Page 29 of Rogue
Chapter Thirteen
McKenzie
“Strip.”
I freeze at the command, suddenly consumed by fear and doubt. I can’t do it. Not with Noah standing there watching me with that look of implacable expectation on his beautiful, but unsmiling, face. He hadn’t turned on the lights, but he’d lit several candles when we walked in, and coupled with the moonlight shining through the wall of windows, I feel too exposed. Too vulnerable. As if he can see every flaw, both inside and out. I’m not like the other girls I’m sure he’s used to, who are no doubt self-assured and confident in the power of their bodies and their sexuality. The girls who aren’t afraid.
“I-I can’t,” I whisper.
He’s next to me in an instant, the weight of his hand resting on my hip oddly reassuring. He grips my chin in his hand in a gesture I’m coming to love, forcing my gaze to his.
“No, you can’t, can you, sweetheart?” His voice is soft with understanding, tinged with a hint of what almost sounds like wonder. “But one day, you will. One day soon, you will bare yourself to me.”
I’m not sure if he’s just talking about clothes.
His fingers brush over my shoulders, tugging the spaghetti straps of my dress down until my breasts, unfettered by a bra, spill out. He cups them in both hands, and I shiver with desire. His hands are warm and possessive, and he deliberately flicks his thumbs slowly over my hard nipples, watching my face intently for my reaction. He smiles as I suck in air and does it again. Then he’s easing the dress down over my hips until it pools at my feet and I’m completely naked, standing in front of him.
“God, you’re exquisite.” The way he’s looking at me sends little sparks of heat dancing across my skin.
He runs his fingertips lightly down my arms and then grabs my hands, pulling me gently toward the bed. He kisses me, distracting me with those soft but demanding lips of his, his tongue invading my mouth and igniting my senses. When he finally breaks the kiss, I’m surprised to find myself lying on my back on the bed, his chest flattened against mine so that the slightly rough fabric of his shirt abrades my suddenly hypersensitive breasts.
With a faint smile, he lifts my wrist above my head and slips my hand through a loop he’s fashioned from a sash of some sort that’s tied to the bedpost. He pulls it tight, and just like that, my left arm is secured. My eyes widen as he grabs my other wrist and attaches it to the opposite side, so that my arms are restrained above me on either side of the headboard. I have no idea when he set this up, but he clearly has it all planned out, and I’m not sure if the thought of his premeditation is terrifying or exhilarating.
He looks into my eyes, his steady gaze centering me. His hand caresses my cheek, his finger tracing the curve of my ear gently, and I sigh. Just his touch sends my pulse racing and has my stomach quivering. For a second, I wonder how I got here, tied to a bed in the Philippines while this gorgeous man touches me as if I’m an exquisite treasure, exploring every curve like I hold the secret to something mysterious and precious. It’s surreal. A few short months ago, I was grief-stricken and terrified of my own shadow, afraid of living because the flip side was unimaginable, never realizing I hadn’t truly been living at all.
Then he’s lightly circling my breasts, drawing closer and closer to my nipples, which are already puckered and tingling in anticipation, and I’m not thinking about anything but his touch, and exactly where I want it. He chuckles as my body bows toward him slightly.
“Baby, I love how responsive you are to my touch.”
He traces a figure eight around my breasts, bypassing my needy nipples, and I groan with the overwhelming need to be touched. His fingers trail over my stomach, and he shifts his body down to the end of the bed, taking my foot in his firm grip. I feel the fabric cinch around my ankle as it did around my wrists, and with a sharp tug, my right leg is secured to the corner of the footboard. He grabs my other ankle and gently opens my legs, similarly binding my left ankle to the opposite corner so that I’m splayed spread-eagle.
“What kind of hotel is this?” I mutter as I tug on the bindings. My arms and legs don’t budge, and I feel a small flare of panic that I quickly tamp down.
“The kind with complimentary robes that come with sashes.”
He stands next to the bed, looking down at me, and I want to cover myself, to close my legs against his scrutiny. But I’m powerless to do anything but be the object of his desire, available to his every whim. He regards me deliberately, those rugged hands of his stroking the scruff of his beard.
“Something’s missing,” he muses, looking down at my open and splayed body.
I watch as he walks into the bathroom and comes back with another sash which he ties over my eyes, throwing me into darkness. I’m disoriented, unable to see or hear anything other than the music he turned on when we got back to the room. Panic hits me in the gut. Suddenly, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room. I can’t breathe. I struggle, desperately trying to free myself as my body thrashes against the bed.
Noah’s hands on my shoulders are firm but comforting. “Breathe, baby. You’re okay. You’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you. I just want you to experience the exhilaration and pleasure that being out of control can give you. You’ll never know your limits if you don’t test them. I promise I won’t push you farther than you can go.” His hands are rubbing my shoulders soothingly, and I can feel my muscles begin to relax. “If things get too intense or you want me to stop, say red and I’ll immediately stop. But I want you to try. I want you to give yourself over to me. To let go. Okay?”
My breathing has slowed, and I nod. When his hands are touching me, erotically stroking my skin, I feel like I can do anything.
“We’re going to play a little game. You enjoy my hands on you, and you liked when I spanked you, too, so I think you’ll like this.”
I stiffen slightly, and he chuckles again. It’s a dark and wicked sound that goes straight to my core.
“I’m going to give you a little taste of how arousing it can be to not be in control. When your sight and mobility are removed, your other senses are heightened,” he continues conversationally, as if we’re still sitting across the table from each other instead of smack dab in the middle of some sort of erotic power exchange, with me tied naked on the bed next to him. “I’m going to touch you with a variety of objects, and I want you to try to guess what they are. If you guess right, it’s worth two minutes of erotic massage. And, I might add, I give a pretty damn good massage.”
“I remember.” I’m kind of grateful for the diversion of the game. Maybe having something to occupy my mind will help me rein in the panic that’s still simmering just below the surface at the thought of being so completely out of control.
“If you guess wrong, it’s worth two minutes of punishment. We’ll settle up at the end.”
Oh God. “Okay.”
I feel the bed shift as he gets up. I try to stay calm as the silence grows, enhancing the effect of the blindfold. Just when I’m starting to lose it, I feel a featherlike touch across my rib cage. He strokes whatever it is over my stomach and up my side and it tickles so much, I try to twist away. He just chuckles and continues running it across my sensitive skin as I wiggle around as much as the bindings allow.
