Ignited Page 20

  "Tell me how that feels."

  "It's strange," I said. "It's good. There's pressure, and there's awareness. It makes me wet. It also--" I cut myself off with a shake of my head.

  "No," he said. "No secrets. I want to know everything."

  "It makes me hot to know you're binding me," I said, not quite able to look him in the eye as I spoke. "To know that I'm completely at your mercy. I trust you," I added, meeting his eyes. "More completely than you probably realize. But that doesn't change the fact that this is still--"

  "Dangerous?"

  I nodded as heat flooded my cheeks. "And that just makes it hotter," I finished, my voice little more than a whisper, as if revealing that most intimate truth would push me over the edge. That it was the final secret that would cost me everything and leave me totally open to him. Totally vulnerable.

  But I wanted that--so help me, I wanted to be vulnerable to him. I wanted everything with him. I wanted to go as far as we could go together, and then I wanted to take it even further.

  I knew that about myself with unerring certainty. But more than that, I wanted this man, fully and completely. I wanted to see what was inside him. To understand his needs and his desires.

  I wanted him to open himself to me. And I could only hope and pray that by opening myself to him--by trusting him completely--that he would trust me in turn.

  As my thoughts circled around, Cole adjusted the rope, tying a knot that brought the two separate strings together. Then he positioned that knot right over my clit before continuing to secure the end of the rope to the section that encircled my waist.

  The end result was similar to wearing crotchless panties--if those panties were made out of rope and designed to stimulate with the slightest motion.

  "You move, you even breathe, and this will drive you just a little crazy."

  "It already does," I confessed. I felt the pressure of the knot rubbing against my sensitive flesh, and sending waves of pleasure rolling through me. But it was a frustrating sensation, because while it felt damn good, it also wasn't building, and I knew that the torment of this particular setup was to get a woman hot--but to never quite get her to come.

  "It's a little evil, isn't it?" I asked wryly.

  He chuckled. "Just a bit. What can I say?" he asked, sliding his hand down to cup my sex and making my body arch in response and demand. "I like you primed and ready--but you only get to come when I say."

  "If I ever said you were a nice man, I take it back."

  "I'm not a nice man, baby. I really thought you knew."

  I almost grinned, but was quickly distracted by the way Cole had hooked his fingers under the rope just above my belly button and was guiding me back to the bed. In one fluid motion, he picked me up, then held me close in his arms. He murmured my name and then, before I had the chance to lose myself in the sweet sensuality of being held by this man, he put me gently on the bed.

  Gently, however, wasn't gently enough, because as he laid me down, the cord that stretched so intimately beneath me shifted over my clit at the same time that the weight of my body pressed against the plug in my ass. I gasped, then clung to him. "Do you know what you're doing to me?" I asked, my voice heavy with arousal. "Do you have any idea how primed you've made me?"

  "I intend to take you much further," he said, then reached for the two pillows at the head of the bed. He pulled them down, then situated them under my hips, raising me up while my torso angled slightly down to the mattress.

  He spread my legs, and the motion caused that damnable knot to tease me mercilessly, sending heat coursing through me, making me wild and frustrated and itchy and so damned needy I wanted to scream. "Please." I forced my voice to stay level. "Christ, Cole, please."

  He eased between my legs, his cock erect, and his face reflecting so much desire and adoration, that I thought I could come simply from the way he looked at me.

  "Next time I want to bind your arms behind you, flip you over, and take you from behind. But tonight I want to see your face when you come, and when . . ." He trailed off, and I saw mischief in his eyes.

  "Cole?"

  "Tell me you want to go further," he said, his voice shifting to a new level of intensity that excited me all the more. "Tell me you liked my palm on your ass, my hand twisting your nipples. Tell me you liked it rough."

  I felt my sex clench simply in response to his words and his tone. "You know that I did."

  "Tell me," he repeated.

  "I liked it. I liked it all."

  "Baby, I want to give you every form of pleasure I know, but some of them aren't reached except by passing through the curtain of pain. I'm going to take you there. Take you high, I promise you. Do you trust me?"

  "More than anything."

  He reached beside us on the bed for the chain and held it up for me. The chain itself was gold, with two gold alligator clips at either end. Except they weren't really alligator clips because there were no teeth. Just a smooth, waxy plastic.

  "The boundary between pleasure and pain shifts. What can be painful one moment," he said as he opened the first clip and secured it to my erect nipple, "can turn to pleasure the next."

  As he spoke, fire seemed to shoot through my nipple, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It hurt--damn right it hurt. But there was something else underneath, and by the time he had fastened the clamp to my other nipple, the first was humming. A warm, wonderful sensation that made my whole body seem larger than life and desperately, wonderfully aware.

  "Pain," Cole said simply, giving the clamp a little flick with his finger and making me groan as that warm sensuality ramped up, bringing heat and fire that maybe hurt but maybe didn't.

  "And then there's pleasure," Cole said, as my body sank in response to the fading sensation, moving through that curtain Cole had described to the wondrous blanket of pleasure that waited beyond.

  I sucked in air, awed by these reactions. By how sensitive my skin was. By how erotic the simplest touch had become, and by how even the caress of the air against my flesh held the intensity of a lover.

  "I want to give you both," Cole said, his expression almost rapturous as he gazed at me, my legs spread, my back arched, my sex bound, my nipples clamped. I was an object for his pleasure--and for my own. And that thought alone sent waves of delight coursing through me, making my already sensitive clit swell and harden, so that each movement, each breath was torture as that damnable knot rubbed against me and the plug worked in tandem to remind me of just how completely I was his.

  "More and more," Cole said. "Not tonight, but over time. I want to take you as far as you can go, Kat. Tell me you want that, too. Tell me you want everything I can give you."

  "Yes," I moaned. "Oh, god, yes."

  "I'm going to fuck you now," he said, and I almost wept with relief.

  He lowered himself over me, and I almost passed out from the wave of intense pleasure when he positioned himself and then readjusted the rope so that it would stroke his cock on either side as he thrust into me.

  He did just that, and I wasn't expecting how the movement of the rope with his cock would intensify the motion of the knot against my clit. Or how the impact of him thrusting so damn hard into me would shift the plug in my ass, setting off a riot of sensations in me. Or how the building pressure of the nipple clamp combined with every other sensation would shoot sparks through my body, making me electrically charged, so that even the slightest brush against my skin would totally light me up.

  I was there--right there and ready to explode faster than I'd ever done in my life, and I gasped, calling for Cole. Needing and wanting and demanding. And through that gray haze of sexual drunkenness I became aware that he had taken hold of the chain. And as I arced up toward release, he yanked on the chain from the center with enough force to pull the clamps off my nipples in one violent, fluid motion.

  Pain shot through my breasts, but that pain translated almost immediately to delight. And in that gap--that tiny gap between the
two--the world exploded around me and I came more violently than I'd ever come before. I was desperate. Wild. My sex clenched around Cole's cock, bringing him right along with me to the hardest, fastest, hottest orgasm I had ever experienced. One that left me breathless and exhausted and completely astounded.

  "Wow," I said when the world returned to me. "That was--that just was."

  He chuckled. "Yes. It certainly was," he said, and then kissed me, hard and deep. The kind of kiss that marked a woman in a way that even wild sex couldn't manage.

  He pulled me close to him and held me tight. I was still bound, and that made me feel more small and fragile. As if he were holding me safe, keeping me shielded from whatever awful things might lurk in the world.

  I floated there a moment on a wave of contentment, but his words kept playing back in my head. "More, you said," I murmured. "Will you tell me what the more is?"

  "Eager?" he said, with a tease in his voice.

  "Maybe."

  "I won't tell you, but I'll show you. Not all at once, but when you're ready. Trust me, Kat. Trust me to make this journey exceptional for you."

  "I do." I hesitated, then asked, "Will you take me to the Firehouse when we get back to Chicago?"

  It may have been my imagination, but I thought that he stiffened slightly. "Maybe," he said. "I haven't decided."

  "Oh."

  I'm not sure why his response disappointed me, but it did. "Is it because of Michelle? Why you're not sure, I mean?"

  He eased back, then rolled me over so that I was facing him. "No," he said. "Not because of Michelle."

  I nodded, knowing I should drop it. I could tell that much just from the tone of his voice. But somehow, I couldn't quite seem to back away. "Were you two together?"

  "No."

  "Oh." I licked my lips. "I saw you the night of the gala. That argument with Conrad. I don't know. I just thought . . ." I trailed off into a lame shrug.

  "Conrad Pierce is a fucking asshole," Cole said. "He was trying to recruit some of my girls into prostitution. I made it clear that wasn't going to happen."

  I recalled Cole's fury that night, and decided that it was perfectly understandable. "Was he trying to recruit Michelle, too?"

  Cole exhaled. "No," he said. And then a moment later, he added, "Christ, Kat. She works in that trade, okay?"

  "Oh. Right." I hesitated a moment, then pressed on. "Do you pay her? To fuck her, I mean."

  I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, as if he was trying hard to keep a grip on control. "Can we quit with the twenty questions?"

  "I'm sorry." I rolled away, suddenly chilled by the gulf I felt growing between us. "Really. Never mind."

  "Shit." I heard him exhale, then felt the press of his hand against my shoulder. "Shit," he repeated, this time more softly. "I'm the one who's sorry."

  He drew in a breath, and the irony of the situation--me naked and bound with a plug in my rear while we discussed another woman--really wasn't lost on me. "I don't want to have secrets from you." He eased me over so that I was facing him again, and the intensity I saw in his face nearly did me in.

  "But I do have secrets," he continued. "I won't lie to you. But I want to start chipping away at them. So let me start by saying that I don't pay Michelle, but I do fuck her. Or I did. I haven't touched her since you. Haven't wanted to. Haven't needed to."

  He looked at me, and I felt that sweet ping in my heart. "Really?" The word tasted like hope. More, it tasted like love.

  "I told you, Kat. You fill me up. It may take some time for me to figure out what that means, how it manifests. But I know that it's true. Can you be patient, baby? Can you let me find the words my own way, in my own time?"

  "I can," I said, because at the heart of it the past didn't matter. The Cole I'd fallen for was the one I saw in front of me. All the rest was just backstory and gossip. And all of that could wait.

  twenty

  "Cole?"

  "Mmm." He sounded far away and yet right beside me.

  "Before you fall asleep, do you think you could untie me and, you know, all the rest?"

  I heard the low rumble of his chuckle. "I don't know. It's tempting to just keep you like this, bound for my pleasure, mine to take whenever I want."

  "I already am," I said. "You don't need the ropes for that."

  I saw the emotion in his eyes in response to my words. And when he removed the plug and gently untied me, I thought that I'd never known anything more erotic than the simple experience of being tended to by this man.

  Once I was unbound, we lay atop the covers, legs twined so that we were facing each other. I traced my fingertips over his chest, enjoying the way his skin felt against mine. "Thank you," I finally said. "For showing me this. For showing me that I like it, too."

  "Oh, baby." He brushed my cheek, and though there was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice, I couldn't help but see the storm clouds in his eyes.

  "What did I say?"

  He sat up, leaning over in the bed as he took two long, deep breaths. "I'm glad you like it. There's nothing I want more in this world than to give you pleasure."

  He stood up, then turned back so that he was facing the bed. I was sitting up now, wary because of the measured tone of his words. I wanted to beg him to explain what the trouble was, but I also knew that he would. He just needed to take his time, and I just needed to be patient.

  "It's not a question of like for me. It's a need. A requirement. Hell, it's my goddamn sustenance." His eyes were locked on my face, and I don't know what he saw there. Understanding? Maybe a little. Mostly, I wanted to simply hug him, because no matter what I did or didn't understand, I knew that he was hurting. And all I wanted--all I would ever want again--was to see this man happy.

  "I want to help," I told him simply. "I want to understand."

  "I know," he said. "I want that, too. I told you I didn't want secrets, and I meant it. But that doesn't mean it's easy."

  "No," I said. "It doesn't. I think the hardest thing I've ever done was tell you about Roger."

  "You're stronger than me, Katrina Laron. But then again, I've always known that."

  "And that's just bullshit," I said. "Just tell me. No matter how hard or how horrible or how complicated, just find the beginning and start there."

  He looked at me for a long moment, then pulled me close and kissed me hard. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, and I scooted over to sit beside him, one leg tucked beneath me so that I was at an angle to face him.

  "You have Roger living in the shadows of your life," he began, his matter-of-fact words somehow managing to drip with pain. "I have Anita."

  I reached out and took his hand, then held it tight in mine. I said nothing, but I knew that he'd continue when he was ready.

  "I didn't think I'd ever talk about her. I wanted to forget her. To pretend the bitch didn't exist."

  "But she did exist," I said softly. "And even if you could forget her, it wouldn't change whatever she did to you. But it helps to talk about it." I managed a small, supportive smile. "In case you were wondering, I have it on good authority that talking about childhood shit with someone you care about helps a lot."

  He held tight to my hand for a moment, then released me and stood up. After a moment, he moved to the window and spread the curtains wide. It was late now, the sky pitch-black, the stars unable to push through the curtain of ambient light that rose like a halo to surround the city.

  Beyond Cole, I could make out the silhouette of buildings, most just a few stories tall, that filled the view before ending abruptly at a dark expanse of ocean that seemed to reach up and merge with the deep black of the night sky.

  "I was eleven when I got in tight with the gangs. Young, but not for that life. Especially not for a kid like me who needed cash. Because it was just me and my grandmother and my aunt, and it was me who took care of them. There was no other man, not who stuck, and I don't think I would have relied on someone else, anyway. How could I when my grandmother had taken
me in and worked herself to the bone taking in laundry and sewing when my bitch of a mother had dumped me on her? And then was left with nothing when her mind started to go?"

  "Where is your mother?"

  "Dead," Cole said, without any emotion at all. "She was a junkie and a whore, and she died when I was five. And good riddance to the bitch. She'd already poisoned herself. Poisoned me. She drank, smoked crack, did god knows what when she was pregnant with me, and then gave birth to a scrawny, screaming baby who was as much an addict as she was."

  I sat frozen, completely clueless as to how to respond to something like that. What I wanted to do was stand up and hug him. What I did instead, was simply give him space.

  "Fuck," he said after he ran his hands over his head and sucked in air. "I didn't mean to get off on all that. Point is, my grandmother took care of me practically from the day I was born. Made me work, made me think, made me something better than I would have been. So when early-onset Alzheimer's started to kick in, I knew I'd be the one to take care of her and my aunt even though I was only eleven."

  "Not an easy thing for a kid," I said.

  "No, not easy. And damned near impossible if you want to come by the money legitimately. But if you're not too picky, then there's always the gangs. And since the gangs are there--right under your nose from the first moment you set foot in the world--they already feel like home. Hell, I was practically part of the Dragons from the moment I slid out of the womb, but when I was eleven I made it official."

  "The Dragons? That was the name of the gang?"

  He nodded.

  "That's why you have a dragon tattoo."

  "No. I have the tattoo because I got out." He turned so that I had a better look at his back. "The gang sign was a small dragon on the right shoulder. See it?"

  I peered, then found an outline of a dragon hidden inside the bolder, wilder artwork of the beautiful creature that covered Cole's back.

  "This one's mine. I drew it. I designed it. I hired the artist to do the needlework. And the most important part was covering up that mark. Making my own symbol."

  "It's wonderful," I said, feeling absurdly proud that he had not only done that, but that he'd thought of it. "You took something horrible and made it beautiful."