Page 13 of Kidnapping the Duchess
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daria
I’ve gone mad.
That’s the only explanation for why I’m taunting the man who’s kidnapped me and tied me naked to his bed. Or someone’s bed; there’s no way it’s his. My father pays a good wage, but not good enough to afford something like one of Auntie Lisbeth’s summer cottages, which are larger and more lavish than even our dukedom manor.
As Izak moves around the bedroom, anxious butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea what he has planned except at any time he could press a button and send waves of vibrations through my achy bundle of nerves. It’s the constant “will he, won’t he” that has me on edge. That, and the fact that he’s worked me up three times already without a release, which by now is enough to make me positively violent.
He retrieves the black duffel and sets it on the end of the bed. Then, staring into my eyes, he pops each of the buttons on his dress shirt loose. I lick my lips, unable to hide my hunger as he reveals a muscular chest dusted with hair and blocks of abs that trail into the waistband of his pants. It’s my first glimpse of him in anything other than a full suit, and I feel struck dumb. He’s cut like smooth granite.
Trying to distract myself, I nod at the bag. “What’s all in there?”
Reaching in, he pulls out a familiar purple Hitachi wand and a paperback.
“Fan of romance novels, are you?”
He smiles and walks around the bed to plug in the large massager. “They make for great research tools. Especially when someone takes the time to highlight things that really turn her on. I’ll give you an example.” He tosses his shirt on a nearby chair, then unfastens his belt. “In Once Upon Her Dom, the hero ties his sub to the bed and gives her a lesson in—”
“Orgasm denial,” I say, stunned. He really did look through my books. More than that, he plans on using that knowledge against me. Or, I suppose, for me. He knows I’d never tell him what I like if he asked, and he made it all too clear that he never guesses. Once he discovered the treasure trove in my bedside drawer, he must’ve thought he hit the jackpot. I’m equally annoyed and excited, which is par for the course when it comes to my feelings for my bodyguard.
Speaking of body… Izak sheds the rest of his clothes and stands tall next to the bed, naked and proud—and with good reason, I realize, as my gaze falls to where his hand is fisting the massive cock jutting from his groin. Bloody hell, it’s a monster.
“Eyes up here, Duchess.” I snap out of my stupor to find a wolfish grin on his too-handsome face. “I’ll let you play with it later. Right now, it’s time for your first lesson.”
Izak sets the Hitachi wand on the bed, then kneels between my legs and hovers over me with his hands braced by my head. As I stare up at him, the butterflies in my belly turn into a murder of crows, flying in erratic patterns until they’re nothing but a flapping, squawking black blur. He brings one hand to palm the side of my face, brushing his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“Listen to me,” he commands softly. “I know you’re not a typical virgin with no experiences. But that doesn’t mean you’re ready for everything tonight. Don’t let that stubborn pride of yours get in the way of what you’re comfortable with. You control all of this, Daria. Do you understand?”
I nod, the commotion in my belly settling a little.
“What’s your safe word, baby?”
“Red.”
A half-smile tilts his lips. “Good girl.”
I’m surprised at the sense of contentment that washes over me at his praise. It’s so not a normal me thing to feel. But maybe the me who is Izak’s lover is someone I’ve never met before. Maybe he’ll show me a whole new side, one that’s allowed to be vulnerable without fear of repercussions from dropping my armor. I’m almost scared to hope for it, but I’m even more scared of not trying.
I hold my breath as he undoes the front clasp of my lace bra and exposes my breasts to him for the first time.
“Fucking exquisite,” he rasps, then lowers his head to tongue the peak of one stiff nipple. I gasp and arch my back, attempting to push my puckered flesh farther into the heat of his mouth, but he pulls back and controls how much stimulation I receive.
He licks, traces, flicks, and laves, teasing me mercilessly, but I refuse to beg for more. When he doles out the same torture on my other nipple, I grit my teeth and focus on my breathing and not how every time his tongue touches me it shoots bolts of lightning straight to my core. At last, he puts an end to my misery and sucks hard on the peak of one breast, dragging it deep into his mouth, the blunt edges of his teeth scraping my flesh in the most delicious way.
“Oh God yes, more.” He obliges, switching breasts to shower it with the same lavish attention, and for a brief moment, I’m smug enough to think e’s not going to be much of a challenge after all. “That’s it...feels so good...now back to the other side.” Izak freezes, and I wonder if I accidentally said my safe word. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing, your grace,” he says with a wicked grin. “But I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge.” Sitting back on his heels, he starts to undo the straps around my thighs holding the mini bullet in place. Once the contraption is off, he rummages around in the duffle bag on the floor and retrieves a length of rope. A really long length.
“What are you going to do with that?” My voice vibrates with excitement, but it sounds a little like fear, which works for my role as abductee.
Izak starts winding the rope in several rows around my ankle, focusing on his placement and the tension. “Chapter twenty-two of The Rigger Who Loved Me. The hero—an expert in Shibari, the Japanese art of bondage—ties the heroine up in an intricate design, then fucks her while she’s suspended from the ceiling.”
Oh, God, I remember that scene. The immense trust and intimacy between a rigger and the sub he binds is unbelievably sexy. But while I trust Izak with a lot of things, suspending me from the ceiling isn’t one of them. Nervously, I glance up, searching for the tell-tale hooks. His soft laugh brings my attention back to him.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have the training for something that advanced.” He flicks his gaze to mine, his eyes searing me like hazel coals. “Yet.”
The image of Izak binding me with intricate knots and careful precision sends a rush of heat flooding between my legs. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of my curiosity—or maybe because I’m enthralled watching his fingers work the silky rope over my skin—I remain quiet while he works. The design is simple. Once my ankle is completely wrapped, he bends my leg so my heel touches my butt and continues wrapping, securing me tightly around the middle of my thigh and calf. After pulling the rope beneath my lower back, he works his way down that side until he finishes at my other ankle. I’m now held wide open for him without any effort on his part, and I can’t close my legs. The helpless feeling only turns me on more.
