Chapter 10 #2
“Basili,” she breathes against my mouth, and hearing my name in that breathless tone makes me want to do very bad things to her right here on this counter.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge her. My hands are moving, sliding under her sweater, palms against bare skin that’s softer than anything has a right to be. “Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.”
“I can’t. I do want this; I want you. Even though I shouldn’t.”
Christ. She’s going to be the death of me.
I growl low in my throat— elation mixed with sexual frustration — and move my mouth down to her neck, finding that spot that makes her shiver when I bite her there.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” My hands trace patterns on her back, her ribs, deliberately avoiding the places I want to touch most. “Both wanting things we shouldn’t.”
“You’re a terrible influence,” she manages.
“Fair’s fair.” I trace my teeth over her pulse point, feeling her quiver in my hands as I do so.
“You’ve been tempting me since that first night.
Did you know that? The way you looked at me at the orphanage, the way you challenged me.
You’re defiance. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you.”
“I threw Raffaello on the floor,” she reminisces with a light giggle between heavy breaths.
“And it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Got my attention.” I pull back just enough to look at her, and her eyes are dark with desire, her lips pouty from my kisses. “You weren’t afraid to fight back. You weren’t cowed by the gun or my threats. You defended what was important to you.”
“I was terrified,” she admits.
“But you didn’t let it deter you. That’s the difference.” My hands slide higher, thumb brushing the side of her breast beneath her bra, and she arches into the touch with a sound that makes my cock ache. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
“I’m not the dangerous one.”
“You’re the most dangerous thing in my life right now, Chloe. Because you make me want things I swore I’d never have again.”
I kiss her again, harder this time. My hands are everywhere as she curls into me, her hands buried in my hair. I grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing more of her throat, pulling her hair free from that ridiculous knot that I can fist my hand in properly.
She gives every bit that I give, her nails digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, and pulling me closer against her.
This is spiraling fast. We’re in the kitchen. Emmanuel could wake up any minute. Anyone could walk in.
But I don’t stop. The consequences be damned.
I pull back suddenly, my breathing harsh as a thought occurs. “Stay right there. Don’t move.”
I step away, leaving her flushed and confused on the counter. I move to where my suit jacket is draped over one of the chairs, pulling my belt from my slacks, and grabbing my tie from the pocket.
When I turn back with the items in hand, her eyes go wide.
“What are you—”
“Do you trust me?” I’m back in front of her, kissing her before she can answer. Belt and tie in hand, relenting just enough to allow her to answer before I go any further.
“That’s a complicated question.”
“It’s a simple yes or no, Chloe. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”
I watch the war play out on her face. She should say no. Should remember that it was barely over a week ago that I held a gun to her head while threatening her life. But I really hope she doesn’t.
“Yes,” she finally whispers.
“Good.” I kiss her again, and this time it’s consuming, desperate. “Because I need to touch you. I’m holding on by a thread here, and if I let go of that thread, I’m going to take you right here, right now, and I won’t stop. Not until I’ve had all of you.”
Her breath catches as I move back down her throat, biting as I go. I glance up to see her staring at the items in my hand still.
“This —” I hold up the tie and place it over her eyes, tying it gently but firmly behind her head. “— is for this. And this —” I take the belt and wrap it around her wrists several times before buckling it. “— is to keep you from touching me.”
“Why can’t I touch you?”
I kiss her as softly as I can before growling in her ear, “Because if you touch me right now, I won’t be able to hold back. Once we cross that line, we won’t be able to uncross it. And you deserve better than being fucked for the first time in the kitchen where anyone could walk in and see.”
Finally, she’s mine. Bound and blind and completely at my mercy in the middle of my kitchen. I grab her by the waist, settling her against my hips as I kiss my way down her neck to her collarbone. Moving to lay her down on the dining room table, placing her arms over her head.
I take a moment to savor her beauty. Then I start at her throat, kissing and nipping my way down her body. Without her sight, every touch makes her react more strongly. I can see goosebumps rising on her skin, can hear breathing pick up, can feel her pulse racing under my touch.
“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” I murmur as I lift her sweater to kiss along her hipbone.
“Don’t stop.” She shudders as she speaks. “Don’t stop.”
“Good girl.”
My hands settle on her waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her leggings.
I use my teeth to grab the sweater and pull it up over her bra, exposing her stomach and the soft mounds of her breasts as they peak over the fabric.
She arches into my touch with a moan that goes straight to my cock.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I ask, my mouth moving across the newly exposed skin.
She can’t answer. Can’t form words. Good. I don’t want her to think. I just want her to feel.
My fingers slide up her body to find the front clasp of her bra and flick it open. She gasps as her breasts are exposed, small and perfect, nipples already peaking.
I take one in my mouth, sucking hard, and she cries out, pulling against the belt around her wrists.
“No,” I command against her skin. “You don’t get to touch. Not this time. This time it’s about you.”
I work her breast with my hand and mouth, alternating between gentle and rough, learning what makes her gasp. My other hand holds her hip down as she tries to grind against me. I love making her squirm, hearing her whimper my name.
“Please,” she begs.
“Please, what?”
“More.”
My hand slides across her stomach, fingers dipping barely below the band of her leggings. “Here?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Basili, please.”
I slide my hand down to rub against her over her pants, working my fingers in a way that teases her but gives her nothing.
“Basili —”
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” But I’m already sliding my hand under the waistband, moving her underwear to the side, and when my fingers find her wet and ready, I groan. “Fuck, Chloe. You’re soaked.”
I start slowly with slow, deliberate circles around her clit, teasing her lips. If my instincts are right, and they usually are, she’s a virgin, and despite my own desperate need, I want to make this pleasurable for her.
I slip a finger inside her, and her mouth opens, her head thrown back, pulling against the restraints as sensation takes over.
“That’s it,” I murmur, moving over her to kiss her again, my free hand coming up to cup her face. Even as I drive a second finger into her. “Let go. Let me have this.”
I increase the pressure, my thumb finding that perfect spot, and I can tell by the way her breathing changes, the way her thighs clench, the way she’s making desperate sounds against my lips that she’s close.
That’s when I hear it. Footsteps echoing down the stairs.
We both freeze.
My hand still between her legs, my body still pressed against hers, my breathing harsh.
A door opens upstairs. Closes. The footsteps move across the floor above us.
“Basili,” Chloe whispers urgently, “he’s awake.”
“I know.” But I can’t in good conscience leave her like this. Quickly, I calculate my odds of pushing her over the edge before my son makes it down the stairs and into the kitchen. A grin breaks across my face, and I whisper in her ear, “Don’t think, just let go.”
Then I bite down hard over the pulse point on her neck, simultaneously pushing a third finger into her, stretching her tight, untouched heat further, pressing my thumb harder against her clit. She arches beneath me, and I place my free hand over her mouth, muffling her cry of surprise.
“Trust me, tesoro. Let go.” I curve the three fingers inside her to perfectly position against her G-spot, and that’s all it takes. In the next second, she’s soaring high, her whole body tensing and quivering with the pleasure of it.
Only then do I pull away, reaching up to untie her wrists. Then, removing the blindfold, she blinks against the sudden onslaught of light.
I help her up, kissing her one more time. “Good girl.”
Then, with reluctance, I move away from her, giving her room to straighten her clothes. I return the tie to the pocket of my jacket, rolling the belt up and placing it in the other pocket. Adjusting my own pants before returning to stir the pasta.
I glance at her, she’s flushed, hair tousled, looking bashful. I can’t help but smile at her. “Chloe?”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t over,” I tell her. “Next time, we won’t be in the kitchen where my son can walk in on us. I’m going to have you in my bed with the door locked and all the time in the world.”
Her eyes go wide.
“You're saying —” she stutters, “you want —”
“I don’t just want to. I need it.” I tell her, and I know my eyes are dark, reflecting exactly what I need for all to see.
I put the spoon aside and walk over to her, near but not quite touching, moving to growl in her ear, “Before this month is over, I’ll have you in my bed beneath me, crying out my name.
I will have all of you. I promise you that. ”
“But?” She glances at me sideways.
“But not until you’re ready. I’m a monster, but I’m not that sort of monster,” I admit. “Not until you trust me enough to give me your secrets along with your body.”
Before she can respond, footsteps sound on the stairs. We step apart just as Emmanuel appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“Hey buddy, how was your nap?”