Chapter 10 #2
Heat prickled the backs of her eyes. He’d never told her this before.
His gaze roamed her face, one hand braced against her jaw now, his thumb tracing her bottom lip.
“You finally had something with the manipulation ability.” His eyes came back to hers.
“You had something to work on—your own magic. I was scared you’d get an inkling of some greater power, not reach it, and it would diminish what you do have, which is pretty damn fantastic.
I gave you space to explore what you’d found, prepared for the letdown should it happen.
I’m still prepared, Natasha. If you can’t do whatever this thing is with the ley lines, it doesn’t matter.
You have so many skills you bring to the team.
You’ll still be a valuable member. You could bring nothing but your love and desire to help everyone succeed, and it would be more than enough. You are more than enough.”
A hot tear trailed down her cheek. He didn’t even know what the ley lines magic was. She could tell in the way he talked about it. She’d thought the worst of him, and he only thought the best of her.
More tears fell.
“Let me see,” he implored her, kissing her tears away.
She did, releasing it, but that didn’t ease her guilt, so she shared her thoughts with him on the way over. Her suspicions.
“Those aren’t suspicions,” he murmured, his gaze roaming her face again. “They’re fears, Natasha. And you are perfectly justified in thinking them. You know nothing about me, while I know everything about you.”
Not everything, she thought, but she couldn’t will herself to say it.
He’d just said so many beautiful things about her; she didn’t want to ruin it.
She wanted to live with the rose-colored glasses for now and pretend he wouldn’t leave the moment she proved that she really was a monster.
The demon in their midst. Her sunshine personality was fleeting.
She didn’t dare learn more about his past only to realize he was sorely mistaken, and it didn’t hold a candle to hers.
His eyes moved as he read the air around her. She didn’t know what her energy was saying, but her body didn’t lie. She started to tremble with fear again. With uncertainty. Her lips quivered.
His gaze moved back to hers, and he reached around her, leaning against her as he did so. His fingers danced down her forearms to her wrists.
She thought he would untie her, but instead he grabbed the strings and yanked. The bindings tightened, cutting into her skin. The pain cleared away the haze in her mind.
“This time there is no escape,” he murmured, his hands now heavy on her sides. “There is no running. You will beg, or you will suffer.”
He ran his tongue across her bottom lip as his hands pushed under her shirt again. This time, they didn’t stop on her stomach. They flowed up and over her breasts, kneading. He pushed against her harder now, working his hardness against her center.
The friction wound her body tight.
“No,” she said, feeling her bra pulled down so he could run his thumbs over her nipples.
“No?” His tone was smoke and whiskey. He sucked in her bottom lip. She groaned.
“No. I won’t beg.”
“Hmm.” He rocked harder. His hands felt around her.
In a moment, her bra was loose. “I think you’ll call me Daddy.
Or maybe sir. Maybe you’ll praise me like a god.
How shall I make you stoke my mighty ego, little monster?
I do so love to be worshipped, and I think you’ll want to do it on your knees. ”
He grabbed her shirt at the front and ripped it apart down the middle.
She gasped as the cool night air washed across her skin.
He lowered, kissing down her bared flesh.
Her bra was ripped away next. His tongue flicked across her nipple and then his mouth settled on it as his fingers trailed down her stomach.
“I won’t,” she whispered, head thrown back against the wooden pole that trapped her.
The buttons on her pants popped open, and he pulled the fabric down her legs, taking her panties as well. She stood before him, bound and bared. He kissed lower, sucking in little bits of flesh as he went. His fingers traced down the center of her thighs, sending shooting sparks through her.
Kneeling, he grabbed the back of one of her knees, roughly yanked it to the side and up, over his wide shoulder.
She breathed deeply, looking down on this handsome man before her, anticipation curling within.
She throbbed—ached—for him to touch her where she needed it most. To take her, hard, forcefully, until she couldn’t think about anything but his body thrusting into hers.
His amber eyes met hers…and his wicked grin followed.
He ever so lightly flicked her with his tongue. Right where he should suck, or rub, or anything but that.
Her body convulsed. Her eyes stayed locked with his.
And then he started to tease. To taunt. Building her slowly, shallowly, never enough to really get a purchase on the pleasure.
His ministrations were as masterful as they were agonizing—pleasure and pain—not letting her give in to release.
Keeping her on a plateau, strung out, desperate.
Begging.
“Please,” she said, arched toward him, caught by the rope and wooden beam. “Please, Tristan.”
“Please what, little angel?” Flick.
“No, oh God, please. Deeper, Tristan, please. Harder.”
“Like this?” His tongue was slow, oh so slow. Much too slow.
“No. Ugh, yes. Oh God. Oh yes. Please, Tristan!”