Shadow Reaper (Shadow Riders 2)

He had the rope in his hand, it was always there, an extension of him, and this time, when he grasped her wrists, he was decisive. In charge. He felt her pulse jump and her heart accelerate. Good. He wanted her entire focus on him. He lifted his head just enough to break their kiss, to look into her eyes as he pulled the robe from her body and allowed it to pool at her feet.

He loved the way the black lace looked on the floor around her bare feet. He would photograph her that way, but he knew he wouldn't share that particular picture with anyone else. This was the night he was going to make Mariko irrevocably his. He wanted to read every thought, her body language, the things she said to him without speaking.

When he pulled her arms so decisively behind her back and bound her, he heard--and felt--the air leaving her lungs softly. Her lashes fluttered but not before he caught the flare of desire in her eyes. Her gift to him was precious. Something to cherish. He knew a woman like Mariko would never submit her body this way to a man she didn't trust implicitly. Never.

He was humbled by her generosity. His body was as hard as a rock. He'd never had a problem wanting women. He liked them, and he'd loved sex until a few months before the accident when it seemed everything was the same. He was going through the motions. Jaded. He hated that word, but he knew he'd embodied it.

"You're not getting a bargain, Mariko," he whispered in her ear as he tightened the ropes, declaring his intention to keep her. She might not recognize it yet, but he was talking with the one thing that was always constant in his life. Always grounding. His ropes.

Her lashes fluttered again and then she was looking into his eyes. He didn't know if he was drowning or if she was, but he moved the rope along her back, the sweet curve of her shoulders, fastening the pentacle harness he loved against her skin. This time her breasts were bare and he could worship them as he quickly built the frame of his vision around them, along the tender undersides, laying the ropes carefully on her skin so there was no discomfort.

He worked quickly and decisively, but kept his hands on her bare skin, stroking and caressing, letting the rope subtly help him with licks and bites of flaring heat. He paid attention to the way she sucked in her breath, her eyes widening, the dark of desire creeping into the beautiful hazel, making them pure amber.

He stepped very close again, seeing the haze in her eyes as he kissed her gently. Tenderly. His mouth wandered down her throat over the curve of her left breast. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, teasing, watching her reaction closely. The lift of her breasts as she inhaled sharply. The way she moved into him, not away. Satisfied that she was giving herself to him, he suckled her right breast, bringing every nerve ending to life.

Ricco took his time, a slow dance of seduction, lavishing attention on her breasts even while his hands moved with new rope, the one with the measured knots. One between her breasts, hooking onto the harness there. One just below her ribs and one pressed tight into her clit, almost like before, but this time, right over it where every movement would send a streak of fire racing through her body. He passed the rope under her and back up between her sweet cheeks to attach it to the halter.

When she was drifting in the haze of desire, he caught the harness rope and cinched down, sending streaks of lightning through her breasts as well as rubbing sensuously over her sex. He saw the ripple on her flesh as her body came alive, crying out for release.

Mariko gasped, her eyes flying open, centering on him immediately. Exactly what he wanted--and needed. Her complete focus. He smiled wickedly at her and teased the rope so that it vibrated over her sweet spot, sending more ripples of pleasure through her body. He could give her so much more. So much. He wanted her to look at him and feel aroused. He wanted her to see or smell the ropes and feel that same way. Every time she saw a rope, he wanted her to see only him, to want only Ricco.

He'd never used his art for seduction--or for erotic play. He knew his brothers thought he did, but for some odd reason, he had separated the two things in his mind so completely that having a woman in the ropes wasn't a turn-on to him. Women were, not the ropes. He had no interest in bondage other than as an art form. He'd learned because he studied everything about the art. He loved the old prints from Japan and he liked to study the masters' works.

The art of bondage was beautiful to him, but he'd never found it particularly seductive. Now he understood why. For him, there was Mariko. Only Mariko. He wanted to give her everything he was. The ropes were a part of him and he had extensive knowledge on how to keep her on the very edge of ecstasy for a long time. He wanted that for her. For them.

He had kept himself separate from the women he fucked. He gave them pleasure, but he didn't give them him. The ropes were part of him. A big part. No matter how sensual other women found Shibari, something in him had always refused to follow through and have sex while they were in the ropes. With Mariko, he wanted sex with or without. Any way he could have her. He wanted ultimate pleasure for her always.

He began to wrap the corset, making certain that each time he moved her body, directing her with his hands, he vibrated the rope. She rewarded him with her gasp of pleasure. He felt her body melting with each wrap of the rope. Each time he tied her, he had the sensation of wrapping her up in him. His arms. His body. His lust and love.

He laid each line with a firm command, but it was his love he was laying on her body so exposed for anyone to see. He knew she thought she was exposed to him--her secret desires, her needs, even her hunger for him. He saw all that. It was there in her body's response. The peaked nipples, hard as rocks. The damp collecting between her legs--he desperately wanted a taste of that.

She thought it was her exposure, but if she was watching, if she looked with more than her eyes, if she let the shadows tell her, it was Ricco Ferraro laying himself at her feet. She thought she'd given control over to him when she gave him the gift of her body for his canvas. In reality, she had all the control.

He knew with every line, he was exposing his love, his lust, his very need of her. His absolute commitment to her. He'd never felt so raw before or so vulnerable. Every time he'd worked with ropes, he now knew it had been a practice for this moment--with her. The ropes were wrapping her flesh and he knew that each wrap was him sinking into her, deeper and deeper.

He felt his hand tremble, when he was always confident, always the dominant. She did that to him, with the corset of red and black, the deep blue decorative triangle he'd added to the front and the herringbone spine down the back. It was more than decoration. Each pull of the rope sent vibrations teasing her body with the knotted rope wrapped around her, front to back, a part of him seducing her with every touch.

He stepped back to view his creation and it left his heart hammering, his cock hard and pounding with need. He caught the ropes between her breasts and pulled her to him, so that her body melted against his. He took her weight easily.

"Next time, I'm going to tie you on your knees, the ropes in your hair, holding it up off your neck." His teeth teased her vulnerable nape. "I keep seeing the image of you like that. I know exactly how I'm going to tie it." He had to distract himself, but there was no distraction, not even trying to think ahead. The moment he thought about tying her on her knees, her head pulled back by the rope in her hair, he couldn't stop the image of her sucking his extremely painful cock into sweet oblivion.

"Would you like that, Mariko? How do you see yourself tied?" He whispered the temptation against her neck, suckling gently but persistently until he knew there would be a small strawberry there.

Her breath came in ragged little pants. Her eyes were glazed and she fought coming back from the floating euphoria where he'd sent her. He fucking loved that.

"I love any way you tie me," she said. Her voice was soft. Her body squirmed in the ropes. Needed. Was hungry.

"I want to photograph you. For us. No one else. Are you okay with that? Can you stand where I put you?"

She touched her tongue to her lips. He groaned and

traced her mouth. "I love your lips. I'm feeling a little desperate to have them under mine--or wrapped around my cock." He said it deliberately, watching her reaction closely. He wanted to seduce her, that was true, and he was willing to use any means at his disposal, but he would never want her to feel so vulnerable in the ropes that she thought he might force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

She licked her lips again, causing his cock to jerk hard. "I've thought about those very same things," she confessed. Her voice was soft, but it was confident. "And yes, I can stand while you photograph me, but my body is burning up."

He flashed another wicked grin. "Good. I love how you look right now. So hungry, farfallina mia. I hope all that hunger is for me." He hoped it was for Ricco, the man, not only Ricco, the rigger.

She lifted her chin. "It is." Her eyes met his.

His heart jerked as hard in his chest as his cock did in his pants. He had to move before he did something stupid like take her like a madman right there on the floor. It wasn't what he wanted with her.

He'd been so focused on creating certain images that somehow the person was just a canvas, no matter how sexual the pose. With Mariko, he was so focused on her that every tie was personal, sexual and erotic. He realized, with her, he could easily be into bondage. He fucking loved how she looked in ropes and it was a complete turn-on to use his erotic secrets on her body.

He steadied her, brushed her neck with another kiss, and then checked her hands to make certain they were still warm. "Wiggle your fingers for me. Are you numb anywhere?" As a rider she was in superb physical condition, and he knew that helped.

"No. I'm fine. Just . . ." She shivered. "Needy."

His wicked smile flashed again. He liked her needy. He gave the rope another tug, wanting to keep her right on that edge. He pooled the black lace robe around her bare feet and adjusted the lighting. The camera loved her. He took several pictures with various lenses, from every angle. The longer he looked at her through the lens, the more he wanted her.

Abruptly he put down the camera. He had to know. It was too important to him. His hands automatically went to the ropes. Now they would forever have her scent on them. Her ropes. No one else would ever see or feel them. Slowly he unwrapped her, removing the coils, unknotting each decorative rope, sliding them through his hands to feel her warmth and to make certain there were no splinters.

"Don't slouch, farfallina mia. I know you're tired but I don't want any ropes to pull or move on you while I'm untying. I can cut you out if you're too tired."

She shook her head. "I'm not." There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

Standing behind her, his fingers on the knots, removing the coils from around her body, he put his mouth against her ear. "I want you with every breath I take."

"I want you the same way." There was no hesitation.

"Me? Or the rigger? The rope master?"

"It's the same thing."

"No, baby, it isn't." With the corset off, he tugged on the knotted rope so that she cried out softly, her skin flushing a soft rose. "I will agree it's part of me, but I don't want or need ropes to make love to my woman. I need to know if you need the ropes to want to be with me."

Her long, feathery lashes fluttered. Lifted. He found himself falling into those beautiful amber eyes. Flecks of green had intrigued him when he'd first met her, there in the conference room of the Ferraro Hotel. Now her eyes were all amber, exotic, a cat's eyes.

"I came here tonight not to be your rope model," she admitted, looking him straight in the eye. Her voice rang with truth. With absolute certainty. "I wanted to seduce you, and I noticed when you tied me you were aroused. I thought if I came to you the way you asked, dressed in the robe and nothing else, I'd have a chance."

His eyebrow shot up. His hands were moving faster, sliding beneath the rope to ensure she didn't get burned or pinched as it coiled in his hands. "I get aroused because it's you I'm tying. I don't see other women when I tie. Their bodies are canvases I work with or practice on. I don't fuck them after I tie them."

He removed the knotted rope carefully. It was her rope now. He cleaned all his ropes with care, but this one would always be special.

Her eyes didn't leave his. She didn't blink. She looked at him as if he'd grown two heads--or she didn't believe him.

"Mariko, I don't bring women to this house. Ever. I've never had a woman in my bed. I don't sleep with them. Or want to hold them all night. I don't tie them here; I just created this space after my accident in hopes of finding you. When I'm working, it's all about how the creation looks and the right lighting. The poses are sexual, even blatantly erotic bondage, but for me, working with the rope, the art I create centers me. My mind calms and I see only the creation in my mind."

The harness was gone and she stood very still, hands still tied behind her back. She was naked, her body very flushed and aroused, every nerve ending on fire. She was totally aware of him, just as he was of her. His hands went to the last tie to free her. He hesitated. He loved the Japanese artwork depicting beautiful, intricate ties, men and women in bondage, posing in various positions. He never had considered what it would be like to have his woman completely vulnerable to him--so trusting she would give her body completely into his keeping.

"Any numbness in your arms or hands?" He asked the question as his hands moved over her arms, checking her body temperature.

She shook her head. "None."

He stepped back and looked at her from behind. She was gorgeous. His. He made a slow circle around her, taking in her body with his heated gaze. Devouring her. When he was directly in front of her he tipped her face up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Tell me no if you don't want this, Mariko. Once I have you, there isn't any going back."

He watched her take a deep breath and let it out, her breasts rising and falling, drawing his attention, her thighs rubbing together as if she could alleviate the ache between them.

"You always look so serene," he observed, running the pads of his fingers over her breasts. "Even with your body on fire. It is on fire, isn't it?"

She touched her tongue to her lips and he groaned. She swallowed and nodded slowly. "I need you more than I need to breathe right now. I want you in the ropes or out of them, Ricco. Either way. I'll always welcome you."

He took a breath. Lust and love combined in a fiery need rushing through him like a turbulent storm. He had to stay centered, make certain she was all right before he made his demands. In or out of the ropes. He had everything with her.

"Touch me, Ricco."

He smiled. Wicked. Sinful. He felt both. He wanted to be both. He wanted to be her obsession. Her addiction. The love of her life. He took his time, kissing her throat, trailing kisses down to the curves of her breasts. Making her wait while he just blew warm air on her nipples. She swayed toward him, her breath hitching.

"Are you going to untie me?"

He was. He wanted to feel her hands on him. "I'm beginning to understand the appeal of a woman in bondage. When you get out of hand and go all wildcat on me, I'm going to resort to this."

She laughed softly. "You know I'll like it. It excites me to see what you're going to do next."

He obliged and she yelped when his mouth closed over her breast.

She leaned into him. "I don't know about going wildcat."

He did. She had more pent-up passion than he could imagine--and he could imagine a lot. It was in her bold, direct gaze and the smoldering there in the amber of her eyes. She was definitely going to make her own demands, and the thought of that had him wanting to quit teasing her and untie her so he could feel her hands on him.

"You'll go wildcat on me." He said it with absolute conviction and a hint of excitement. "But since you want to touch me so much, I'm going to untie you."

"You're projecting."

He raised his head from where he was nuzzling her breast to look at her, letting her see how wicked he could really be. "You'

re probably right. The thought of your hands on my cock has been on my mind for a while now. But . . . since you're not ready to be untied . . ."

He dropped down to his knees, taking his time, his hands moving over the curves of her body, his mouth following the same path. Inserting one hand between her thighs, he pressed. "Apart, farfallina mia. Spread them apart and give me room."

She made a little sound that vibrated right through his entire body. Playing was fun, but he wanted to get down to the real thing--making her his. Still, he looked up at her, at the desperation on her face. The hunger. The need. There was demand there as well. His woman was no shrinking violet, tied or not, and he fucking loved that.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I'm not sure I can stand up," Mariko said. She was strong, in great physical shape, but Ricco was pushing her right to her limit. Her body had never felt so on fire, soaring, yet the tension building, always building, coiling so hot and deep she thought she might go insane with need.

"Just for a moment. I need to taste you," Ricco said.

She closed her eyes at the sinful, raw truth in his voice. She waited, holding herself still, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. One moment. One breath. Ragged. She was barely able to draw air in.

"Mariko."

Her name. Velvet soft. Whispering over her like fingers. She looked down at his upturned face. He looked like sin. Like temptation. Like the embodiment of sensuality. For one moment, their eyes met and she was drowning, drowning in him. In her needs. In love for him. She hadn't known love could be so sharp, so terrible. So perfect or brutal.

His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into her flesh, and then he leaned into her and put his mouth over her center. She gasped. It was all she could do. His mouth was hot and wild, his tongue as wicked as his look had promised. Stroking. Flicking. She closed her eyes. The flicking was going to kill her. No, it was the sudden scrape of his teeth. She wanted to move away. She wanted to stay right there. Pleasure radiated through her like a starburst, yet that tension grew and grew until she wanted to scream.