Shadow Reaper
Page 30
She was a woman any man would be lucky to have, but he knew she belonged to him. He hoped he could get her to feel the same way. He would be asking a lot, to have her accept him as he was – with all the dark places inside of him. Her courage humbled him. The immense trust it took to allow herself to be tied by him, even in the name of art, was astonishing for a woman like her.
It was a true power exchange between them and he loved that. Even craved it. He needed a woman strong enough to accept that he would always need his ropes. They anchored him. Centered him. The moment he touched them, those dark shifting shadows inside him subsided.
He had been careful not to spook her. Right now, with their shadows connected, he could feel her slipping through his fingers. She had fight-or-flight syndrome in full force and he had to make every single moment with her count. He’d risked touching her to get a feel for her breathing. He needed to know in order to minimize the risk to her for potential trouble when he laid the ropes on her skin. He was very careful in his tying, always making certain his model was comfortable and safe, and now, having found Mariko, it was doubly important to him.
He wanted to be further along with her, in a place where he could see her naked body, where she’d give him that as well. Already he could see patterns on her, so many he wanted to try with her, his greatest model, the only one he’d ever have now. He wanted to spend every moment with her.
He used a stalking motion coming to her. Something he couldn’t help. This was his world, and she was his woman, his prey. He was going to seduce her into being just that for all time. He would do so with his ropes. His art. With the sheer force of his will. He would court her gently outside this room and teach her about her own body and that desire could be satisfied in many ways.
He had learned to kill and then he had killed. Many times. Fourteen was far too young for his artistic mind to accept the violence and he’d been fortunate that he’d met his teacher, a rope master of more than forty years. The art had saved his sanity and his life. He needed it like others needed air.
Deliberately moving into the light, so that his shadow connected with hers, he watched her body shiver with awareness as heat and need rushed over him and into her. She was drowning in desire. His? Hers? Their combined desire? He watched her skin flush and knew she felt the way he did. She was very sensitive to him. Open to him. With each line of rope, each pattern he created, he would wrap himself around her, adorning her body with – him.
Mariko couldn’t take her eyes from Ricco as he approached her, the green rope moving subtly, but powerfully, with his body. She didn’t want to panic, but she’d never been so aroused by or aware of a man as she was Ricco. His hands guided her, gently but firmly, in front of a full-length mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself. He was so gorgeous and she was just… Mariko.
He touched the rope to her face, sliding it along her cheek like a caress so she knew he was once again going to use silk on her. For some reason the silken ropes felt intimate, an extension of him. When he touched her with them, even just to slide the coils over her skin, it felt like sex and sin all wrapped up with his scent and his sheer will.
Very gently he pulled both arms behind her, and she felt the ties. Her heart hammered in her chest at the swiftness of his movement, the casualness, as if he’d done it a million times and there was no effort on his part. Just that quick he deprived her of two of her weapons.
She gave that gift to him, her submission to his will. To his art. But she knew now that it was so much more. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the enormity of her ceding power to him – she didn’t know him well enough to know what he thought with other models – but she was certain she had little time left on earth and she wanted her surrender to be to him. To a man she not only found attractive, but worthy.
Keeping his hand around her wrists, he nuzzled her hair aside from her neck so that he could press his lips against her ear. “You’re doing great, Mariko.”
He had to feel her tremble, but his hand smoothed back her hair and his voice held nothing but admiration, respect and praise.
“Are you afraid?”
He waited and she knew he’d wait forever for her answer. He wouldn’t continue. She knew he was giving her the opportunity to stop. She moistened her lips and nodded. “A little, but only of the unknown.” That was the truth, and yet it wasn’t. She was afraid of how he made her feel. Not just vulnerable, but so in need. She was damp with desire. Floating. She’d never felt that before. Almost euphoria.
“That’s my woman.” He whispered the words against the pulse pounding in her neck. His lips touched her ear and then her temple.
She dared then to raise her eyes to look into the mirror directly in front of her. He stood behind her, his head against hers, dark hair falling like sin across his forehead. His gaze met hers in the glass and she knew she would always remember that moment. His expressionless mask had slipped and she saw him, his fierce demons and turbulent needs mixed with dark, ferocious passion. He would never be like other men. He would always be dominant, scary to enemies and yet gentle with those he loved.
He reached around her and wrapped the double line around her torso beneath her pectoral muscles, all the while looking into her eyes in the mirror. His movements seemed effortless, casual, yet she was drowning in his focus, in his complete attention. She was used to disappearing no matter how large the crowd, but it was impossible to do that with Ricco. She was hot under the spotlight of his complete concentration.
She felt dizzy with need. Already her breathing had changed again, from slow and steady to ragged pants of desire. It was impossible to hide it from him. Her needs and desires were completely exposed for him to see, naked on her face, bare and visible on her body. It should have humiliated her. She should have felt embarrassment at the loss of control, but instead she felt a curious freedom.
He reached around her again and did something with the ropes, pulling them snug under her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as he wrapped her breasts and continued creating the harness.
His mouth moved against the nape of her neck. “Breathe for me, farfallina mia.”
She tried. His hands were smooth and sure as the ropes slid over her body, wrapping her up in him. The rope was clearly an extension of him. She felt him in every wrap, every tension. The rope seemed, like her, to be completely under his spell, flying out of his hands to surrender to his will, a sensuous snake dancing to his tune.
She could see a pattern taking shape. A star. He worked fast, efficiently, smoothly, but his concentration wasn’t on the artwork so much as on her and the artwork together. Making her one with both Ricco and the rope, binding all three of them together.
Her mind slipped away as she gave herself over to his care. The ropes licked at her flesh, kissed her just as his lips moved occasionally on her nape as he worked. She lived for those moments. The rope seemed such an extension of him, giving her small sweet licks, gentle strokes, a scorching-hot bite and then back to the kisses. A tendril of fire curled through her body, spreading like a slow burn. Her clit pulsed in tune to her drumming heart. A shudder of pleasure slid up her spine.
It was a true power exchange between them and he loved that. Even craved it. He needed a woman strong enough to accept that he would always need his ropes. They anchored him. Centered him. The moment he touched them, those dark shifting shadows inside him subsided.
He had been careful not to spook her. Right now, with their shadows connected, he could feel her slipping through his fingers. She had fight-or-flight syndrome in full force and he had to make every single moment with her count. He’d risked touching her to get a feel for her breathing. He needed to know in order to minimize the risk to her for potential trouble when he laid the ropes on her skin. He was very careful in his tying, always making certain his model was comfortable and safe, and now, having found Mariko, it was doubly important to him.
He wanted to be further along with her, in a place where he could see her naked body, where she’d give him that as well. Already he could see patterns on her, so many he wanted to try with her, his greatest model, the only one he’d ever have now. He wanted to spend every moment with her.
He used a stalking motion coming to her. Something he couldn’t help. This was his world, and she was his woman, his prey. He was going to seduce her into being just that for all time. He would do so with his ropes. His art. With the sheer force of his will. He would court her gently outside this room and teach her about her own body and that desire could be satisfied in many ways.
He had learned to kill and then he had killed. Many times. Fourteen was far too young for his artistic mind to accept the violence and he’d been fortunate that he’d met his teacher, a rope master of more than forty years. The art had saved his sanity and his life. He needed it like others needed air.
Deliberately moving into the light, so that his shadow connected with hers, he watched her body shiver with awareness as heat and need rushed over him and into her. She was drowning in desire. His? Hers? Their combined desire? He watched her skin flush and knew she felt the way he did. She was very sensitive to him. Open to him. With each line of rope, each pattern he created, he would wrap himself around her, adorning her body with – him.
Mariko couldn’t take her eyes from Ricco as he approached her, the green rope moving subtly, but powerfully, with his body. She didn’t want to panic, but she’d never been so aroused by or aware of a man as she was Ricco. His hands guided her, gently but firmly, in front of a full-length mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself. He was so gorgeous and she was just… Mariko.
He touched the rope to her face, sliding it along her cheek like a caress so she knew he was once again going to use silk on her. For some reason the silken ropes felt intimate, an extension of him. When he touched her with them, even just to slide the coils over her skin, it felt like sex and sin all wrapped up with his scent and his sheer will.
Very gently he pulled both arms behind her, and she felt the ties. Her heart hammered in her chest at the swiftness of his movement, the casualness, as if he’d done it a million times and there was no effort on his part. Just that quick he deprived her of two of her weapons.
She gave that gift to him, her submission to his will. To his art. But she knew now that it was so much more. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the enormity of her ceding power to him – she didn’t know him well enough to know what he thought with other models – but she was certain she had little time left on earth and she wanted her surrender to be to him. To a man she not only found attractive, but worthy.
Keeping his hand around her wrists, he nuzzled her hair aside from her neck so that he could press his lips against her ear. “You’re doing great, Mariko.”
He had to feel her tremble, but his hand smoothed back her hair and his voice held nothing but admiration, respect and praise.
“Are you afraid?”
He waited and she knew he’d wait forever for her answer. He wouldn’t continue. She knew he was giving her the opportunity to stop. She moistened her lips and nodded. “A little, but only of the unknown.” That was the truth, and yet it wasn’t. She was afraid of how he made her feel. Not just vulnerable, but so in need. She was damp with desire. Floating. She’d never felt that before. Almost euphoria.
“That’s my woman.” He whispered the words against the pulse pounding in her neck. His lips touched her ear and then her temple.
She dared then to raise her eyes to look into the mirror directly in front of her. He stood behind her, his head against hers, dark hair falling like sin across his forehead. His gaze met hers in the glass and she knew she would always remember that moment. His expressionless mask had slipped and she saw him, his fierce demons and turbulent needs mixed with dark, ferocious passion. He would never be like other men. He would always be dominant, scary to enemies and yet gentle with those he loved.
He reached around her and wrapped the double line around her torso beneath her pectoral muscles, all the while looking into her eyes in the mirror. His movements seemed effortless, casual, yet she was drowning in his focus, in his complete attention. She was used to disappearing no matter how large the crowd, but it was impossible to do that with Ricco. She was hot under the spotlight of his complete concentration.
She felt dizzy with need. Already her breathing had changed again, from slow and steady to ragged pants of desire. It was impossible to hide it from him. Her needs and desires were completely exposed for him to see, naked on her face, bare and visible on her body. It should have humiliated her. She should have felt embarrassment at the loss of control, but instead she felt a curious freedom.
He reached around her again and did something with the ropes, pulling them snug under her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as he wrapped her breasts and continued creating the harness.
His mouth moved against the nape of her neck. “Breathe for me, farfallina mia.”
She tried. His hands were smooth and sure as the ropes slid over her body, wrapping her up in him. The rope was clearly an extension of him. She felt him in every wrap, every tension. The rope seemed, like her, to be completely under his spell, flying out of his hands to surrender to his will, a sensuous snake dancing to his tune.
She could see a pattern taking shape. A star. He worked fast, efficiently, smoothly, but his concentration wasn’t on the artwork so much as on her and the artwork together. Making her one with both Ricco and the rope, binding all three of them together.
Her mind slipped away as she gave herself over to his care. The ropes licked at her flesh, kissed her just as his lips moved occasionally on her nape as he worked. She lived for those moments. The rope seemed such an extension of him, giving her small sweet licks, gentle strokes, a scorching-hot bite and then back to the kisses. A tendril of fire curled through her body, spreading like a slow burn. Her clit pulsed in tune to her drumming heart. A shudder of pleasure slid up her spine.
