Page 64 of Conquer
My belly flips, sensing him even closer. A prickle of heat along my cheek alludes to his nearness. Then…
Whoosh!
I fall.
Stop short.
Raise again even higher.
Descend twice as fast.
It’salmosttoo much. Almost. But the tension of the fabric is just a hairsbreadth on the side of more restraining than restricting. My body feels unnaturally loose—less like I’m a fly stuck in a spider’s web, but more as though I am the spider. One whose web is being meticulously manipulated by a beast with devious intentions in mind.
But in the end, I still have some level of control.
Or not.
A featherlight touch along my jaw has me inclining my head toward the source, desperate for any clue of what lies in store.
“So beautiful,” I hear Vadim say, his voice throaty and gruff. That gentle touch steadily inches downward, brushing the trembling column of my throat. “You wanted me to show you how I feel?” What I think is his thumb caresses my windpipe. “This.”
Again, my binds are manipulated. The world shifts, and in a dizzying display of motion, I sense that I’m now suspended at an angle, slanted with my head downward judging from the blood rushing toward it. The strip beneath my belly still provides enough support that I don’t feel in danger of falling. Just disoriented like hell.
“Always on edge,” Vadim explains, his voice even closer. A prickling heat over my shoulder blades makes me envision him standing before me, stroking his fingers through my hair. “Like everything I knew no longer provides the same structure. The same support. You’ve taken that away from me.”
Have I? I suck in a breath, mulling over the description.
“No one else would ever dare,” he adds in a dangerous murmur. The air shifts again as the binds around my wrist tighten while the ones around my ankles loosen. My stomach flips as I wind up upright, leaning slightly against the strip across my belly, my hands stretched above me, while my legs are slightly bent behind me.
I definitely hear him now, moving to stand nearby. Then I feel him. A slow, hungry kiss against my eager mouth. Groping fingers cupping my breasts.
But, even as my body melts beneath his ministrations, I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m unable to touch him in return. A shudder runs through me as I recall his deliberate phrasing.You’ve taken that away from me. So, he’s retaliated by robbing me of any chance to turn the tables. Taking away my own sense of support.
But damn is it a glorious exchange. In return, he gives me a teasing, sparse bit of contact I never knew I needed. My body contorted like this, every nerve and sensation are enhanced tenfold. I can feel every ridge of his fingers. The softness of his tongue. Being helpless is surprisingly…
Kinky.
But I never forget his grated statement, or the way he said it.You’ve taken…
And in return, he devours. I’m never sure of where he’s standing or how exactly he’s touching me. Just that he is—near, there, everywhere somehow all at once. I’m a puppet on his strings, capable of moving only as much as he’ll allow.
It’s so disorienting. I lose track of up and down. Left and right. Gravity. My sense of direction comes solely from him. His mouth, grazing my jaw, inching down to my breast, encasing the nipple. Sucking…pain. Warmth of his tongue to soothe the sting. Then again.
Again.
Again.
I don’t realize how turned-on I am until he adjusts my legs, making them chafe and bringing painful awareness to the moisture gathering there—that’s how distracted he has me. I’m feeding off every bit of physical contact he’s willing to give. I’m thriving on it. Growing mad on it…
But it’s as if he’s avoiding true stimulation on purpose, making me wait. Ache. Throb in a way I never have. My thoughts start to dissipate, scattered by his searching, grasping fingers. Down to my hips. Up across my ribcage and around to my healing scars. One by one, he gives every wound his own unique brand of attention, caressing the flesh around each with worshiping reverence before turning to my breasts again. Lower.
But never too low.
I’m biting my lip so hard I taste blood just to keep from voicing a plea. Sweat slicks my skin, making the fabric chafe with every swaying motion, but the slight friction only enhances my sensitivity more. A moan breaks loose before I can help it, but the low sound seems to trigger something in him.
Finally,his touch slips between my splayed legs, his voice dripping into my ear. “I have you,” he tells me throatily as one of his fingers invades, working past my contracting muscles. “Don’t I? I have you.”
Mindless, I nod, lost to the feeling of his touch.
