Rough Surrender (33 page)

Would that be enough? Would it? They seemed at cross purposes. Bad enough before...before it happened. Now, she didn’t know her own heart. She wasn’t the same person anymore. “I don’t know. Damnation! I’m not certain of anything anymore.” She looked at him, shook her head, felt that emptiness in her heart that she somehow wanted him to fill. Moisture edged her eyelashes. “I just feel...impossibly lost. And, what do you mean you will let me fly? All these...these instructions. You’re fencing me in. What if I want to journey to the North Pole, or something? Are you capable of listening to me? I mean–”

“You want to go to the North Pole today? I think not. If you do though, I get to select the huskies and drive the sledge.” He took to running the curl of her hair through his fingers, over and over. “Underneath all this, I can see you’re just scared and you need to adjust. Everyone is frightened of something. Perhaps...we should continue this discussion another day. Think some more on what I said.”

Scared? Yes. And I hate that so much.
She pulled back a little to look at him but he gave nothing away.

“Very well.” It suited her. She didn’t want to stay, but when she imagined packing up everything she had with her and boarding a steamer, she found she didn’t want to go either. Not yet, not quite. Soon, she told herself. Soon.

For three days afterward, Leonhardt took to spending time each afternoon in the workshop attached to the house. On the fourth afternoon he took her hand and pulled her to her feet off the downstairs divan where she’d been reading. “Come. I have something to show you in the workshop.”

On the way out the front door, her curiosity caught up with events and she managed to blurt, “Wait. Wait! What are you showing me?”

Abruptly, he released her hand and gripped her neck, pinning her to the door frame, moving in close. Voice low, he murmured, “Have patience, Faith. You will see soon enough.” With one of her diaphanous Poiret dresses on, plus stockings and girdle, there was little separating her from Leonhardt’s presence.

Memories of Smthye and Lars invaded her mind–of hands holding her down, of them doing things, painful things, while she could do nothing. She sucked in air.

No.
No.
With all her past determination, her rock-hard will to
be
herself, she thrust them away and invoked other, better, memories of Leonhardt, of how she had willingly submitted to his will. With his strange mix of gentleness and ferocity this man cared for her, perhaps even loved her.

Slow and purposeful as a hunter with his prey cornered, he bent and kissed her. He pushed his thigh between her legs–the shift of muscle moving in a mesmerizing rhythm as his lips explored hers. When he was done, she breathed hard, as if she’d run a mile. Desire hummed through her veins.

Alarms rang. He’d not been so
adamant
for a long time.

“Coming now?” he asked, holding out his hand for her to take, his eyes shadowed.

“Uh...yes.” But she gave herself an extra second of leaning on the doorway so she wouldn’t trip down the steps.

When the door of the workshop slid back, she recalled the first time he’d kissed her, the first time she’d recognized the attraction between them, and found she was strangely anxious. What was he up to?

Hand clamped on her wrist, he drew her in and shut the door. After locking it he folded his arms as if waiting to see what she would do. Attached to the right hand wall of the workshop was what appeared to be a huge three-bladed propeller. It was way too big for an airplane, surely? She walked over and put her hand to the honey-colored timber. At the slight pressure, it revolved on a central axis.

“Is that a propeller?”

“Faith. Turn around.”

“Why?” But she did so, turning on the heel of her soft leather shoes. To find him right there, in front of her.

He slid his hands down her arms to her wrists and slowly let his fingers curl around until he gripped her tightly. Mouth dry, hypnotized by his eyes, feeling that strangeness of vision where the world shrank, yet also expanded, she drank him in. Oh yes, she had forgotten, again. Like whiskey down a parched throat, like the sun on a rain-swept day, he filled her with passion and warmth and life.

“If this isn’t a propeller then what–”

“This is a symbol.”

“A what?” Had he gone mad?

“Open your mouth.” The lines either side of his mouth went taut. He expected obedience.

Liquid heat trickled down sensual pathways, and she obeyed, parting her lips into an
O
, feeling them swell with the pulse of blood, as he lowered his lips to hers. She shut her eyes. She’d forgotten the power he had over her and how it thrilled her to surrender.

His tongue tip licked across her upper lip then slipped into her mouth. His lips pressed softly onto hers. She didn’t move. He explored along her teeth, beneath her tongue. He kissed up to her eye, to her nose tip, down to her throat where she felt the wet, sharp slide of teeth against skin. As her nipples perked into tiny buttons, the fine silk of her dress teased against them and little tingles moved southward. He stopped biting and she tweaked open her eyes.

For what seemed ages, he observed her from inches away.

Finally, she blinked, and spoke, striving to disguise the tremor in her voice. “What do you mean–a symbol?”

“A symbol, a reminder of why you’ll stay.” The words were as harsh as a saw cutting timber. “Though it’s also convenient for other reasons.”

She shook her head and he smiled down at her, the smallest smile. Those lips...how, she wanted them on hers. Unthinking, she stuck out her tongue tip, and froze as his gaze zeroed in on her mouth.

“Keep going, Faith, lick your mouth. We both know what that means.”

Though it was like thawing ice, she pulled her tongue back in and shook her head again, silently said the word,
no
.

“I’ve left you alone, been ever so gentle. I’ve watched you ogling the airplanes that fly overhead and I’ve changed my way of thinking so as to accommodate your adorable craziness. If you’re strong enough to want to fly again and to also to contemplate leaving, I think it’s time for other things.”

Oh dear, this was going into bad territory. He didn’t understand.

“You’re scared. I understand that. But if I let you leave I think I may lose you forever and
I
am scared of that. I’m terrified.”

Tears wet her eyes.
Leonhardt...scared?

“Faith, if it hadn’t been for your bravery that night at the hotel, I would never have taken that first step with you. I’d never have discovered I love you. You gave
me
courage. This time I’m giving you mine. I know I risk all doing this. That I may push you too far. If you want to stop me, you can. You can leave.
 

“But first, I want you to think, Faith. Most of all, I want you to feel. I want you to trust me, again. Please, don’t choose fear.”

Choose fear? But it was there. The pain was there too.
Is he right? Do I choose fear if I leave him? God...when he put it that way.
It was like he’d pried open a long-locked door and showed her a glimpse of light.
 

Then, even though she resisted, he brought her hands together above her head and pinned her wrists onto the timber with one hand. With his free hand he adjusted something behind her and the timber stopped moving, locked into place. He trapped her neck in the
V
of his hand. Then he waited.

Mmm
, she did like his hand about her neck. She focused on how he held her, tried to pull loose and couldn’t. Powerless. He had all the control. It was too much. Sensation melted her. Her back molded into the curve of the timber, her muscles jellified and her mind disintegrated into soup.

“This doesn’t this scare you, does it, Faith?” He leaned down, rested his forehead on hers and ran his thumb up and down the jugular furrow of her vulnerable throat. “It excites you.”

She dipped her eyes, aware of the hot wetness between her legs. “Let me go,” she managed to whisper.

“No.” His hand busied itself above, and she felt leather strapped about her wrists, keeping her arms up. Now he had two hands to use on her.

Where had her willpower gone now? In the warehouse
they
had restrained her like this. Then whipped her until she was nearly unconscious. Panic tugged at her, hovering just outside, at the edges, black and threatening. She licked her lips, said it stronger this time. “Let me go!”

Sphinx...if she said that Leonhardt would release her.
Don’t give in to fear.

He hadn’t shifted from where he stood. Waiting. As if he knew the storm of thoughts messing up her head. Steady, caring, commanding and ever-so-attentive Leonhardt. The need for him stopped her tongue from moving. She turned her head in the circle of his hand, nudged at his jaw with her nose, and smelled his skin. A moan trembled past her lips. She wanted...didn’t want.

He growled then laughed.

“How contrary. I think I like you this way.” He put his mouth to her ear, nibbled the lobe, licked and his hand pushed between her legs, shoving the fabric of her dress high until his hand had wedged it into her cleft. “I’m going to cut your clothes off you with a knife, Faith, and then I’m going to gag you. Is that a problem?”

A shudder took her and she whimpered. Her drawers were so wet she felt the cloth slide on her labia.

He was asking? The flicker of a vision of her with a gag in her mouth–of the feel of a gag inside her mouth–
his
gag, her hands pinioned above, helpless. Oh yes, she loved that idea. Her groin throbbed, hot and wanting.

Like the strike of a hammer, she also knew she’d feared this, deep down, and she’d wondered if she’d changed. A gag. A knife. Like before, on the terrible day. It wasn’t the same though. This was Leonhardt. And damn-it, she was panting already.

“No. Please, it’s...not a problem. Please.” The urge to grind her pelvis on his arm and clench his hand in her thighs overwhelmed her, until she did just that.

“Begging, Faith? Nice,” he rumbled at her ear. “You see, you trust me.” He stroked at her clitoris with his thumb, at her hard aching ball of flesh. His four fingers pushed at her entrance, moving the dress material in and out of her cleft. There was so much moisture it sounded as clear as someone chewing on fruit. She gave a little whispery gasp.

“I could have told you this, but you’d not let me near you, would you? So, I’m taking you in exactly the way I want to.”

He kept his fingers working at her and bit down on the slope of her neck. The surface pleasures flared, eating up her thoughts, channeling everything into lust, into a single throbbing mass. Without warning, she tripped into orgasm, and came, gasping, arched against him. The bite of his teeth sparked another, then yet another seething wave.

When at last she relaxed and slumped onto the timber, stupefied but happy, he went to the workbench and retrieved a piece of leather and a small knife.

She marveled at her lack of fear. A little anxious, but it was of a different sort, only the pure tremulous anxiety of being at the mercy of a sexually charged powerful man who intended to do whatever he desired to her body. Lord, yes. Her only regret–

“Not the Poiret?” She stiffened, pouted, edged away as much as she could, swinging her body to the side.

“Yes, the Poiret. I’ll buy you another. Be still.” She froze as he gripped the neckline and ran the knife from neckline to groin then down to the hem, in an easy slice. Methodically, he cut the rest of her clothes from her body, piece by piece, revealing more and more of her naked flesh. Then he tossed the last of the cloth of her drawers to the floor. “Better, much better.”

Stretched out like a sacrifice again. The other time was rapidly receding in her mind under the onslaught of Mr. Meisner’s pleasure. Her hands were inextricably tied over her head, and every part of her was displayed where he could easily reach. She shook with anticipation. Her nipples shrank to tight points.

“Turn around.” He made a circle with his finger.

With her bottom facing outward, what might he do to her? She nibbled her lip. “You’re not going to spank me, Leonhardt? I’m not sure I’m ready for that, sir.”

“No?”

He stepped in and with his hands on her hips, made her rotate until she faced the timber then knelt behind her and fastened her ankles to the lower struts.

“Such a lovely, rounded bottom.” His calloused hands shaped their way up her curves as he rose to his feet, and he let the fingertips of both his hands stray up into her spread-open cleft. The timber was cool on her brow and against her mound. She opened her mouth and tasted the timber, groaning as she pushed her tongue out, imagining what he would do to her.

“Spank you? No.” He stepped back then she heard him taking off his clothes. No doubt, knowing Mr. Meisner, he was folding them too, and placing them in a neat pile.
 

He came to her again, right up close so his erection pushed at her bottom–the tip already moist and leaving a cool spot on her warm skin before he rested his entire body on her back–mouth at her ear, chest at her back, cock a hard line lower down at her buttocks, even his legs against hers. She couldn’t resist wiggling a bit, getting comfortable, evening out everything with a last sigh. This was where he and she were meant to be, together.