Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (16 page)

“Have you always unburdened yourself through your work?” he asked suddenly.

My face fell. This was the second time he’d implied that I used my work as some sort of tool to cleanse my mind. “What makes you think that’s what I’m doing?” I responded tersely.

“Because when I look at your work, I can see your pain.”

My body went rigid under his unwelcomed scrutiny and suddenly, something occurred to me. He spoke about my work like he was some kind of expert on it, but I couldn’t fathom out how that could be. “Tell me, Mr. Sloane, apart from the images I showed you in our meeting the other day, which pieces of my work are you familiar with?”

“Everything from your last exhibit.”

“You bought something from my last exhibit?” He was talking about the series I’d entitled
Broken
. An exhibit which I’d altered at the last minute, because I was… broken.

He shook his head. “I bought
everything
from your last exhibit.”

Jesus Christ, this guy went way past conventional appreciation; this was bordering on obsession. My mind flicked back to his email and to the emotions to disregard because he’d already taken care of them. He’d taken care of them with the acquisition of my entire exhibition. Oh, there was a whole load of doom and gloom in that crazy lot. I halted, suddenly eager to be out of his hold, and as if sensing my circumspection, he gripped my hands tighter.

“Would you explain something to me, Angel?” He spoke hurriedly, like he was afraid of a lost opportunity. “Something I’ve been wondering about since our meeting the other day.”

“What?” I snapped almost angrily.

“I think I interpret your images pretty well. I believe I see the same emotions you felt when you took them. But the shoes—I don’t get the red shoes. What do they mean?”

I was struck speechless, momentarily blindsided by this man, this interloper, I barely knew. What the hell led him to believe it was okay for him to rummage around in my private thoughts, to trespass into the recesses of my mind that even I’d not dared to plunder? I bit my lip, grappling with my memory to recall if the contract between VS and Wilde Industries had been signed yet. Did I need to be gracious or could I tell him to fuck off without fear of reprisal?

Before I had time to deliberate conclusively, I was grasped around my waist and tugged backwards into strong, familiar arms. Ethan—my savior. I went willingly, the relief of his touch an encompassing bubble as he enfolded my upper body, almost aggressively staking his claim. His face turned into my hair, his nose and cheek stroking their way up my neck, my ear, my face, as if he were marking me with his wonderful scent.

“I’ll take over from here, Sloane. You took back what was rightfully yours today. Now I’m taking what’s mine.” Although I couldn’t see his face, the tone of his voice was an unmistakable warning to back off.

Sloane narrowed his eyes, as if momentarily contemplating whether to retaliate, but then with a curt nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Ethan began to move in time to the beat of the music, his front still pressed up against my back. His hands moved, crossing across my lower abdomen and coming to rest at the tops of my thighs just in front of my hips. I could feel his breath on my neck and my ear, his lips trailing gently over my heated skin as his hands applied pressure, pushing my ass back against his very evident and very firm erection.

I gasped audibly as my body reacted instantly, the power of Salsa and the even more potent, efficacious demands of Ethan Wilde sending me into a hot, whirling mass of sexual desire.

We moved in sync, the assertive force of Ethan’s thighs persuading my feet to move forwards, the pressure of his palms on my thighs urging me backwards. Our hips rotated in heavenly circles, his hardness pressing provocatively into the crevice of my butt as I ground against him shamelessly.

For a time we were lost in the music and the synchronous uniting of our bodies, our senses grasping greedily for the fulfillment the evening had deprived us of. I was aroused beyond belief from the mere contact, the intimacy of his lips on my skin, and the intoxicating woody, spicy scent that was him alone. Jealousy had consumed us both, and we’d responded by denying each other. The final result was an almost unbearable thirst, like we were hankering after a drug which we’d been forcibly denied.

Ethan’s hands began to move, his fingertips skimming over my sex and up onto the bare flesh of my midriff to stroke in lazy circles. One hand lowered, the fingertips disappearing underneath the waistband of my skirt hanging from my hips. The other slid upwards to where my shirt was knotted, his fingertips smoothing their way along the edge of the fabric which covered my breasts. Both hands loitered, threatening—or promising—to venture further. His breathing became ragged, the short bursts of breath matching mine and proof that he, too, had momentarily forgotten where we were.

Suddenly afraid that neither of us would be able to control of our growing passion, I swiveled in his arms, coming face to face with his dark, heated glare. It bore into me, filled with longing and passion—and anger.

Positioning himself so the rigid muscles of his thigh were between my legs, he began to grind it against my pantiless crotch. The friction was mind-blowing, almost unbearably good without the additional safeguard of my panties to shield my knot of pulsing nerves.

Ethan slid his hand over my backside and the length of my back and neck to fist into my hair, his grasp holding me steady only inches from his lips. “What’s the matter, Angel, worried you can’t control it?”

“No.” I pressed my hip into his solid erection. “I’m worried you can’t.”

His lip curled into a lazy, cocksure smile. “You’ve been
very
bad tonight, Cinders. I think you need a lesson, a very harsh reminder of just who you belong to.”

A sharp, thrilling stab of lust shot through my body, my breasts becoming heavy, nipples pebbling hard and needy in response. “And how exactly do you propose to do that, Charming?”

“I’m going fuck you so hard, you’ll never forget again.”

“I didn’t forget. You did.” I paused for a beat. “And besides, your threat doesn’t worry me. We’re in a room full of people. We could be here for hours yet. You may be a wild cat now, but by the time you get me home, you’ll have tamed into a mere pussycat.”

Grasping my hair even harder, he crushed his lips onto mine, his tongue forcing my lips apart and delving passionately, possessively into my mouth. Then just as abruptly, he pulled away. “Who said I was going to wait until I got you home?”

Gripping my hand tightly, he pulled me through the horde of tangled, swaying bodies to the corner of the stage. A small flight of three steps led to a door, and after glancing swiftly around to be certain we weren’t being watched, Ethan wasted no time in wrenching it open and dragging me through. A short passage led to the back of the stage, and although a clear view of the dance floor and the back of the DJ could easily be seen, the space was surrounded in long-established velvet curtains and shrouded in darkness.

Ethan slowed, pulling me along behind him, being careful not to collide with the array of technical equipment and musical instruments discarded by the club’s Saturday night band. When we reached the center of the backstage there was a table stacked with drums—bongos and timbales, and a variety of other types I couldn’t name. Ethan turned me to face them, placing both of my hands palms-down over the stretched membrane of the bongo drums.

“You’ve brought me here to play the drums?” I asked with smug confidence.

Reaching around to grip my jaw, he turned my head slightly to the left, his face pressed up against my neck, his lips at my ear. “I’ve brought you here so you can watch all the sad motherfuckers who have been straining in their fucking pants because they’ve been wondering what it would be like to get you out of these.” His hand appeared in front of my face, my black lace panties dangling from his pointy finger.

Suddenly, his knee was between my legs, forcing them apart, and his free hand was grasping the hem of my skirt, yanking it upwards to leave me naked from the waist down.

Horrified that I might be seen, I panicked and began to wriggle away from him. “Ethan, no, someone will see.”

But the strength of his hand clasping my skirt at my hip and his frenzied whisper stilled me. “Then keep still. If you upset the drums there’ll be an almighty racket and everyone will know we’re here. You were the one who exposed the parts of your body meant only for me. And you were the one who pushed your ass into the desperate groins of those fuckers out there, so now you’ll have to bear the consequences of your actions.”

“I did not push my ass against them,” I protested, trying to turn my head to see him.

He gripped my jaw and turned my face again. “Look at Sloane,” he whispered. I searched the crowd until I found him standing at the edge of the floor where Ethan had been earlier watching us dance. “See how his eyes search for you. The same greedy fucking eyes that have been stripping you naked all night.” His hand released my hip and trailed across my butt, his fingers stroking down the crevice and under toward my soaking sex. My body quivered in response to his touch and his hand moved swiftly from my face to encircle my waist. Slowly, his fingers parted me, dipping into the moist void and causing me to buck violently back toward his hand. The action earned me a sharp slap on my right butt cheek, his hand moving quickly back to my waist to support my buckling legs.

“You’re not in a position to call the shots, you greedy, eager girl.”

I almost cried out from the shock of the impact, but recovered quickly, remembering that any noise could reveal our location. The smoldering heat of pleasure and pain was a delicious, heady combination, and I found myself desperately keen to stay hidden.

Ethan’s fingers slid over my slippery flesh and plunged inside me, robbing my lungs of the breath I’d been holding. “God you feel so good, baby, so hot and wet. Look.” He nodded toward Sloane who was scanning the floor. Damon was standing next to him, and Valiente was grinding his hips behind the wiggling ass of a very large busted lady. “Every one of them wishes they were the ones with their fingers buried inside your tight, little pussy…” his fingers moved faster, deeper “…but it’s me you’re pussy drips for, baby. Am I right?” His other hand moved in front, the pad of his finger rubbing circles into my pulsing clit.

“Yes.” I could barely gasp the word as I hurtled rapidly toward climax.

“Are you sure, Angel? Because you’ve just been dancing with that fucker Sloane while your panties were in my fucking pocket, so how can I be certain?” His fingers began to slow, my orgasm receding leaving me wilting and groaning in protest.

Shifting, I released the drum, moving my hand behind me to grasp his bulging cock, kneading the solid mass through the fabric of his pants at the same tempo as his magic fingers worked me. He groaned in my ear and shoved himself into me.

“And what about you,” I hissed through a blend of anger and arousal, my fingers working his zipper and slithering inside to fist his hot, rigid cock. “How the fuck do I know your dick isn’t rock solid because of her?” I nodded toward Natasha.

Ethan’s fingers disappeared abruptly, his hands gripping my shoulders and swinging me around to face him. “Because I’m fucking yours, goddamn it. Only ever fucking yours.”

Our breathing was heavy, laden with lust and deprivation, our gazes fixed and filled with emotion. “Good,” I rasped. “Well, fucking kiss me, then.”

Our mouths collided along with our desperate bodies, and suddenly there was an almighty crash. We froze as the DJ pivoted, his eyes squinting as he moved toward the darkness and our hiding place.

“Who’s there?” His eyes scanned until they found our shape in the shadows. “You shouldn’t be back there.”

Ethan pulled my skirt down and grabbed my hand, pulling me deeper into the shadows in the opposite way we came. Eventually we reached a gap in the sprawling curtains and behind was a door leading into a corridor. We entered quickly, running and laughing until we reached a set of doors at the far end. Ethan tried the handle of the first, marked
Private
, but it was locked. The second had a bar running across the width, a fire exit. He pushed it and it opened out into a dimly-lit space, the deafening noise of splashing, splattering water invading our ears.

Rain.

We looked out into the blustery downpour and found a tiny courtyard, the space not more than eight feet square. Surrounded by tremendously high walls on three sides, the fourth led up a long flight of stone steps, the back exit from the basement to the street. About five steps up was an iron gate, closed and padlocked. The only light shone from the luminous fire exit sign above the door.

My eyes completed the scanning of the area and came to rest on deep, dark blue pools of desire. Ethan’s breathing was raspy and raw, his lips full and blood red from the lust coursing through his veins.

“I want you,” his words were a primal demand.

I pressed my palms against his chest and pushed him out into the torrential rain, following quickly and slamming the door behind me. The rain hammered against us, soaking us to the skin in seconds, the freezing cold shock on heated flesh only adding to the thrill of the moment.

Our mouths crashed together, our tongues plunging and licking as we laughed, gasped and panted through our passion and delight. Ethan cupped my ass, gathering me into his embrace, and as I wrapped my legs around him, he staggered forward, smashing my back up against the door. We fumbled with each other’s garments, me wrenching his shirt free from his pants and dragging it over his head, Ethan opting to shove my blouse and bra up out of the way to gain access to my soaking breasts.

I pressed my head against the door, my hands fisting wildly into his hair as he feasted on my neck, his lips and hands hastily seeking my swollen breasts, sucking and nibbling my nipples and kneading with his fingers. My skirt was shoved high around my waist, Ethan’s hips the only thing keeping me up against the door.

“Look what you drive me to, Angel.” His voice was a raw guttural grate. “You make me so fucking crazy. Ever since the first night we met, you’ve driven me crazy. Why? Why do you drive me mad with jealousy?”