Ignited (Most Wanted 3)

"Picture an X made out

of smooth wooden beams. It's attached to a frame, and that frame is attached to the wall. Your torso rests where the beams cross. Your ankles and wrists at the top and the bottom. Bound, Catalina. You understand that, right?"

I swallowed, then nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me.

"Bound and naked and unable to move. To do anything but feel. I want you to go there, Kat. Go there, take your clothes off, and position yourself on the cross."

I closed my eyes and imagined it. Imagined my steps, slow and hesitant. Imagined putting my feet in place, leaning in, thrusting my arms up.

"It's padded under your wrists and ankles and belly. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," I said. I shifted in the seat, spreading my legs. A slow burn was starting to ease through me, simply from the power of my imagination and the anticipation of the words that were to come.

"Do you know why so many submissives enjoy being flogged?"

"It feels good?"

He laughed. "In a nutshell, yeah. But it's deeper than that. And the truth is it doesn't feel good right away. Pleasure from pain, and you can't get to the one without going through the other."

"Oh." My voice sounded breathy, and just a little concerned. I reminded myself that I was in my car, with nary a flogger in sight. This was a test run. And this was Cole. And this would be fine.

"I'm slipping the straps around your ankles now," he said. "First the left, then the right. Sliding up your body, stroking your inner thighs, teasing your cunt with my fingers. Just a little. Just to make sure you're aroused. That you want it. That your body is primed."

"It is." I realized that my hand had slipped down between my thighs. That I was cupping my sex. And that my hips were gyrating a little, as if seeking just the right amount of pleasure.

"I'm tracing my hands lightly up, over the curve of your ass, then cupping your waist, your sides, then going higher to bind your arms on the cross. Can you feel it?"

"Yes," I said.

"Spread your legs," he murmured, and I realized that I already had. "And arms up and wide. Have you done it?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel?"

"Turned on. Curious. A little nervous."

"The pleasure you feel depends a lot on the buildup. On making sure you're prepared. I like to start soft. Sensual. And there's music, too. Are you familiar with 'Carmina Burana'?" he asked, referring to the soaring cantata that was based on medieval chants.

"Yes."

"It's playing in the background. Can you hear it?"

"Yes," I whispered, and I could. It's one of my favorite pieces, rousing and uplifting and slightly disturbing all at the same time. It was, I thought, fitting to the moment.

"I'm letting the flails trail over your back, your shoulders. Then lower and lower until I'm between your legs, and, oh, Jesus, Kat, you're already so wet."

"Yes," I agreed, because at the moment that seemed to be the only word I was capable of forming.

"I flick it up, the strips of leather catch your sex, tease your clit. It doesn't hurt, the motions are too soft yet, but it's arousing. It ignites you. It makes the burn start to flow."

I swallowed, because I felt it. The buzz of heat between my thighs. The tease of the leather flicking against my sex.

I wanted to lower my hand, to stroke and touch and tease the low pulse of sensation into something wilder and more needy, but I knew that was against the rules, and I kept my hands firmly on the roof of the car.

"I do the same along your upper back--and, Kat, that's where I'm focusing. But the sensation will shoot through you. You'll feel it everywhere. You'll--well, you'll see."

I kept my eyes closed, the better to imagine.

"Do you feel it? The soft rhythm of the leather against your skin? Your upper back, first on one side of your spine and then the other. I'm getting into a rhythm, baby, back and forth, a bit harder, then a bit more, and the flails are landing in the same spot each time so that the sensation keeps building for you, up and up until you reach a point where you're not only feeling it, but experiencing it. Where pain shifts subtly into euphoria. Where you start to float."

"I feel it--oh, god, Cole, I do." I had no way of knowing if it would be the same in real life, but in this imaginary world inside my head, I imagined my back turning more and more red. I imagined the pain rising, and then breaking just at the peak, replaced by something close to bliss. Something that spread through me, warming me, and even taking me outside of myself so that I could fly, tethered by the rhythm of Cole's hand and the knowledge that he wouldn't let me float away.

He kept it up, talking me through what I was feeling, taking me higher, and then just when I was on the verge of floating so high I was afraid I wouldn't be able to come back down, he slowed the flogging, then stopped altogether.

"You're primed, baby, and I'm right behind you now. I can feel the heat radiating off you, and I press kisses gently on the sides of your back even as I slide my hand between your legs and stroke you, my fingers teasing your clit, then sliding inside you. You're so wet, baby, so turned on. You're right on the verge of exploding, and I'm going to take you there. I'm going to help you fly off one more time."

"Please," I said, as I felt the pressure on my clit. As my sex throbbed and clenched, drawing Cole in, seeking satisfaction.

I kept my hands on the roof, but I wanted to touch myself. I wanted to bring myself over. At the same time, though, I wanted Cole to take me there, because he was so close now, and--

"Now, baby. Come for me. Let me feel that sweet cunt clench onto my fingers. Let me feel you explode."

And god help me, I did, my body arching and shaking with such violent release I'm certain I shook the whole car. It washed over me in wave after wave, and there was one strange, giddy, wonderful moment when I feared it would never stop. That I would simply be lost in pleasure for the rest of my days.

But then the shaking began to subside and I could start to breathe again. "Oh, god," I said, and realized that I'd been saying it over and over and over.

"Kat?" There was a hint of worry in Cole's voice. "Baby, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm more than fine." I could still feel the after-effects on my body, warm and tingly, and I knew that I wanted to experience this in real life, too. I wasn't sure what that meant--I'd never really thought that would be something I would like. But I had. I did. "It was, I don't know. It was so much more than I expected."

"I've never," he began, and then stopped.

"What?" I urged.

"You're not even here, and that was one of the most intimate things I've ever experienced."

"But you've done it before, haven't you?"

"Not with you," he said simply.

I closed my eyes, shivering. Wanting to hold his words and the closeness to me. "Oh. Thank you."

Silence grew between us, but not uncomfortable. On the contrary, I felt deliciously close to him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said.

"Do you know how it feels?"

There was the slightest pause, and then he said, "I do."

"So you don't just use it on women, you've actually--"

"Yes."

The thought eased me somewhat. I wasn't sure how I felt about the fact that I liked the sensation of being flogged. Granted, I hadn't actually been flogged, but Cole had made it seem so real. So vibrant, and I couldn't help but believe that I'd responded the way I would when I truly felt the sting of the leather.

Knowing that he understood the sensation as well made me feel less self-conscious about all this stuff I was learning about myself. "I'm glad," I said. "I'm glad you like it, too."

"I need it," he said, his voice flat and even. And then, before I could ask what he meant by that, he added, "Evan's here. I have to go."

The call went dead, and I leaned back against the seat, still breathing hard, my skin still stinging sweetly from the flogging. I felt aroused and deliciously used.

Most of all, I felt cherished.

r />

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that whatever was happening between Cole and me would continue to grow. Because now that he'd gotten inside me, I wasn't entirely sure how I would manage without him.

I don't remember ever going to Perk Up in a better mood. Within fifteen minutes, Glenn had managed to completely bring me down.

"Do you really think the customers want to hear you humming?" he asked me as I filled two cups with coffee for one of the regulars.

"I don't know why they'd mind," I countered.

"Hot date last night?" Sarah--the regular--asked.

I just smiled, too much of a lady to kiss and tell.

Sarah winked as she took her coffee, and I returned to restocking the small fridge where we kept lemon slices and cream.

As soon as Sarah was gone and there were no other customers lingering within earshot, Glenn clomped to me and put his hands on his hips. "That is exactly what I'm talking about. No one wants to hear about your sex life."

I looked up at him, a little indignant, a little confused, and a whole lot pissed off. "I didn't say a word about sex," I countered.

"And you damn well better not." He pointed at the fridge. "Spotless," he said. "And I need you to open tomorrow."

I gaped at him. "I'm off tomorrow."

"Not anymore."

I stood up, accidentally kicking over a pitcher of iced coffee in the process.

"Aw, Christ, Katrina. Clean that mess up, too, and hurry up about it. We're gonna be getting all the students any minute now."

I ignored the growing puddle of coffee. "I'm closing on my house tomorrow. I've had tomorrow scheduled off for weeks now."

"Beth quit. Got a job filing at some law firm. That makes you the next in line."

"Dammit, Glenn, I can't."

He stared at me. "Fine. What time is your closing?"

"Ten."

"You come here, you open. I'll relieve you at nine-thirty. You come back by eleven-thirty." He raised his hands in anticipation of my protest. "Best I can do."

On the one hand, I wanted to kill him. On the other, I thought the fact that he remained alive said a lot about my incredible powers of self-control.

"Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to get this house? How much it means to me?"

"And you should remember that they don't give mortgages to the unemployed. Do your thing and then get your tush back here and clock in."

"Glenn," I said sweetly, "do you know what I like about you?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

"Not a goddamn thing." And then, with as much flourish as I could manage, I yanked off my Perk Up apron, tossed it at his face, and marched out the door.