Mirror of My Soul (Nature of Desire 4)

And, oh God. That mouth still suckled her nipples, pulling fire into her lower belly, a fire that was spreading even lower so she was writhing sinuously. Rubbing her mound against his hard abdomen, feeling his erection against her inner thigh. She wanted it higher. Wanted it deep inside again.

Abruptly, he released her from the footboard but left her hands bound until he pushed her down on her stomach on the bed. He unstrapped the wrists only to stretch her arms out across the mattress until her hands were clutching the corner seam. He retied and anchored her to the side rail. On the large bed, her feet just went over the edge. When he put a knee on the mattress between her spread legs, there was a quiet, still moment where he simply stood over her, and she felt him looking at her. Her body vibrated, hips moving in alluring, wanton invitation. Then he destroyed her.

Bending over her, he placed his lips on the cigarette scar at the lowest part of her back, his jaw touching her buttocks. He traced the scar with his tongue, kissed and nibbled it, then moved up to the next one, on the opposite side of the valley formed by her spinal cord.

“There’s only me, angel,” he muttered. “Now and forever. Say it. Mine. ”

“Mine. ”

He paused, his lips on her back, and she strained against her bonds, moving against him. “Mine,” she repeated.

He bit down not so gently, making her moan. “Yes, angel. I’m all yours. Yours. ” He understood. She was grateful because she was beyond the irritating complexity of words. She knew she was already his, had known it deep inside the moment he first came into Tea Leaves and she felt undone by the flash of those amber eyes. But to believe he was something she could keep, not a fleeting fantasy or a dream…

“All yours,” he breathed as he went up her back, his fingers following, tracing her buttocks, his knee moving forward, pressing against her pussy. She arched up, rubbing against him, making tiny mewls of pleasure and need.

“Please, Tyler… I need you inside me. ”

He put his arm under her waist, bringing her up higher, her hips into the air, increasing the strain on the restraints on her arms. When his cock slid in deep, his testicles soft against her inner thighs, a secret, intimate caress of contact, he did not even pause in his thorough attention to her scars. Her breath left her on a moan as he worked his way up her spine. The power of the sensation created by his slow swirling of tongue and the brief presence of teeth was matched by each stroke and withdrawal that dragged fire along her slick channel. Her belly clenched for a climax held just out of reach.

“Oh…” She said it softly, trembling on each stroke, each kiss as if her body were frozen, held in the near state of rapture, her skin cognizant of everywhere it was being touched by his. The muscles of his stomach along her buttocks. His hand braced on the bed so close his thumb brushed her side, the outer curve of her breast, increasing the friction of the spread against her nipples, her desire to have him touch her there. His arm around her waist, holding her secure.

Then he withdrew from her despite her cry of protest and turned her over, twisting the belt. She felt him lie down upon her, his chest pressing down on her aching breasts, his cock finding her again and sliding back in, his body pinning her, holding her so their movements became a dance, her undulation against the relentless, steady and slow rhythm of his penetration. He put his hands up on either side of her face, elbows on the bed, forearms pressed against the underside of her arms where she had them stretched above her head.

“My angel,” he said in a soft, almost reverent voice. She could imagine his tiger’s eyes glowing in the dim light just above her.

She knew he’d chosen this position to seal the intimacy between them. There would be no excuse or rationalizations as escape hatches later. She wished the scarf was gone so that she could meet his gaze, give him that.

“Say it,” he said. She felt his body gathering, the power ready to be unleashed with his release. “I need to hear you say it. ”

“Yours. ” The words tumbled from her lips. “I’m yours. ”

“Sweet angel. Sweet Mistress. ” He nuzzled her ear. Her body was on fire, aching as he drew her higher and higher, both sweating, trembling, him holding back, keeping the pace to deny her release until she made it to a height she’d never known she could reach.

“Beg me, angel. I want to hear you. ”

She sank her teeth into his shoulder, a growl his answer. Catching her hair in his hand, he wrapped his fingers in it, tightening his hold on her. His strokes became more powerful, demanding. “Making love, fucking you, holding you, it makes no difference.

You’re mine, angel. I want you in all ways, forever. ” She bucked beneath him, violent need taking over, a raging want that she needed him to sate. “Please. ” She almost screamed it against his skin. “Please let me come for you. ” The darkness contained him, only him.

“Soon…” He changed his angle again. Gripping him with her inner muscles, she tried to stroke him past the point of control. She strained to lock her legs around him, take him deeper, but he was stronger and kept the pace he wanted.

“Please…Master. Please…” She arched up and he captured one of her nipples, biting down hard on it, even as he surged forward, pounding now, holding her tight.

“Go over, Marguerite. Scream. ”

The music of it broke from her lips before he finished the thought. She arched beneath him, her cunt sucking on him wildly, her body convulsing from the strength of the orgasm. His own roared through him and he used it, thrusting into her again and again, letting the hot streams bring her own climax to new heights, watching her face as much as he could, every nuance of expression, those beautiful lips that had called him Master, the only woman he wanted to do so again.

Her body was damp and strong beneath him yet he felt her fragility, a woman afraid to call herself his. Even more afraid to claim him as her own, because she’d never had anything she’d loved endure, anything she could keep.

In that brief moment of understanding, he grasped why she’d needed to see his vulnerability, a woman’s odd way of knowing a man truly needed her.

If she only knew. He couldn’t imagine breathing without her.

He let her hear him as well, giving his release hard and deep in her, wanting to leave no question in her mind, no part of her untouched by himself.

He loved Marguerite Perruquet. All he needed to do was convince her she could love him back and not lose him.

She strained up in the dim light. “Please. Let me see you. Touch you. ” He removed the scarf, freed her hands. She touched every feature of his face, light, wondrous touches. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she asked. “Mistress or Master…slave. ”