His(75)

“Do I need to tie you up?” I teased.

“Please,” she whispered. Her lips were plump and pink, so innocent and yet so demanding. I kissed her again, kissed her and kissed her and could not stop until she gasped for breath. Then I got the rope.

I paused after finishing the last knot. Her body was stretched across the bed, ready and willing. The rose-red slit between her legs was hot and swollen. I ran a single finger down her thigh, tracing the outline of her mound, wetting myself with her juices. I tasted her sweetness and she moaned. I could see her hips jerking upward slightly, wanting me to take her.

“Gavriel—”

I paused then. I looked around the room. Everything was the same. The sunlight came through the window the same as it always had. The bed was in the same place. And yet, there was no hint of the shadow.

She had driven it away.

Her chestnut eyes watched my every move as I climbed into bed and positioned myself between her legs. I loved the little jerks of her body, the twisting muscles in her arms as she strained against the ties. I could have watched her forever.

“Gav?”

My mind came back to the present. I leaned down, my cock sliding against the deliciously slick opening. She gasped as I found her slit and entered, letting her folds caress my tip. Then I thrust hard, stabbing her with my whole self, plunging deep into oblivion.

When I spoke in her ear, my breath was already ragged.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for saving me.”



Kat

He teased me. He tortured me.

Most of all, he satisfied me. Satisfied my every single urge in ways I couldn’t have imagined before him. His hands spanked my skin raw and red and I begged him for more. His cock filled me, pushing me to the outer edge of my limits, and my screams were screams of delight. He twisted my nipples, sucked bruises on my hip, licked my wrists until I came from only his tongue touching me in places I’d never known I wanted to be touched.

He rolled himself against me, swollen rock hard and throbbing, and I matched his rhythm and he made me come against his cock, my body milking him, clenched viselike and shivering. He pulled out and made me come again with his tongue.

And when I ached too much, when every part of me was shattered and wide open, he pressed his thumb against my lips and I sucked hard, licked the pad of his brilliant fingers. Without waiting for a breath, he split me open with his thickness and pressed a finger between my ass cheeks and filled me in every hole, and climax after climax shuddered my body, leaving me empty of anything except the desire for more, more—

For hours he took me, used me, and gave me back myself.

When he was done at last, my breath was jagged in the air. My eyes were closed and I only felt his fingers at the ropes around my wrists. The knots loosened and opened and then he was rubbing my wrists with his hands, massaging them deeply.

I opened my eyes and saw him examining my wrists, the red lines from the rope standing out brightly on my skin.

“Would you like to get rid of them?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“The scars. Do you want the surgery? We could clean them up for you.”

“We?”

“I have an old friend. He’s a cosmetic surgeon.”

I looked down at the white seams on the insides of my wrists. They caught the light and gleamed, just for a moment, shining brightly. Like my soul was peeking through the thin parts of me.

“You would be there?”

“I would assist.”

I raised my eyebrows as he lay down beside me. His hand cupped my breast and he nuzzled into the side of me. I had never thought about getting rid of my scars. Even in the summer, I would wear long sleeves to hide them. To be able to walk around freely, without worrying… it was tempting.

“You would assist, because…”

“For one, there’s nobody else I would trust to come into my home.”

“Oh! You would do it here?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“You know where, kitten.”

I thought of the kitchen table, the straps. The blood.

The man he had murdered. He was a murderer.

My inner self was more intelligent than my outer body, and I squirmed uncomfortably, thinking about the idea.

“You wouldn’t be tied,” he said. “You would be drugged. Local anesthesia.”

“I wouldn’t be zonked out?”

“No.”

“But this friend of yours, then, he would know about us? About you?”

He blinked deliberately. Stalling. There could only be one reason for his hesitation.

“He already knows?”

“He’s… he’s like me. In certain ways. In others, not so much.”

“How so?”

“He’s much less patient than I am.”