto her back. His arm cushioned her fall, his hand protecting the back of her head. He pulled it out from underneath her and gripped her hip. He rose above her, supporting himself on the hand chained to the piton.
“Okay?” he checked.
She nodded and his eyes glowed. Only the hand pressed against her side and the head of his throbbing member between her legs touched her. He slid his cock down her inner thigh and back again unleashing havoc on her senses. His lips swooped down to her neck. She stretched underneath him, thrusting her breasts upwards. Rossini growled and trailed kisses down her throat and chest, taking a line that encompassed the under swell of her breast. When his tongue captured her nipple, Tahima arched and cried out.
“Don’t get too close,” he whispered. “Not until I let you.”
She groaned, understanding his command wasn’t a play for control, but a request. He wanted to fine tune her pleasure to breaking point. On this, they were one.
She pulled away from the hard length probing her clitoris. One touch and she would be on the slippery slope to a climax. He eased off and turned his mouth’s attention to her other breast. The neglected nipple throbbed with need. His teeth caught the hard bud, bit gently and twisted.
Tahima nearly detonated. “Too much, too much . . .”
He released her nipple. “Already?”
“I’ve been ready for hours, Rossini.”
He kissed her neck all the way to her earlobe. His free hand stroked her belly, moving down towards her aching, silky womanhood. His thumb parted her inner thighs. A powerful knee prodded and forced her legs apart, his leg resting between hers, letting her feel his weight. She gasped. Now his fingers eased into the squishy, wet opening. He teased her wider, avoiding contact with the sweet point of pleasure pursuing his fingers as she desperately ground against him.
He lubricated his cock in her trickling juices and pressed against her, slowly feeling his way in. She shifted under him, trying to force the head of his cock to grate over the precise point desperately craving release. He evaded her, his engorged member sliding past to forge a greater pleasure deeper inside. He filled her to stretching point and she groaned in ecstasy. Then he stopped and held perfectly still.