‘So?’ I whisper back. ‘It’ll cost you nothing.’
‘I know exactly what it’ll cost me.’ He presses a hot kiss on my throat then lifts his head and reaches for the drawer in the bedside table, pulling it open and extracting a handful of silky fabric. ‘And sadly for you, I’m a much better businessman than that.’ He stares down at me, his dark eyes blazing, and I don’t miss the challenge in them. ‘You want me to convince you then here’s my first argument.’ He holds up the fabric. ‘Submit yourself to me, dragonfly. Submit and I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.’
My heart is hammering as I glance at the handful of silk. They’re scarves, soft-looking and brightly coloured, and I suspect I know what he wants to do with them.
Well, I wanted to test myself against him, didn’t I? A whisper of trepidation chases across my skin, but not because of what he wants to do to me. It’s more because I can feel the intense throb between my thighs and I fear that I want this very much. Too much. What could he make me agree to if I do this for him? What would I give up for the pleasure he can give me?
Do you care?
I don’t like the thought of being bound, it makes me think of myself all those years ago and how my foster mother would tie me up and put me in a closet every night because she didn’t want me wandering. I still remember the suffocating blackness of that closet and how the plastic of the zip ties would dig into my wrists, making it hard for me to sleep, and how sometimes I’d panic, feeling as if I was being buried alive.
But this isn’t the same. There is no blackness, only the cold morning sun coming through the windows, and the ties are silk, not plastic, and the man who wants to bind me is looking at me as if there is nothing more important than me giving him this. And itisa gift. He’s not taking it from me the way my abusive foster parents did or forcing me to do it. He’s asking me and challenging me at the same time, and how can I help but give this to him?
Those memories of being bound are terrible, of me feeling weak and helpless and small. Of knowing that I didn’t matter to the people who were supposed to care for me. That I was alone in the world except for the brother who’d been taken away from me.
But right here, right now, Rafael can give me new memories. Better memories. Memories of pleasure, because I have no doubt this will give me pleasure. Memories of him looking at me as if I was the most beautiful, the most precious thing in the universe to him.
This won’t trap you. This will set you free.
I meet his hot gaze and I don’t flinch away. And I raise my hands, my wrists pressed together. The look in his eyes flares and I can see the triumph and satisfaction flicker across his beautiful features, as well as a fleeting relief. He was hoping for this and it makes me feel good that I’ve pleased him.
‘First,’ he murmurs and shifts, taking the hem of my dress and sliding it up. I help him, my heartbeat accelerating as he uncovers me, pulling the dress off and over my head. He gets rid of my underwear and then I’m lying on the bed naked as he takes my hands and winds the silk around my wrists.
I’m breathing fast and he’s watching me, gauging my reactions, and I know suddenly and completely that if I was afraid he would stop. I wouldn’t even have to say the words. He’d know just by looking at me.
Slowly he lifts my bound wrists above my head and back, and, with a deft movement, ties them to the headboard of the bed. Then he stares down at me and the hunger in his dark eyes robs me of breath. I’m naked and bound, and at his mercy, and yet I don’t feel powerless. I don’t feel weak. He’s staring at me as if I’m a feast set out for his pleasure and he doesn’t know where to start because everything looks good to him.
It’s incredibly erotic.
He lifts a hand and runs it gently down my body, stroking my skin, mapping my curves. Light touches, teasing touches. Then he stretches himself over me, on his hands and knees, looking down into my eyes as he lifts a hand and cups one breast. My breathing gets faster and he continues to watch me as he teases my hardening nipple with his thumb, circling it then pinching gently. ‘Such a beautiful dragonfly,’ he murmurs as he touches me. ‘Do you like this? Do you like being mine?’
I want to tell him that I’m not his, but as his mouth settles in the hollow of my throat and he slides a hand over my stomach, I lose the words I wanted to say. Because yes, I do like this. I like him calling me beautiful. I like being his.
His hand slips between my thighs and I gasp as he touches me, his fingers exploring the wet folds of my sex, his mouth an ember on my throat, my neck, my collarbones and then down. He uses his mouth to feast on me, his tongue teasing the hard points of my breasts as he slides a finger into me and then another.
I gasp aloud as the pleasure spiders out like a crack in a mirror, carving lines and fissures in me, making me pant. I’m aware of the soft silk around my wrists and the feeling of constraint only adds to the sensation, even as I pull against it slightly, wanting to touch him the way he’s touching me.
I lift my hips to his hand, wanting more than his fingers, needing more. ‘Please,’ I whisper. ‘Rafael, please.’
But he shakes his head, his gaze scorching. ‘Promise me you’ll marry me, dragonfly,’ he murmurs. ‘Promise me and I’ll give you what you want.’
‘I could lie,’ I pant, unable to stop moving as he continues his maddening stroke between my thighs. ‘I could lie again.’
‘You could,’ he agrees. ‘But if you lie, I’ll never touch you again.’ His hand slows and then withdraws. ‘You’ll feel like this, desperate and aching and unfulfilled.’ His stare is intense and there are flames behind his eyes. ‘It’ll be painful to be without me, dragonfly. No other man can give you this. No other man can make you feel this way.’
I’m panting, unable to keep still, and a part of me knows that he’s right. That no other man can make me feel this way, and in fact I wouldn’t let any other man bind me this way. Touch me this way. And even the thought of doing this with anyone else leaves me cold.
Still, I can’t give in straight away or fold like a house of cards. Sex is only part of a marriage and we need more than that, especially when a child is involved.
He trails his mouth down to the slight curve of my stomach where our child rests and he touches me reverently, as if I’m holy, precious. ‘Would you lie to me about this, hmmm?’ He lifts his head and raises himself again, so he’s over me but no part of his body is touching mine. ‘Can you bear it, dragonfly? Can you bear to feel this way for ever?’ There is demand in his eyes and it compels the truth from me.
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t.’
He runs his fingertips down the length of my body, his gaze pinning me to the mattress, his light teasing touch making me tremble. ‘Then promise me,’ he orders. ‘Promise me that you’ll marry me and I’ll give you this whenever you want. I’ll give you as much pleasure as you can handle and more.’
I’m panting now as his fingers slip once again between my thighs and he begins to stroke and caress me again. My thoughts are slippery and I don’t want to think, I want to give myself up completely to the pleasure he’s giving me, but I can’t. Not yet. I need him to give me something too.
‘Leave my brother alone,’ I say, my voice husky. ‘Leave my brother alone and I’ll marry you.’
