Leopard's Rage (Leopard People 12)

17

IT’S a good idea that you take a shower and prepare yourself for a very long and intense tie this afternoon, Flambé,” Sevastyan greeted. “Don’t forget to use the lotion the doc gave us. Hydrate. After yesterday, it’s very important that you stay hydrated. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

He’d been up early and was already dressed in his soft drawstring pants. Just the way he was dressed and barefoot would signal to her that he wanted to tie her. “Flamme’s heat will last at least seven more days. Mitya knows I won’t be coming in and I’ve informed your foreman you won’t. I told him not to call unless there’s an emergency.”

“I think I can handle my own business.” She sat up in the middle of the bed, giving him her little haughty look, chin tilted. There were dark circles under her eyes that got to him, but he refused to see them. They had some things to sort out and with Flambé, there seemed to be only one way she would really talk to him. There was a bite mark on her shoulder. His teeth. Not Shturm’s. He felt some satisfaction in that.

He turned his coolest gaze on her and didn’t reply to her statement. “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”

“Downstairs?”

“That’s what I said. Do you need me to repeat myself again?”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, looking very confused as she shook her head. That was good. He wanted her off balance. He needed her to be that way. He turned and walked out of the room without looking back. That was another thing. He’d studied the tapes of the times she’d observed him at the club. His demeanor

. He realized it was the way he took charge that appealed to Flambé. She needed that, yet at the same time, she needed to feel safe. He was good at giving her both.

Sevastyan had helped her shower and bathe, massaged lotion into her skin and put her to bed after the leopards had their time together and had returned in the early morning hours. He’d permitted himself a brief rest and then spent the rest of the time talking to the doctor and doing as much research as possible into the condition she had. There wasn’t a lot on it, other than for humans and what little the doctor had given him for shifters. The data had been bleak. The number of suicides for their kind had been high. There was nothing really known about Strawberry leopards. He wanted that changed.

He had already set up his rigging, which was suspended above a small couch he brought into his den. The large O-ring was hung from a single chain suspended from the ceiling. He would tie his ropes off that, four of them. One that would go for her arm and breast harness. One her waist. The other two her legs. The ties themselves were classics, the harness and legs ties, but the position itself was known as Patience for a reason. She could stay there for a while and contemplate what he had to say. Think about her reply and then if he didn’t like what she had to say, she could think about it some more. They had all day.

If the leopards decided to make an appearance, he could cut her loose fast and when they returned, he would once more follow the doctor’s instructions to keep her safe. He would then tie her in the classic Lesson to Be Learned tie. They had seven days. They might be a long seven days for her, but they were going to work their shit out. She didn’t like talking to him unless she was in the ropes, so she was going to spend a lot of her time in ropes.

He understood why she liked being in the ropes now. Not only why she liked it, but why she needed it. The ropes were tight enough that they felt good on her raw nerve endings. When she became sexually aroused, the bonds helped to keep the terrible burning from turning to pain. He wished she’d been able to articulate to him that she needed rough for a reason.

He took his coffee outside and leaned on the railing. He was never going to be able to come onto their front porch again and look at those two end alcoves without thinking of the wild sex they’d shared. He was already thinking about their indoor garden and how he wanted her to incorporate places for their leopards, but also various heavy beams for suspension. He pulled inspiration from everywhere for his erotic tying. The more he had been around Flambé, watching her with her love of plants, the more he’d studied plants so he could share that interest with her.

Because he loved the practice of tying, he recognized the rope—hemp—used for tying plants. Already, he bought hemp as a rule, and then prepared his own rope, boiling it and preparing it properly himself. He dyed the rope the colors he wanted and then stored the various ropes for use at the club. Now they were stored at the house for one person only. Immediately he had begun to see so many beautiful visuals in the plants and artistic ties with Flambé. He would be able to incorporate those ties with her in the indoor garden the two of them visualized together.

He wanted a state-of-the-art garden so it would it be easy to care for. He didn’t want to have to employ gardeners to take care of something that he wanted private for the two of them. He frowned, thinking about that. Perhaps they should consider making their garden smaller. If they did, it would be less space for their leopards, and fewer ways they could escape if trouble came for them. He would have to talk to Flambé about it, get her opinion. He honestly didn’t give a damn what others thought about his love for rope art, but he knew she was more reluctant to have it known that she craved to be tied.

Sevastyan was back inside the kitchen pouring himself a second cup of coffee when Flambé came down the stairs. She was naked, as he had requested, her hair damp from the shower and pulled back from her head with a cloth band. She had marks on her body, not rope marks, but his personal marks of possession, ones he’d never put on her before, and he found he liked them there.

He went to her, cupped one side of her face to lean down and take her mouth in a gentle kiss. She looked like she needed it. Immediately, she parted her soft lips for him so he could slide his tongue inside her mouth. She tasted of flame and cinnamon. A little bit like nerves. His woman. Off balance when she should have all the confidence in the world. When he lifted his head she chased after him, needing more.

He took her hand and led her into the den. The room was deliberately cooler by a few degrees than the rest of the house. She glanced at the small couch he’d positioned in the corner of the room, the chain and large ring above it. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to his face. He wore no expression as he walked over to the table where he’d set up his equipment.

Flambé stretched. A good sign. She wanted to be ready for a long session with him. She might be sore from the long night and day of sex, fear and wild leopard shifting, but she was ready to be wrapped in the comforting embrace of the ropes. He loved her more and more for that.

“Are you hungry? You don’t seem to eat breakfast, although it’s nearly two in the afternoon.”

She shook her head. “No, for some reason, when I first get up, I have no appetite. I think, when I was a child, I never ate breakfast, which I know is completely wrong, but that’s how I was programmed. Thank you for yesterday, for helping me with Flamme. I was so afraid she’d be trapped in me forever. You . . . surprised me.”

“You never expect much from me.” He kept his tone strictly neutral. He knew she didn’t.

She started to protest. He could see it on her face, but then she stopped because, truthfully, what could she say? She didn’t expect much of him. She thought he would cheat on her. She thought he was a liar. That he would eventually beat her. Ania had told him the conversation Flambé had shared with her. She’d been very upset to discover Flambé had such a poor opinion of shifters.

Flambé stared at the floor, looking lost in thought, even when he had selected his natural-colored hemp rope and come up to her using his decisive walk, the one that normally would have brought her full attention to him. The center point of the rope was automatically in his hand. He ran the rope through his fingers, checking over and over to make certain there were no splinters or debris in it, although he had never used it on anyone else and it had been stored properly. Still, just moving the rope could get kinks out of it so it would lie properly against Flambé’s skin.

He ran his finger along her cheek and then down her shoulder and back, checking her body temperature before grasping both shoulders and moving her very quickly and decisively into position close to the couch in the shadowy corner of the room. He pulled her arms behind her back and quickly tied them. He used a breast harness going under her breasts and around each beautiful mound, knotting in the middle between them, framing them beautifully, straps coming up and around to the back so there was no weight on her neck. Both arms and her body would help bear the weight of her suspension.

Sevastyan ran his hand down her belly and caressed her bottom every time he moved around her with the ropes as he created his webbing to the O-ring and her right leg, now outstretched, while she balanced on her left. Every touch increased her awareness of him and of her body, of her sexual needs.

Her ankle, thigh—in two places—and waist were all connected to the O-ring for stability. He quickly wrapped his rope around her left thigh and connected it to her left ankle and slowly bent her leg until her heel touched the back of her thigh. He anchored her thigh and ankle to the O-ring so she was suspended just above the couch as if she was lying sideways on it.

Very deliberately, Sevastyan ran his hand over her body once more to check for any problems. “Are you uncomfortable? Any tingling? Blood supply cut off? Nerve endings painful?” Again, he slid his hand into her palm, checking to make certain her hands were warm.

She shook her head.