Evgeni (Siberian Ambush Book 1) (6 page)

Advancing footsteps caught her attention. The door between the office and bedroom opened and then clicked closed. As Evi walked she heard a sloshing tinkle, the sound of something wet shifting against metal perhaps. She couldn’t quite place the sound.

“I’m very impressed with your body control, Celia,” Evi complimented amid the sounds of objects meeting a wooden tabletop. “You didn’t even wiggle a toe. They always wiggle their toes,” he murmured as if to himself.

Celia heard his last remark and frowned slightly.
They?

His Dom tendencies and the ease with which he produced his props made sense now. She supposed he did this sort of thing with girlfriends all the time. The unwanted stab of jealousy that twisted her belly felt strange and unnecessary. There had been a time—so many years ago—when she had been infatuated with Evi in the way young sisters often were with their older brother’s friends. After Homer’s death and the loss of her parents and then Bianca’s sickness such silly things had been forgotten.

But now? Now on her knees, bound and trembling, she couldn’t lie. She felt an almost unnatural connection to Evi. It was something more than their old and very complicated history. It was something about him, about his scent and his body heat and the way he made her feel. It was the commanding tone of his voice and the firm and almost arrogant way he touched her body.

When she felt his warm hands on her shoulders, she almost flinched but caught herself at the last instant. She was fairly sure a flinch could be counted as movement.

His fingers untied the knots in the ties binding her feet. “Stand up, Celia. Let the blood flow into your feet.”

Gently, he grasped her shoulders and aided her as she rose shakily to her feet. The pins-and-needles sensations that stabbed at her feet and calves were excruciating but she didn’t grimace. Instead she practiced pain-minimizing breathing techniques that were now second-nature to her.

Certain that she could balance, Evi left her standing motionless and went about preparing for the next stage of the scenario. She heard a scrape and hiss before she smelled sulfur.

Gulping, she surmised that in her current predicament that could only mean one thing—wax.

As if reading her mind, Evi piped up from behind her. “I won’t burn you, Celia. There may be some…discomfort…but I won’t scar you.” Fingertips trailed along the nasty scar bisecting her back. “You have quite enough of those, I think.”

Not at all comforted by that statement, Celia felt her anxiety ratchet a notch higher. Bondage and some light domination she could stand, but pain was an entirely different situation. In her field, pain was something to be avoided. If Evi meant to show her some sort of twisted pleasure from this, she was certain he would fail. Then again, perhaps he got off on inflicting pain…

“Get back on your knees, Celia,” Evi ordered, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

She obeyed immediately, steeling her mind for whatever was about to come. Panic would only increase the discomfort so she forced her body to stay calm. Unexpectedly, she felt Evi kneel behind her and then his hands were sliding down her front, spreading what felt like oil from her collarbone to just below her navel.

“We don’t want the wax to stick permanently,” he drawled, his chin resting on her shoulder.

Inadvertently, Celia shuddered as his oily fingers slid up her thighs. The sensation of his lubricated skin on hers was maddening, and she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around his consideration. Surely if he wanted to simply hurt her, he wouldn’t have applied the oil first? She imagined ripping the wax off would thrill a true sadist.

Deciding that Evi
wasn’t
a pure sadist, she breathed a bit easier.

Evi abandoned his oil massage and rose. When he came back to her, she sensed him on her left and then heard what she could only guess were perhaps a candleholder and some kind of metal canister being placed on the floor. Evi moved again, this time settling on his knees in front of her. His hands cupped her chin and for a terrifying and thrilling moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he shifted her head up and back.

“Don’t move your head, Celia,” he instructed, brushing blonde tendrils behind her ears. “I’d hate to drip wax on that pretty face.”

Realizing he was serious, Celia made certain that she kept her neck perfectly still as she heard him rise and begin to circle her. Hindered by the blindfold, she had to rely on her sense of hearing and the soft wind that blew across her skin as he walked to judge his movements. He was obviously trying to keep her on tenterhooks as he delayed spilling the wax—and it was working. Each passing minute of waiting and wondering when she would feel the scalding liquid on her skin was almost unbearable.

And then, finally, it came.

When the first hot droplet fell onto the delicate skin between her breasts, she gasped but held her urge to arch in check. Before she could even process the first sensation, a stream of wax was dripping onto her abdomen, completely covering her navel. It was hot but not painfully so, and she could feel the pliable hot wax hardening in the cooler air circulating in the bedroom.

Behind her, Evi dropped to his knees, widening them so his thighs straddled hers and his chest pressed against her back. With his right hand, he palmed her right breast, kneading the heavy globe. As he pinched her puckered nipple, she felt a hot glob of wax land on her left breast. She prayed the wax wouldn’t stray onto the sensitive peak.

His cheek against hers, Evi continued twisting and pinching her right nipple while simultaneously dribbling wax onto her left breast until the top was almost completely covered, leaving only the nipple bare. His hand moved away and she expected to feel wax falling onto her right breast—but she didn’t.

Celia cried out when an ice cube began circling her right nipple. The shock of cold when she was expecting heat was enough to throw her off kilter, and she almost moved. She was finally able to place the sloshing noise she had heard when Evi returned. It must have been water and ice in a metal bucket.

Quite an aficionado at sensation play, Evi began alternating wax with ice, plying her trembling body with the implements in a completely random pattern. Wax splashed her thighs and ice cubes circled her stomach. Wax pooled on the crest of her right breasts and an ice cube melted against the tightly creased left nipple.

Celia quickly gained an understanding of the term pleasure-pain and realized there was an exquisite discomfort to be derived from the application of such jarringly different temperatures. Her entire body buzzed with heightened sensation to the point that Evi’s fingertips running down her still-bound arms made her pussy clench.

Evi blew out the candle and then she heard ice cubes crackling against one another. She waited to feel the ice on her skin and moaned when Evi pressed an ice cube to her neck, just below her earlobe. When she felt the tip of his nose and his warm breath against her skin, she realized he was holding the cube between his lips. He trailed the ice up and down one side of her neck before taking it to the other. All the while, his hands roamed her body, pulling off some of the hardened bits of wax and creating sensations of intense pain followed by slow throbbing.

With the ice cube resting against her right collarbone, Evi let it fall from his lips. Slowly it slid down the contours of her body, riding the inside of her breast and down her stomach before bumping into a spot of wax on her thigh. It clung to her skin, and she shivered inadvertently as Evi sucked her earlobe and began untying the binds holding her elbows and wrists together.

In her pleasurable torment, Celia had completely forgotten about her restrained arms. When she was finally free, Evi rubbed her shoulders and elbows and allowed her to roll her shoulders to release the tension that had built up in the muscles.

He left the blindfold on so she had only the warning of his breath against her skin before his hair was brushing her jaw, his head bent over her shoulder to allow his tongue to lave her collarbone. Thighs tensing, she exhaled forcefully and wished that his mouth were on another part of her. Each swipe of an ice cube and drip of wax had sent a fiery pulse to her clit, and yet again she was dying for his touch. How the man managed to reduce her to a quivering, craving mass was beyond her.

As if sensing her need, Evi suckled her neck and ran his hand down her body, skimming over the bumps of wax marring her skin. His fingers played in the curls covering her sex and then he slid one finger down her slit, through her wetness. She felt him smile against her neck and imagined him smirking triumphantly at his discovery, but her annoyance was obliterated the second he brought a finger to her clit. Celia jumped and groaned, her breath shaky.

“You’re close to coming,” he stated.

She bit her lip rather than answer.

“Celia, answer me. Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” she whispered hungrily.

His fingers manipulated her clit until her toes were curling. Her back undulated against his chest as he worked her into a frenzy with his fingers.

“Do you want to come, Celia?” The fingers of his right hand made quick circles around her clit, increasing their pressure with each pass.

“Yes, please, Evi! Please!” she begged with a strangled cry, beyond caring about the consequences. Ready for his fingers to work her into an orgasm, Celia opened her thighs wider…

And was greeted with a shocking and painful application of a handful of ice to her pussy.

“YOU BASTARD!” she screeched, lunging blindly forward as her orgasm was stolen away and her now numbed clit throbbed.

Evi’s hands snatched her upper arms, holding her in place. “You’re not going anywhere, Celia. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Chapter Seven

With the handful of forgotten ice melting between Celia’s spread knees, Evi released his grip on her arms and pressed her shoulders toward the floor. He was certain he’d finally succeeded in shocking her free from her overwhelmingly strong control of her body and mind.

Now he could get on with the part he’d been looking forward to—breaking her.

Leaving a panting Celia braced on all fours, Evi strode to his bedside table and retrieved the strip of condoms in the top drawer. Shapeshifters were immune to human disease, and it was impossible to get the human women he typically hired for these types of services with child. Celia, however, possessed shapeshifter DNA from a grandparent and that throbbing pulse of magical energy deep inside her called to him, warning him and thrilling him. This was not a time to play with fire.

Desperate to sink into her, he ripped open a foil packet and hastily applied the sheath. He kneeled behind her and ran the tip of his condom-covered penis along the crease of her ass cheeks, straight down to the tip of her surprisingly still-chilled apex. One swipe of her cleft and the latex was already smeared with her slippery arousal. His chest swelled at the realization that he’d driven her to this point of arousal.

He plunged into her without warning, shoving his cock as deep as it would go. Beneath him, Celia grunted and leaned down to accommodate his length. He could tell she was having trouble taking all of him but that didn’t guilt him into softening his thrusts.

He was determined that when he was done with her, she wouldn’t be able to move with her usual catlike grace.

Evi withdrew the entire length of his stiff rod, only to roughly shove it back into her. Picking up the pace, he maintained a swift, thrusting speed, showing no mercy as he plowed into her tight, hot channel. From the mewling sounds emanating from her throat, he knew she was enjoying the roughness of their coupling. She seemed to revel in each deep, abrupt stab of his cock, to savor the velvet outstroke that followed. Even as he considered it, the slick walls of her sex clamped down on his cock, seeming to strangle each second of sensation from his movements.

Evi’s hand snaked around the front of her neck until his forearm was pressed against her throat. He lifted her, cradling her back to his front with his arm above her chest to hold her in place. The change in the angle of his penetration caused Celia to groan in pleasure. He knew he was stroking her G-spot with each thrust. Her keening cries convinced him she was finding heaven impaled on his cock.

Lips against her ear, Evi panted, “You will not come, Celia.”

Undoubtedly understanding thoroughly now that orgasm control was his game, Celia nodded mutely. He wouldn’t make it easy on her.

With greater intensity, Evi plunged into her core, his chest tightening. He kept one arm against her upper body but allowed the fingers of his other hand to peel the wax from her stomach, making her gasp in pain, pleasure…perhaps a combination of both.

When he felt his balls constrict, he knew he was close and pushed Celia back down to the floor, left cheek resting against the cold wood. Grabbing her wrists, he held them behind her back, using them like makeshift reins.

He shifted the weight off his right knee, bending his leg and extending it so that his foot was next to her face. Pressing his toes against her right cheek, he pinned her in place and prepared to fuck her senseless.

***

Celia inhaled sharply in panic when Evi’s toes met her cheek until she realized he wasn’t applying any real force. Had she really wanted to move away, she could have. But the position definitely imparted the delicious sensation of being completely at his mercy.

Despite her terribly constricted position, she had no desire to move. She
liked
the feeling of being completely at his mercy, of being reduced to a living doll that existed only for his pleasure.

And that was a problem. The realization turned her on so badly that she was just moments away from coming.

Desperate, she tried to ignore her the throbbing, aching need inside her and filled her mind with mundane thoughts. She ran through a mental checklist of proper handgun-cleaning techniques, of the disgusting ingredients used in war water—a nasty occult concoction poured on the doorsteps or in the pathways of enemies to condemn them to terrific strife and sorrow. And finally the sight of her neighbor, Mr. Salazar, retrieving his morning paper in his robe—and only his robe—and giving the entire apartment complex a view of his wrinkled chicken legs and saggy balls.