“Fuck that was good.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. Rachel struggled at her bindings, wanting to throw her hands around his neck. His tongue flicked across her bottom lip before pushing into her mouth, sliding against hers to taste his own come.
Her clit throbbed unrelentingly, making her clench and pulse. She kissed him back so hard she could barely breathe. Her lips worked against his, feeling the roughness of his stubble scraping her skin. She exhaled a breathy moan when she felt him suck her lip into his mouth.
“Oh, God, Rachel, the things I want to do to you.” She loved the way his name sounded on her tongue. Broken, raspy, like he was almost spitting out the words. She wanted to hear him moaning it over and again until the two of them collapsed into a hot pool of sweat.
Murphy pushed her roughly back on the seat until her back touched the wall and pulled her legs wide apart. She watched as he dug in his bag again, the muscles in his arms contracting beneath his tan skin.
Then he pulled something out. Something metallic and sharp. Just one glint and she froze against the bench, her back tense and her eyes wide. It was like her muscles had forgotten how to move; she couldn’t even work out how to breathe. He turned around, grasping the thick, wooden handle, and her mouth dropped open as she saw the blade, sharp and curved, tapering into an acute point.
Time slowed to a crawl as he stood up slowly, his arm loose at his side. The knife brushed against his jeans as he reached full height. She could still taste him coating her tongue when she tried to swallow, the dryness scratching at her throat, but the euphoria of a moment ago morphed quickly into fear.
Cold hard panic gripped her, wrapping her body like cling film. Her lips stuck together when she tried to open them, and her voice sounded alien, all scratched and low. “No.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his right hand. Her mind was transported back to Beacon Hill, to David’s nasty smile and the intense fear she felt every time he took her into his special room. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bench, knuckles bleached white. This time her racing heart was all about panic. Terror and fear mingled in her throat, catching her breath, making her eyes sting with tears. She’d just made him come. Why was he doing this?
“Rachel?” Murphy’s soft voice shook her out of her memories. He was looking at her shaking body with concerned eyes. Her vision was watery as she watched him roll his lip between his teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never do that.”
She couldn’t take her eyes from his blade. She couldn’t do anything. Just like with David, the fear paralyzed her.
“Look at me.” His voice was still low, and a little nervous. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached his left hand out, stroking her hair, trailing his fingers through until he reached her shoulder. He cupped it gently, hot fingers burning through her thin sweater.
She was still glued to the seat, her eyes wide with panic. A single tear rolled down her left cheek, finding a winding trail down the contours of her face and pooling by her lip. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
His voice was stilted when he spoke again. “I was just going to cut off your clothes.” He moved away from her, releasing her face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Without turning away from her, he slowly leaned back, placing the knife back in the bag behind him. She watched, still silent, as he moved back toward her, putting both arms around her shoulders. Her chest started to hitch, her body wracked with quiet sobs.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled it into her hair. “I didn’t think.” She let her head fall forward, her face nuzzling into the warm skin of his neck. Her lips pushed against his flesh, feeling a pulse point moving under them and the rushing of blood beneath his skin. His arms tightened around her as she began to move her mouth against his neck, kissing him softly, needing to feel the connection.
“You scared me.”
He pulled her closer still. “I know.” His voice sounded firmer, like he was taking back the control. It gave her strength, the ability to center herself, knowing that he was the one in charge. “I’ll never hurt you—not unless you want me to.”
It was as if he could read her innermost thoughts and knew the thin line that separated her fear from desire. She liked it rough, hell she loved it rough, but not knives. Never that.
She breathed him in, then kissed his neck a final time. “Okay.” Her nerves were steady now. The lust was returning to her body, flushing her skin and speeding her heart. She looked at his face, seeing the need mirrored in his own expression. The way his thick bottom lip dropped open made her sigh with need. Maybe she could bury herself in his arms and forget about everything. Get lost in the pain and the pleasure. Rachel liked the idea of that.
She sat still as a mouse while he drew his hand down the front of her sweater, then across the hem, curling his fingers around the thin wool. He pushed his fingers inside, hands dragging across her skin, making her flesh heated and raw.
When his eyes caught hers, there was nowhere to hide. She looked back at him, seeing how open they were, his emotions like a cloud beneath the surface. There was something going on, something that made his hands brush softly against her skin and his head dip until his lips were inches away from hers.
“I’m going to untie the knots.” He pushed his lips against hers, murmuring into her mouth. He kept kissing her as he took his hands from her waist, pulling them out and around her body. Then he broke off, leaning over her shoulder, and she could feel his fingers pulling at the knots around her wrists. The rope pulled against her skin, making her wince. She’d had rope burn before, usually from struggling too much. This t
ime she’d been too excited to still her movements.
The white rope fell to the floor and he started to rub at her skin, encouraging the circulation. His lips moved back to her neck, dragging against her throat. She wasn’t sure what made it feel so hot—the sensation of blood so close to her skin, or the knowledge he trusted her enough to release her hands. She lifted them up, circling them around his neck, digging her fingers into his hair.
He grabbed her sweater and pulled at the hem, lifting it over her head. It fell onto the bare floor. Her chest heaved, and he watched the way her tits rose and fell with unguarded rapture, his breathing a little strangled, too.
“You have beautiful skin,” he murmured, his voice so quiet she wondered if he even knew she heard him. He reached out a hand and traced the white scars peppering her stomach. “Nobody should disfigure it like this.” The way his eyes narrowed lit a flare of hope in her stomach.
It was an idea she liked too much, the thought of this big man being her protector and not her hunter. She needed to rein herself in, slap herself back into reality. She wasn’t Cinderella, and he wasn’t offering her a happy-ever-after. Fairy tales didn’t happen in real life. But then, nor did horror stories, and she’d had her fair share of those.
She shook her head, trying to get the negative thoughts to leave. Like he knew what she was thinking, Murphy leaned down and grabbed the back of her head, pushing his mouth against hers. Pressing his other hand against her lower back, he pulled her toward him until their bodies meshed. The feeling of his body against hers was enough to push everything else out, replacing her fear with desperation.
“Christ, I want you again.” He pulled away from her lips, brushing little kisses down to her throat. He dragged his lips toward her chest, kissing and licking at her skin like it was something to eat. She cupped his head, clutching at his hair, tugging enough to make him moan.
He turned his head, wrapping his warm lips around her fabric-covered nipple, and dragged his teeth against them. Hot sensations flashed through her body, making them stiffen with pleasure when he sucked and pulled. It felt so very fucking good.