Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(136)

His fingers moved down her back, following her spine to the base, where he laid his palm briefly. The contrast between his skin on hers and the rougher brush of the rope he held sent waves of heat crashing through her. She wasn't certain how much time passed after that as he built the tortoiseshell body suit. He worked fast and then slow. He touched her often. Her hair, running his lips down her exposed throat, his tongue touching the nipple peeking out through the lace, a brush of his hand over her buttocks.



She was acutely aware of him at all times. Her body waited for his touch, craving it. A string of knots went down her front from under her breasts and down her back as well in perfect symmetry, and she found herself squirming a little, wanting those knots in other places. He didn't give her that, but he worked close, his head down sometimes, brushing across her nipples until they felt on fire.



"Stop squirming," he murmured absently, and his teeth nipped at her buttocks. She couldn't stop the little cry of need from escaping as his hand slid down her leg, following another long knotted rope. He was on his knees now, in front of her, his breath adding to the heat building in her sheath until she thought she would fragment into a million pieces. The tension coiled tighter and tighter with no relief.



She tried to concentrate on the music, to take her mind off the need that had grown out of control. She'd never felt so sensual, writhing in the ropes at times, trying to rub her thighs together in an effort to alleviate the terrible ache that grew every moment. She found herself living second to second, waiting for his touch. Waiting for his breath. The brush of his hair. The rope was tight, wrapped around her like his arms.



Her mind began to chant, please, please, please. She couldn't think, she could barely breathe with needing him. The rope slithered down her left leg and he began tying with that decisive precision, his concentration seemingly on his work while all her concentration was centered on him.



Her skin felt raw with fiery nerves. The sensitive bundle of nerves inside her feminine sheath pulsed and burned. His tongue was suddenly on her inner thigh, licking at the wetness there. She cried out, writhing again, unable to be still when her body was no longer her own but entirely his. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh beneath rope and lace, holding her still while he indulged himself. His tongue was wicked, sinful, sliding up her inner thigh, dancing along the crease of her lips, flicking at her clit hard, so that her entire body shuddered, and then it was gone, back to her other thigh.



"Ricco." She hissed his name. A demand. A plea.



He lifted his head to smile up at her. "You taste delicious."



She wanted to scream when he went back to his tying, leaving her on fire. There was no way to rub her thighs together, he was wedged between them as he worked. His hair brushed her inner thighs, the sensations keeping that tension inside of her winding tight until she thought she would go insane with desire. Then he was moving her, pushing her down to the floor, spreading her legs even farther apart.



He drew up her left leg and deftly wove rope from her shin to her upper thigh. He did the same with the right, forcing her knees up with her legs wide apart. He wound the rope around one of the bedposts and slipped it into the loop of the tie on her right and then did the same with the left. His eyes on hers, a small, very wicked smile on his face, he cinched the rope, and she gasped as it drew her left leg wider apart. He cinched the other rope and her right leg was pulled wider.



       
         
       
        



He stepped back to survey his work, his gaze burning on her wet, needy sex. All she could focus on was the bulge at the front of his trousers. She licked her lips. He stepped closer, right between her legs. Her head was tilted up, and if he had been naked she would be at a perfect angle to get what she wanted, and suddenly it was all that she wanted.



"What is it, farfallina mia?"



She hadn't realized she was making frantic little mews. "You." He just stood there, looking down at her, stretching her need out until she wanted to scream. "Your cock. In my mouth. Right. Now." The last was a demand, nothing less, because if he didn't give her what she wanted, she was going to lose her mind.



He reached for the last two buttons of his jeans, undid them and began to slide the material off his hips. He seemed to move in slow motion. Every cell in her body focused on him. His hands. His skin. The slow revelation of his beautiful cock. Full. Hard. Long and thick. All hers. All for her. He stepped away from her and she cried out, straining in the ropes toward him.