Pleasure Point-nook (4 page)

And Jesus, Roan… He was so intense and gorgeous and commanding, yet she felt pain
deep within him at the same time—the pain that gave them a common ground beyond the
kink. It made her feel as if he truly could understand her and that was a sort of
safety net in itself.

“Miranda.”

Pulled out of her musing, she looked up and found his glittering green gaze locked
on hers, making her tremble. God, she was attracted to this man.

“Yes?”

He put a hand out, lifted his chin a fraction of an inch when she didn’t respond and
she knew to put her hand in his.

“We begin now. For the last time, tell me you want this. That you feel ready. Safe.”

“Yes. All of it.”

Certainty flooded her, along with the heated rush of blood through her limbs, her
breasts, her sex. She squeezed her thighs together.

This man was going to touch her. To kiss her. To play her.

Oh yes.

“Then come with me now,” he said, rising to his feet.

Her mind was emptying out, the world fading away as he led her across the room. He
stopped in front of an enormous bondage frame made of sleekly black-painted metal.

“Roan. I feel…at a loss. It’s been so long. Five years. Suddenly it feels like a very
long time. Like a century.”

He smoothed a hand over the back of her neck and her entire body wanted to sway, to
bow into his palm.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to decide anything. I
will do everything in my power to intuit what you need, to ask you to tell me if I
have any doubt. But I usually know. I’m not being cocky. I’m being truthful. Because
my objective here is to meet my need by meeting yours. There’s a sort of simple yet
exquisite synchronicity in my handling it all. That’s the beauty here. Well, aside
from you.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her hair, murmured, “Have I told
you how beautiful you are, Miranda? If not, it was a terrible oversight on my part.
Because I think
you
are exquisite, and it makes me want to do everything for you. And to you. You don’t
need to say anything, to think of a response. You don’t need to think of anything.
Simply do as I say and focus on what you
feel
. Can you do that for me, beautiful girl?”

She nodded, swallowing hard past the lump of emotion and desire clogging her throat.
Trying to swallow down the flashing images of Daryn. Being with him at the club in
Paris that was his favorite.  Everything a little too damn French for her tastes,
but she’d been so eager to please him it hadn’t mattered. And now
this
man was saying this was for her. “Yes, Roan.”

This was really happening.
Now
. Her legs began to shake again.

“Excellent. I want you to stand very still for me. I’m going to undress you.”

There wasn’t even a moment’s pause before he moved behind her and quickly lowered
the zipper on her dress. He smoothed the straps from her shoulders, letting the material
slide down her body. And every moment seemed to move in slow motion, with her aware
of every single small sound and sensation—the slip and fall of the fabric, the air
playing over her skin, the rhythm of her own breathing. Of his. And God, the heat
of his hands on her body. His grip was firm on her calves as he helped her step out
of the dress, leaving her in nothing but her high black heels, her black lace bra
and bikini panties.

He slipped his fingertips over her shoulders, then his hand flattened on her stomach
and desire trembled through her, pooling inside her, making her panties wet.. When
was the last time a man had touched her like this?

She tensed when he slid down her bra strap, some small part of her still fighting
what she knew she needed. Wanted.

His mouth was right next to her ear, his big body closing in behind her, making her
feel oddly trapped and ridiculously turned on all at the same time. “Roan…”

“It’s okay, my beauty,” he told her, his English accent stronger than ever. “I expected
a little panic from you. A little fight, which I rather like. And I am willing to
go through that with you.” He came around to stand in front of her, tipping her chin
until her gaze met his. “To a point.”

“This is weird. That’s all,” she protested, knowing those weren’t quite the right
words for what she was feeling. But she didn’t know what else to say. She was shivering
all over.

“Is it? Is it strange that we don’t know each other well? Because this isn’t pick-up
play. It’s not as if we met at a club and decided to scene together. It was decided
for us. I think I’m beginning to understand why. It seems you are, as well. But this
isn’t going to work unless you can give yourself over to it.
To me
. You know how this works, Miranda.”

“I do know. But suddenly this is all getting very real. And that means…it means I
have to face stuff. Stuff I’ve been running away from for years.”

He caressed her cheek, her jaw, his gaze following his fingertips, and she couldn’t
tell what he was thinking. “What are you running from?” he asked, and she had some
sense that he was asking the same of himself.

“From the world.”

He nodded. “Aren’t we all? All of us who know what it is to have lost someone?”

“Yes. But it’s more than that for me. We—my husband and I—we traveled all over the
world together—literally. We hit every continent. This is the only place…” She had
to stop, to pull in a gasping breath. “This was the only place I could go to escape
those constant reminders of him. And I can’t believe I’m telling you this. That I
said it out loud.”

His hands settled on her shoulders, their weight reassuring. She wanted to just collapse
into those strong hands, but she couldn’t allow herself to do it.

“That’s because this is working. It doesn’t matter why, but we both know there are
many reasons. Many layers. But you have to let it go, Miranda. Your body. Your emotions.
I will handle it, whatever the fallout of our play may be. This is my job. One I take
quite seriously. One I
want
to do with you. I promise you.”

“Because you’re attracted to me?” It didn’t seem like enough. Not to turn herself
over the way he was asking her to.

“That doesn’t even begin to cover the burning ache I have for you already. And yes,
that’s part of it. Of course it is. But as I said, we both know there’s something
more here. Is that what you need to know? Because I don’t like admitting it. Even
to myself. But I can’t possibly deny it. Can you?”

She blinked back a tear that threatened to fall. She wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t.
She wasn’t ready to fall apart in front of him. She nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

“Is it? Shall we go on? Or do you need to stop?”

“No. Don’t stop.” She pulled in a long breath. She could do this.

She was afraid if he didn’t push her limits now she would never be brave enough to
go through with it—to face the demons that had chased her to the island, that had
lurked over her shoulders since Daryn’s death.

He watched her carefully for several long moments, then he moved in and briefly pressed
his mouth to hers, making her soften all over. His lips were warm. Like velvet. She
wanted more. And some small part of her mind understood that he’d done this with purpose,
to help her shift gears. Roan Abrams was perhaps the one man who could do that for
her—to get her mind to go still with one touch. With one small kiss.

This was crazy.

Maybe she needed a little crazy for once.

She looked into his dark green eyes once more and licked her lips.

“Oh, that’s a dangerous move,” he said. Then he leaned in and kissed her again, just
that small press of his lips against hers. Then again, and again, each kiss growing
in intensity, lingering longer. Until, moment by moment, the tension between them
built. Until her body strained to touch him, to find his cock beneath his sophisticated
trousers and stroke him, although she didn’t dare. Her nipples were so hard they hurt.
Her sex swelled with such aching desire she could hardly stand it. And all he’d done
was kiss her!

He pulled back with a small groan, leaving her panting. Shivering.

She flexed her hands. “Roan.”

“Shh. Quiet now.” His words were firm, in control. Exactly what she needed.

He pressed down on her shoulder with one hand, while with the other he wiped his mouth.
Oh, it was beautiful to see the stark hunger on his face. To know he was as shaken
by the kiss as she was. But in moments he’d composed himself, schooled his features,
all Dom again, which she loved.

Oh yes. This was exactly what she needed.

Roan.

“Alright, beautiful girl. Clasp your hands behind your back.” When she paused, taken
by surprise, he said very firmly, “Do it.”

Fear was a quick pulse-beat in her system even as her body responded to his command,
as if by muscle memory.

“I can hear how you’re panting, Miranda. It’s a beautiful thing to see, especially
as you are now, with your breasts rising and falling so quickly.”

He stroked one finger over the swell of her right breast and her nipples stiffened
as he traced one of the tips.

Yes. Touch me.

Need and panic warred within her. She shook her head.

“The time to resist is over. Right now.”

His hand went around behind her neck and he propelled her forward so fast she nearly
lost her footing. But his hold on her was firm, keeping her falling.

Safe.

She didn’t have time to think about anything else as he grabbed one wrist from behind
her back, quickly fastening it into a soft leather cuff that hung from the bondage
frame by a length of chain. He clipped a carabiner to it and attached it to the chain
so that her arm was out to the side and raised slightly over her head. He did the
same to the other wrist, so that she was bound, but loosely, with a bit of play in
the chains. And with each moment she sank further into subspace, everything going
a little fuzzy except for the desire surging through her system and the certainty
of his command.

Yes. Safe.

He began to move around her, running his hands over her skin. Lightly at first, then
pressing more firmly over her stomach, her sides, her back. Then her collarbones—a
small point of pressure there that was just enough to hurt a little. She sighed into
the pain, her body remembering instantly how to convert it to pleasure.

He dug his fingertips into her flesh here and there, finding the pressure points on
the inside of her arms, her outer thighs. Then he stood in front of her, placing one
finger between her breasts, on the delicate skin covering her sternum.

“Miranda, look at me.” His words were a soothing command she couldn’t resist.

She found his gaze intent on her, focused so hard it was almost a physical sensation.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light. Beautiful. Intense.

“This is going to hurt,” he told her before pressing the point of his finger into
that one spot.

She gasped, but he let the pressure go an instant later.

“Inhale,” he told her.

She did as he instructed, her body madly converting the small spot of pain to dizzying
desire that echoed through her in sharp little shards.

“Exhale slowly.”

As she breathed out he pressed once more, harder this time. But his steady gaze held
hers, keeping her focused.

“Again,” he demanded.

This time he moved his fingertip up several inches, finding another point. The pressure
this time was hard, the pain carrying a keen edge.

“Exhale,” he ordered, and she blew the pain out even as he pressed harder.

She leaned into him the tiniest bit, her body craving more. More sensation. More of
him.

“Good girl.”

Those words, his approval, moved through her like a vibration between her thighs.
She was absolutely soaked. She leaned in a little more.

“No, Miranda. I am in control. As pleased as I am to see your response, never forget
that. Tell me you understand.”

She groaned softly. “Yes. I understand.”

“Tell me again. Use my name. I want to hear it. I want to hear you say my name with
your desire on your lips. It’s there, isn’t it, beautiful girl? If I put my hand between
your lovely thighs I’d find you wet and ready, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes, Roan. Please, Roan.”

He chuckled, and warmth seeped into her muscles knowing he was pleased with her.

“Tell me, Miranda.”

“I…forget. What?”

He pinched the inside of her thigh hard and she yelped.

“You will remember all that I tell you,” he said, his tone rougher than she’d heard
it. “Now think.”

“It’s hard,” she panted, “when you’re hurting me like that.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Do it anyway.”

“You really are a sadist,” she muttered, realizing in some distant way that she was
totally out of her head already.

He laughed. “You’re just now realizing this? I’ll have to try harder.”

“Oh…”

“Remember, Miranda,” he said, pinching her once more.

“Roan…” She fought to get her brain to work past the pain and the keen edge of pleasure
building along with it. “You are in control, Roan,” she panted.

“Very good.”

The pressure eased as he pulled away and stroked a hand up her back, his smooth palm
a delicious sensation on her skin. She remembered the power of that kind of contrasting
sensation—the sharp, edgy pain followed by a simple stroking caress—that allowed her
brain to release those lovely feel-good chemicals more quickly, more efficiently.
That allowed her to take higher levels of pain, to enjoy it. To lose her ability to
struggle against what was happening to her. She started to close her eyes.

“No. Look at me.”

He took her chin in his free hand, forcing her gaze to his. She loved how he manhandled
her, taking her body under command. Her pussy was thrumming with need, her breasts
just as needy, every inch of her skin craving his touch. Soft or hurting—it didn’t
matter. She licked her lips.