Leopard's Rage (Leopard People 12)

To be honest, Flambé was really very proud of the design. She’d worked hard to bring it to life. It hadn’t been easy to work with Cain at first. His idea of the Garden of Eden clashing with the Garden of Sin had been a little extreme for her. She’d had to envision the concept as another landscaping job, with intriguing puzzles that would have to be solved. She liked puzzles. She liked to find ways to make really bare spaces beautiful. Sometimes clutter needed to be bare. It could be that simple. She needed to spend time in the space and understand it.

She needed a trellis of some kind for the exotics he wanted to grow up and over, to wind around. Cain wanted to incorporate a piece of equipment called St. Andrew’s Cross. It was far too big and bulky. She couldn’t find a place for it in her space, although she told him in the newer section she would try. Then he came up with a different one. This was a sleeker design, more of an hourglass shape and one she thought she could work with if anchored properly. It was called a BDSM Triangle Cross. She didn’t care what it was called as long as it didn’t move. Cain’s men had installed it a couple of weeks earlier, in the hopes that the plants would arrive.

Flambé hadn’t yet decided how best to use the cross. It was situated in a corner where the very expensive plants wouldn’t be trampled on by accident. She worked around the space, occasionally stopping to study it. One flowering tree was close to it, but if it became a problem, she would prune it or teach Cain how to.

Usually she could envision exactly how she wanted the flowers and vines to drape over the existing wood to show them off at the height of their beauty, but for some reason, every time she looked at the cross, she thought of Sevastyan and her body reacted. He had been very upset with her when he dropped her off. He’d left two bodyguards, one at the front door and one at the back, basically threatening them within an inch of their lives if anything happened to her.

They had gone back to the house and both had showered and eaten and she’d informed him that the plants had to go into the ground immediately or they would be lost. They were that sensitive. She was fine going to the club alone or with bodyguards. He had said little, but then, he didn’t have to. Those focused eyes of his had sent a chill down her spine. She was playing with fire. With the devil.

She just needed time to think. She wasn’t someone who usually made snap decisions. He probably thought she was because she’d accepted his claim on her leopard. She couldn’t blame him for his assessment of her. She cursed the fact that she needed sex so much. She didn’t want to explain why, and being around Sevastyan had turned that terrible raw need into a craving that was so strong it bordered on obsession of him. She couldn’t think straight when he was around.

The worst part was, she’d thought sex would satisfy her and she could walk away, as he did so easily from all those other women—as clearly he could from her. She found, with him, she wasn’t built that way. Something about him got to her and not just in a sexual way. He got to her deeper. That was where she was going to get into trouble. She had to figure out very fast what she was going to do. What the truth about Sevastyan Amurov really was.

Normally, she was good at reading people. That was a major part of her gifts. She could size up a person the moment she saw them, spoke to them or just watched or listened to them for a few moments. She could read their character, but even after spending time with Sevastyan and being in his head, he was still an enigma to her. That was frightening in the face of all the rumors about his family and his admissions about them. More, after the things she’d overheard at his cousin’s home . . .

There wasn’t a single sound. Not one, but Flambé knew he was there. Her body reacted first, goose bumps rising all over her skin. Her nipples hardened. Her sex clenched. She just knew.

She glanced up as Sevastyan entered the long, wide, glassed-in garden of paradise. Her breath caught in her throat. He was wearing only his soft drawstring pants, his chest bare, and there were several bundles of ropes in his hands. He looked remote. Merciless. So completely the man she’d first seen in the club who had robbed her of her abi

lity to think or sleep for weeks on end. She sat back on her heels, blinking up at him as he dimmed the lights in the garden even lower than she already had them.

“Go. Prepare yourself for a very long session. Hurry. I don’t want to be waiting long. When you return, come back to this exact spot. Hydrate, Flambé.” He indicated the water bottle she’d brought with her and set on the table near the door but hadn’t yet touched.

Heart beating fast, Flambé got up and walked to the nearest restroom, ducked inside and took care of business, washing her hands thoroughly and staring at herself in the mirror. She looked terrified and excited beyond belief. He did that to her. A part of her was so afraid he might leave that she hurried back out, catching up the water bottle and drinking from it as she returned to where she’d been working.

He indicated the ground and she knelt back amongst the vines in the exact spot where she’d been planting new flowers.

“Strip. Everything. Fold your clothes neatly and put them on the bench, but do it right from there. Don’t get up.”

That voice. He issued the command in a low, compelling tone, velvet over steel. The tone seemed to brush along her nerve endings, sending sparks igniting fires in her veins, her sex, her deepest core. She didn’t think to object. She didn’t want to. She needed to give him everything he demanded or could ever desire. She had needed him from the moment she had first opened her eyes that morning. She didn’t care that she still was unsure if she wanted to be in a relationship with him, she wanted sex with him—like this. Just like this.

She unbuttoned her blouse with trembling fingers and folded it just as he ordered, placing it on the bench, which was just barely in reach. Her bra followed, allowing her generous breasts to spill out into the open. At once her nipples tightened in spite of the heat inside the glassed-in garden. She glanced at him from under her lashes, feeling very feminine, but he looked aloof, as if he didn’t notice her body at all. For some strange reason, that sent liquid heat dampening her panties. She quickly worked at pulling her jeans and the thong over her hips and down her legs to slide them off along with her sandals.

Once she had her clothes and shoes on the bench, he indicated the ground with the ropes. “Get back on your hands and knees and come to the center just under this tree, close to the cross.”

Her heart went crazy as she crawled, using the fluid, sexy movements of her leopard’s sleek form, hips undulating temptingly, breasts swaying, as she put each hand and knee carefully down until she got to the exact center under the blossoming tree. She didn’t look at him. She stared straight ahead at the thick flowering bushes she’d planted in all directions, the lacy leaves climbing up trellises she’d cleverly provided so anyone sitting at the high tables could see through the glass into the viewing rooms.

Flambé couldn’t hear him. Not a whisper of sound. Even his clothing didn’t dare slide against a limb or leaf. His fingertips touched her left buttock, nearly making her jump. A whisper of a touch, but it felt like a brand against her skin—searing her straight to the bone. She did her best not to move, but she trembled in anticipation. His fingertips trailed up her spine, feeling like tongues of fire licking along her back.

His legs came into view. His thighs. He seemed so big towering over her. Invincible. She touched her tongue to her lips. He could make her so crazy for him so fast, it was insane. Now he only had one bundle of rope in his hands. Where had he gotten the rope? Had he brought them with him? She knew he had a storage locker at the club. He had a membership there. In fact, Cain considered him a VIP. Just the idea that other club members might catch a glimpse of him or his work brought many members in night after night. Cain had told her that.

It was shocking to her that she had him all to herself. He stood there in silence, looking down at her while her body coiled tighter and tighter, heat gathering along with the need to feel the ropes wrapping her in their embrace. The ropes were so much a part of him. Just keeping her like this, on the edge of anticipation, made that place inside of her all the more open to him.

The rope was a bright red. Crimson. It slid through his hands, a part of him. She knew he was checking for slivers as it passed through his fingers. He moved over to the cross anchored in the corner and her heart stuttered and then accelerated as he tested the sturdiness of it, pushing against it with the strength of a leopard. It barely moved.

He indicated for her to stand. He didn’t help her. He just waited for her to rise and then he walked around her, this time his fingers trailing on her pulse, a whisper of a touch, hand checking to see how cold or warm her skin was. He slipped the rope over her shoulders and began to build a harness in the fast, sure way he had, this one quite different than the one he had used before. The knots were thick, hard, the harness more of a yoke, coming under her breasts and between them, the knots going down to form a diamond around her belly button and then wrap around her waist, thick strands coming from several angles off the diamond for support. He caught her arms behind her and pulled them tight, binding them into the weave of knots going up her back and into the yoke. He added rope positioned directly over her nipples, pulling tight enough that she felt the burn if she moved.

He tied more rope to the diamond and quickly added thick knots down the front of her to her crotch and back between her cheeks as if it were a thong, but the knots were very large, rubbing against her pussy lips and the hood of her clit, spreading her cheeks with any movement. She stayed very still, her lungs filled with the scent of him. Her mind filled with the need of him.

He walked around her, carefully inspecting his ties, checking her pulse as he did. Making certain her skin was warm and her circulation hadn’t been cut off. More rope wrapped up very high around her thigh and then around her ankle. He positioned her very close to the cross. The small movement sent the ropes sliding over her body and sent every nerve ending screaming with need.

Her wild gaze jumped to the cross to see his ropes had already been threaded through the various rings at the top of the two wooden beams. He pulled her easily into the air, a slow rise, her weight evenly distributed. Nevertheless, it was shocking and frightening when she was no longer on the ground.

He tightly pulled up the leg tied at the ankle and thigh so her knee was drawn up and out. He secured her knee to her waist, exposing her damp crotch to him. Her sex pulsed. Her heartbeat pounded right through her sheath as he tied her other leg and pulled her knee into position.

Again, he was careful, checking her pulse, touching her body to ensure her circulation wasn’t cut off. He stood in front of her, looking down at her in silence for what seemed like forever before he retrieved a small camera from somewhere behind her. He walked around her taking several pictures.

“I hope you’re ready to talk to me, Flambé.” His tone was casual. Low. Velvet over steel. “You do look really beautiful and so much a part of this garden. I think you outdid yourself. I’m a little jealous. Perhaps you’ll have to make us something similar, although for us, I would like you to think in terms of suspension throughout our garden since it is something I like to tie and you like to be in.”