Part 10 (1/2)
Did he feel anything for her? About her? Besides murderous rage? Besides l.u.s.t?
He turned her onto her stomach, lifted her, and dropped her onto the mattress. It was still bouncing as she flipped over to find him waiting for her, that ferocious smile in place. He swung the rope before her eyes like a hypnotistas dangling watch.
”No!” She grabbed the center, tried to jerk it away.
He clutched her wrist and wrapped the rope around the bracelet. Gentlya”he had no reason to be rough; her struggles were getting her nowherea”he pulled her arm up, slid the rope through the bra.s.s posts on the headboard, and grasped her other wrist.
They wrestled.
He won.
When he was finished, the rope wound around one wide bracelet, through the posts, and around the other bracelet. There was play in the rope; she could move her arms twelve inches in any direction, could use the ropes to leverage herself toward the headboarda”but she was tied. ”I hate you so much.”
”You donat yet. But you will.” He pulled out his knife.
A gush of fear struck deep into her core.
He was angry. So angry. The blade gleamed in the light of the lanterns. He pressed the tip of the knife to her throat right over her wind-pipe, and smiled into her face.
”Donat struggle,” he whispered. ”Iad hate to slip.” He ran the point down her throat to the neckline of his T-s.h.i.+rta”and with one clean slice he cut it open down to her waist.
She shrieked, and hated herself for it.
”I told you. I wonat hurt you.” He used the tip of the knife to move the material away from first one breast, then the other.
Her nipples hardened from the cold . . . and maybe from the slow, betraying touch of his hungry tongue to his lower lip.
That blade cut the sleeves. The T-s.h.i.+rt lay beneath her in ruins.
He slipped the knife into the leather holster strapped on the headboard. He used his hands, one each, to press her clenched fists. ”So rebellious, ” he chided. ”It wonat do you any good. Iam bigger, Iam stronger, and I already know how to make you purr.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrists above the bracelets, then slid up toward her elbow, over her straining biceps, and over her bunched shoulders. ”So much tension.” He used his thumbs to ma.s.sage her tight muscles above her shoulder blade, and his fingertips to ma.s.sage the cords at the back of her neck. ”You wonat be able to keep it up. But definitely you should try. Iall enjoy watching you yield.”
Pa.s.sionate, sharp hatred burned in her stomach.
How could she have welcomed him into her tent, into her bed? He was nothing but a . . . ”Youare a snake,” she said, the accusation dipped in poison.
”No. I am a panther. And you are my mate.”
”No.”
”Weall see what you say . . . later.” He used his thumbs on her nipples. Over and over he rubbed them, first with the pad of his thumb, then with the edge of his fingernail, until she wanted to whimpera”and not from fear.
d.a.m.n him. If he meant to use her, couldnat he be a man and get it over with quickly?
Instead he slid his arm beneath her, lifting her, arching her up to his hungry mouth. He suckled softly at first, then harder, taking almost all of her slight breast into his mouth, manipulating it with his tongue and teeth and lips until her eyelids closed and she found her fingernails clawing the pillows under her head.
With careful deliberation he placed his knee between her legs and thrust his thigh against her.
The hard canvas seam of the jeans rubbed against her c.l.i.t, and her sensation of fullness abruptly became painful.
No, not painful. That wasnat the right word. She was . . . needy.
The b.a.s.t.a.r.d who held her, who moved her on him, had chased her down, marked her as his, scared her to death, and now . . . now he was using all his knowledge of her and probably a thousand other women to make her come. Come so fast and hard shead be ashamed of herself. Of her weakness.
So she gasped, ”Whatas the matter? Canat get it up?”
Slowly he let her down onto the sheets. Rising on his knees above her, he lowered his hands to his worn brown leather belt.
She couldnat look away as, with leisurely care, he pulled the two ends apart, then ............opened the b.u.t.tons, one by one.
He wore underwear, plain white cotton underwear made, by the looks of it, by some American manufacturer. And as he pushed the jeans down, his erection tented the material. He eased his briefs offa”and abruptly the whole business was so much worse.
Shead seen his p.e.n.i.s before. Of course. But today it looked longer, wider. It rose from among the curling black hairs, a pale marble veined with blue, and the mere sight of it made her feel a ferocious desire to touch.
But she couldnat. He had tied her . . . his slave.
She closed her eyes and turned her head away. ”I wish youad hurry this up. I donat know what you do all day long, but Iam sure warlords have some duties.”
He laughed, and it sounded like a purr. ”No. Iam like a hunting cat. There are great, long hours of relaxation, followed by brief bursts of furious activity.”
”Which is this?”
”My favorite combination of both.” Something soft and luxurious stroked her throat, tickled down her breastbone, slipped under the loose waistband of her borrowed jeans to caress her belly. And for a second she thought she felt the drag of a long, sharp claw across her tender skin.
Her eyes shot open.
Above her Warlord leaned on one elbow and examined her face. ”I donat want you to hide behind your lids. I want you completely open to me.”
”What was that?”
He showed her a glorious, colorful peac.o.c.k feather and whisked it lightly across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”This?”
”It felt like . . .” Her gaze fell on him.
His pants were gone. He wore only a tight black short-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt that clung to his muscled chest. His sculpted body was tense with antic.i.p.ation, yet still he coolly dusted her skin with the feather, intent on lifting her past the level of suspense to mindless craving.
He laid his palm flat on her stomach, right above the waistband of her jeansa”his jeansa” and slipped his hand beneath the tough material. He pressed her belly, simply pressed it, and that one point of contact felt so good. Rea.s.suring, kind, as if he cared, not about winning, but about making her happy.
He compelled her surrender based on the most egregious lie of all.
She yanked at the rope.
He watched with interest. ”Testing the knots? That wonat help. I was a Boy Scout.”
”A Boy Scout? Is this what they taught you in camp?”
”No, they didnat offer this merit badge. I imagine camp would have been a lot more popular if they had.”