Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Flambé thought it was truly crazy how much she craved this. He circled her in complete silence, adding to her anticipation, to the dreadful need building in terrible waves inside her.
“I’m going to tie you with an easy halter first, Flambé. I want you to get used to the feel of the rope on your skin. There are different types of ropes and I use them for different purposes. I’m going to use cotton on you first because it’s soft and gentle on your skin. It has a high burn speed which means it has to run along your skin much faster before your skin blisters.”
He had once again stepped away from her and his face was back to that expressionless mask he normally wore. The rope slid through his hands, almost a caress, without him even looking at it, until he found the natural center and folded it in half. She found herself mesmerized by the slide of that rope through his fingers. By him. By the real Sevastyan, this man who controlled himself, his feral leopard, women and that rope so easily.
Flames seemed to dance up her thighs, small little tongues of orange and red, teasing at her nerve endings, flicking at her skin until she wanted to cry out with need. The burn between her legs grew hotter. Her nipples felt on fire, as if he’d pressed two burning matchsticks to them. He hadn’t touched her. She had no idea how or why she’d gotten so inflamed, so hungry for him so fast, but she couldn’t control her breathing.
He moved behind her and a moan broke from her when he touched her neck, his finger sliding over her pulse. “Shh, baby, you’re going to be fine. Give yourself to me.”
He ran his hand over her shoulders, a slow, very tender touch. His palm curled around the nape of her neck and slipped around to her throat, barely there, just resting, feeling her heart beating into his palm. It was the most intimate experience she’d ever had and yet he hadn’t touched any of the supposed parts of her body that were considered the “sex zones.”
She leaned into his hands. Into his body. She felt his strength. He was all male and he made her feel exactly how she wanted to feel, totally feminine and powerful in her femininity. There was beauty in her own strength, in the way she chose to submit to him. She wanted this experience with him. This man was so utterly arrogant and had every reason to be when it came to his skills. But . . .
He suddenly caught both hands and yanked them behind her back, folding one arm on top of the other decisively. The move was so unexpected she almost moved from the spot he’d told her to stay in, but at the last second she remembered to remain still.
She felt the rope slide over her skin almost lovingly, sending shivers through her entire body. His hands moved on either shoulder, running the lines simultaneously as he began to swiftly build a harness. At the same time, he leaned into her again, his warm breath in her ear. His teeth found her earlobe and bit down.
She yelped.
“All of you, Flambé. You’re holding back. Give me all of you. You’ve already got several indiscretions you have to answer for. Don’t keep adding to them.” He whispered the warning to her, all while his hands worked with absolute sureness.
She moistened her lips, wishing she didn’t understand what he was talking about, but in the back of her mind she hadn’t forgotten that he had enumerated her supposed sins as he’d taken her into his room. The two times she’d cancelled on him. The fact that she hadn’t told him she had seen him at the club. That seemed to be a very big one to him. He really hadn’t been happy about that and she couldn’t blame him.
The rope began to weave back and forth over her arms and breasts and under them, around her arms and then down the middle in intricate knots, both front and back. He worked fast, pulling the ropes tight and securing her quickly. She felt almost euphoric as he completed the halter. The knots were beautiful, straight down the valley separating her full breasts, the lines beneath them lifting them up while the ones over the tops delineated the curves artfully.
She ached for him. Burned. Her nipples jutted out at him invitingly. She’d never been so aware of her breasts as feminine and sexy. If this was art, it was erotic art. Sevastyan stepped back to survey his handiwork. His expression didn’t change as he circled slowly around her. It was a leopard’s prowl, one slow, almost freeze-frame stalk after another. She held very still.
When he returned to the front of her again, he used his foot to nudge her feet farther apart before retrieving the skein of rope he’d left on the bed. This was the rougher texture he’d mentioned earlier. He began running the rope through his hands absently while he returned to her in the same silence, with that same arrogant mask, the one that made her even hotter. This was how she had first seen him, so in control, so completely dominant.