A Very Demon Christmas [Demon Hunters 1] (4 page)

After turning on the track lights, he shrugged out of his jacket, dropped his toy bag on a spanking bench, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Then he got busy unfastening the bustier's front hooks—starting at her waist. With each new section of creamy skin exposed, he licked the soft bared flesh. He discarded the top, then took a step back to admire her beautiful breasts. They were full, proud, and tipped with tight pink nipples he wanted to suck until she screamed for mercy. Instead he nudged apart her creamy thighs and slid her small panties down those long, long legs. A small strip of damp blonde curls decorated her slit. Usually he preferred his subs clean-shaven, but the narrow patch of wet hair was erotic as hell. Slowly he forced himself to move away from her toward the bench where he'd left his bag.

The crowd he'd forgotten about erupted in applause. Their enthusiasm was for her body, because he hadn't done anything yet. If they'd understood how hard it was for him not to back her up against the wall and claim her, then they might have cheered for him. Probably not. Most of the Doms watching were horny demons and wouldn't give a shit about his restraint.

Typically demons considered human women good for a couple of things, fucking being number one on the short list. Since he was half human, and his mother had been very human, he'd never shared the same view of women.

He wanted Holly. There was plenty of sex mixed in with his desire for her, but there was more. He wanted to cherish her and protect her. She was gorgeous, all cream and pink and his. Somewhere along the line, sharing her with an audience had lost a whole lot of its appeal.

A small whimper escaped from Holly. “Master?"

Grateful she was still wearing the blindfold, he grabbed the bag, returned to face her, and placed her hand firmly on his chest. “I'm right here, baby."

He gave her a moment. When her breathing matched his, he stroked her arm from shoulder to wrist. “I'm going to clip on a wireless mic so I can explain to the crowd what I'm doing. But the people outside this room have nothing to do with us. I want you to focus on me. Deal?"

"Yes, Master.” Her voice was soft but steady.

He bit back a grin at her courage, clipped on the small microphone, and then reached into the toy bag. The smooth hemp bundles were right on top. He pulled out a coiled length of holiday red rope, loosened the bundle, matched the two ends, doubled it twice, and then measured it roughly against the length of his arm—thirty feet or close enough. He draped it over Holly's smooth shoulder to let her feel the texture. “This is the rope I'll use to bind you."

She placed her palm lightly over his heart again, holding him more securely than she would ever know. Her voice was very small when she asked, “Will it hurt, Master?"

"No.” He cleared his throat. “It won't hurt.” He clicked off the mic. “I can't read you, so you have to tell me instantly if anything I do hurts, and I'll make it better. Clear?"

Holly swallowed and nodded.

His black heart swelled with tenderness for his brave girl.
His girl? Where the hell is that coming from?
He had to keep his shit together. She was human, fragile, and his neighbor. Any one of those was enough to put her on the forget-about-it list.

A few hours of indulging his inner Dom was the only thing that was going to happen—a little kinky fun for him, some entertainment for the club members, and a safely sanitized memory for her. Then he'd be back to keeping a smart distance from temptation.

Self-denial wasn't one of his nonexistent virtues. But when it came to Holly's safety, he had an amazing amount of restraint.

To distract himself from the dangerous urge to kill the lights and end the demonstration before it began, he gathered the rope. “I'm turning on the microphone in a minute, but it's still just you and me in this room. If something bothers you, I want you to tell me. If you can't speak, then lower your left arm. Got it?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good.” He clicked on the mic. “Arms overhead, and keep them there."

She raised smooth creamy arms toward the ceiling. Her full breasts bounced, which distracted him and probably every other male watching. Checking the audience for a reaction would've added extra strain on his possessive instincts. He deliberately ignored the crowd and kept his attention focused on her. Using careful pressure, he repositioned her arms until they crossed, resting atop her head. “Hold on to your elbows."

When he was satisfied that the pose was comfortable, he used his knee to widen her stance. The scent of her arousal slammed into his sinuses and shot fresh excitement straight to his already straining cock.

Ignoring his discomfort, he began the lecture he could give in his sleep. “Shibari is an ancient form of Japanese rope bondage—when done correctly, it is an erotic art form. Tonight I'll demonstrate a variation of
shinju
—a rope bra and
sakura
—a matching thong. The two bindings are the perfect wrap for a special Christmas present."

While he talked, he double-checked the rope, then stretched a double strand over her voluptuous breasts. Turning her back toward the crowd, he spoke for the audience's benefit. “You want to keep the ends even and the tension firm but not too tight. I'm using a simple lark's-head knot to hold the first double strand."

He stepped away, clicked off the mic, and carefully checked the tension of the hemp across the tops of Holly's tempting breasts. “You doing okay?"

After she'd nodded, he turned on the mic. “The second row goes right next to the first."

Matching his actions to his words, he repeated the same steps, binding her more securely. By the time he set the second knot, he was sweating. Perfect. He was at the club playing with a sub, but he wasn't blowing off steam. He was working up a full head of pressure.

"Time for the lower strand.” He doggedly repeated the wrapping, running the hemp under those soft luscious mounds. Finishing off the basic harness with a loose bow, he checked the rope's tension. Satisfied that she was tolerating the binding better than he was, he snagged the toy bag to retrieve another length of rope.

"As with the first length of rope, I'm doubling the hemp and evening up the ends. Then I connect the new strand with a simple overhand knot to fasten the new binding to the bra's frame.” Keeping the tension even, he wound a second strand under her breasts—all too aware that her nipples had contracted to tight rosy points.

He rotated Holly until her back was toward the audience. While resenting every second the greedy bastards stared at her perfect ass, he managed to grate out, “The basic bra is done, but I'm adding a halter top by threading the loose ends through where the upper and lower bindings meet. Then I lead it over her opposite shoulder."

Turning her forward again, he dialed back the aggression and continued the demonstration. “Then I slant the rope across her cleavage, run it over the top strands and under the lower ones. A couple of simple crossings, and I'm ready to finish the halter."

He ran the rope over her other shoulder before rotating her to show the crowd the final looped bow, placed slightly below her shoulder blades. Touching her as little as possible hadn't helped. He worked to keep from panting like some mangy werewolf while he made himself carefully turn her a full three hundred and sixty degrees for the clapping audience.

"Are you okay?” she whispered.

The fine hairs on his nape prickled in an ominous chill.
Can she read me? How the hell else would she know I'm in trouble?

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Holly inhaled the smell of clean male sweat mixing with his own heady scent and waited for his answer. His touch was firm yet still gentle, but she wasn't entirely reassured. He had on a lot more clothes than she did, and judging by his rapid respirations, his pulse was faster than it should be. Her inner nurse wouldn't let her ignore signs of distress even in a big strong Dom.

Although, since she was trussed up like a Christmas roast, she wasn't too sure what she could do to help him if he was in trouble.

Finally he grumbled, “Just hot."

"Perhaps a drink of water?"

"Are you thirsty?” He sounded concerned.

"A drink for you, Master,” she clarified, more touched by his worry than was sensible, but then her usual good sense seemed to have left the building after his first kiss. Somehow that one kiss had changed her, making her braver and more reckless, but not quite disobedient yet.

"You first."

A bottle touched her lower lip and slowly tilted while he held it in place to let her swallow. The cold drink brought comforting relief to her dry mouth. “Thank you. Now it's your turn, Master."

She heard him swallow and the small
thud
when he set down the bottle. She felt better.

"When I create the sakura—the bikini weave, you may not come. Clear?"

Not come?
She sensed he had issued a serious command and wanted her to agree. She nibbled on her lower lip, turning over his words. Then she caught his meaning. He didn't want her to have a climax. Her face flamed. Like that would happen during a bondage demonstration when it had never happened during sex with a partner—not something she was ready to share with him or an audience. Confident this was a command she could obey with no trouble, she said, “Of course not, Master."

"Ready for part two?"

If he was trying to deflect her concern for him, then his strategy worked. She thought about how she must look with her ghost white skin and jiggly parts on display. Humiliation simmered in her blood, and yet her nipples tightened, and her pussy grew wetter. How could this kind of public exposure turn her on? Heat raced up from the rope tie around her neck, adding fresh color to the blush that had begun to cool. After a few calming breaths, she said, “After your next drink, if you're ready, then so am I, Master."

"Absolutely."

His voice was steady; his breathing seemed perfectly normal. Perhaps she'd imagined his earlier distress, or more likely, she'd projected her own discomfort. Still, she cocked her head and listened for him to swallow. When he finally did, she sighed.

He made a funny noise almost as if he'd choked back a laugh.

Then she sensed him turn away from her and fought a rising panic. She rasped in another deep breath for courage, and the rope binding, which squeezed her breasts, creaked. The sound was a reminder of how completely she was exposed and how completely she was at his mercy. Her heart raced. The sound of her pulse grew so loud that she couldn't hear him. She was alone and exposed in front of an audience. This was a horrible mistake. Fear gripped her, overriding her need to please him, and she reached for the blindfold.

Before she'd undone the knot, he captured both her arms in one of his work-roughened hands. His firm touch eased her back from the edge of panic.

"Do you need a wrist restraint, or can you control yourself?” His voice was deep and thick with the utter command that seemed such a natural part of him. He didn't wait for her reply. “Lock your arms behind your back."

"Yes, Master,” spilled from her lips before she'd found a way to explain why she needed to leave. Worse than the wimpy words, she'd actually grasped her arms behind her back, cupping her elbows to keep her hands in place. He didn't bind her wrists, but that hardly mattered, because she couldn't defy his orders long enough to escape.

When did I lose the will to resist? When did I lose my mind?

Insanity probably started when she'd accepted Tamara's sinful Christmas present—an invitation to a special kind of hell for frigid fatties. Holly had fallen for the sexy idea of playing with a hot Dom, a little flirting, a kiss, maybe a little light bondage—perhaps nicely padded wrist cuffs. Certainly she'd never dreamed of being naked and on display for a crowd of strangers while more aroused than she'd ever been in her life.

To take her mind off her missing spine and her current predicament, she strained to feel his touch, to hear his breath, and to soak in the safety of his strength.

"First I join the new double length of hemp to the harness.” While he talked, his sandpaper-rough fingers moved gently against her hypersensitized skin in deft, economical movements that told her that he must be an expert at this form of bondage. What had he called it? Shibari. It sounded pretty. She tried to picture how she looked in the rope harness with arms locked behind her and her breasts thrust forward through the hemp bands. Her face heated again. Abandoning the uncomfortable image of her large breasts, with the nipples darkened and bunched, framed in hemp, she concentrated on her Master. This really wasn't about her. The crowd was cheering for his expertise. Yes, she was mostly naked and definitely on display, but she was like a great painter's canvas—a backdrop for his art—a much pleasanter image than chubby porn star.

"There's the first knot.” He held the rope loose and away from her body, and the crowd clapped again.

When the noise died down, he continued, “Which will fit firmly against Holly's clit."

What? He is putting rope where?
Before she'd worked herself into a full-blown panic, he released her arms, rubbing them lightly and leaving them at her sides. Next, the soft-rough hemp pressed the top of her slit and nestled over her engorged clit poking out from under its tiny hood. The new pressure added to an already constant buzz of erotic excitement.

Nothing too awful in that, especially since no one knows what I'm feeling.
The rope probably covered her as well as the lacy thong had—perhaps better. She swallowed another sigh of relief.

He snuggled the first knot more firmly against her swollen clit, and loose strands slipped into her slick channel. The sensation of the soft and coarse hemp against her swollen folds made her core tighten. A public orgasm was fast becoming a real possibility.

And he wasn't done.

She heard the wicked smile in his voice. “The second knot right over—” He paused to tighten the hemp a tiny bit more. “Perfect, right over the entrance to her pussy."

Oh my dear God.
He'd formed another hard circle of hemp and placed it over her core. She shifted, widening her stance in an effort to avoid the stimulation, which only made the rope rasp against her slippery folds.