Page 168 of Beat of Love
A Celtic warrior. of old about to devour the sacrificial maiden.
“Think I’ll take it slow after all.” He leaned forward and took hold of the hems of her pajama pants and slowly tugged, exposing her to his gaze inch by inch.
But there wasn’t a sacrificial or maidenly bone in Brandy’s body. She was a woman, alustywoman, one who had waited twenty freaking years for this moment.
Rafferty flung the cream flannel aside.
And Brandy spread her legs.
“Damn, Red.’ He wiped his hand over his mouth.
Her belly flip-flopped.
“Unbutton your top.”
She obeyed, starting from the bottom, slowly working her way to the top, leaving the material in place.
His lips quirked, and his eyebrows hiked up. “I want to see your tits, Red.”
Brandy took hold of the placket and pulled the flannel apart. She sucked in a breath, her hips involuntarily bucking when her finger brushed over her sensitive nipples.
“Venus,” he rasped, running a fisted hand over his cock.
Her arms fell to her side. “Huh?”
“I once visited Florence. Italy. The Uffizi Gallery. Botticelli’sVenusand Titian’sVenushung in that museum.” A look that could only be described as adoration shone from those fathomless blue depths. “You, Brandy-Lyn Powers, eclipse those paintings.”
Motionless,breathless, she held his stare, certain her body was melting right into the mattress. Luckily, she didn’t need bones nor her muscles. Nor the ability to shift a limb.
Because he moved.
With careful, premeditated precision.
He slowly crawled over her, trailing kisses from just above her bikini line and over her bellybutton and up the valley between her breasts. He shifted and, grabbing hold of her hand, he freed her arm from the sleeve and stretched it above her head. And repeated the process with her other arm. He then pulled theflannel from beneath her body and set about winding the fabric around her arms, binding them together with the one sleeve.
Excitement, mixed with a dash of trepidation, coursed through her.
Was he into bondage? More, wassheinto bondage?
No one had ever tried to tie her up, but hot damn, her core spasmed at the idea.
Oh, dear Lord, do I need a freaking safe word with him?
“It’s loose,” he said, meeting her startled gaze. “More of a suggestion than a binding. And no, Red” — he gave her a lascivious wink — “you do not need a safe word.” His expression turned serious. “But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I’ll remove it.”
“Why?” she croaked.
He was back to leaning on one arm. “Why did I tie you up?” he asked, trailing his fingers across her throat and down the center of her body.
She nodded, keeping her eyes centered on his face.
His gaze took a lazy detour down her torso and back up again. He splayed his hand over her abdomen, his pinkie brushing the edge of her pubic hair. “I kinda like seeing you completely at my mercy, Red.”
A shadow flashed over his face. It was there and gone. So fast she wondered if she imagined it.
“Completely under my control,” he said, almost inaudible, swallowing hard. He blinked, as if his words suddenly registered in his mind. A dull flush lit his cheeks, and his gaze shot back to hers. “I can remove—”
Brandy vigorously shook her head. “Leave them bound.” She still recalled his flinch all those months ago when she accidentally touched one of the scars on his back.
