Nobody's Angel (20 page)

Anxious to exert his control right now, he said, “You will keep your hands where I place them, pet.” With that, he took her hands and brought them to the intricate heart-shaped design of the Italian iron headboard.
Dio
, he loved that she had a bed tailor-made for bondage scenes.

“Hold onto the bed, here,” he placed her left hand on the cold iron, “and here.” She wrapped her fingers around the iron design where he had spaced her hands, about six or seven inches apart, over her head. When she released a pent-up breath, he grinned. She was strung tighter than a loaded crossbow.

Marc trailed his fingertip down the underside of her right arm, raising gooseflesh along his path. Her tiny gasp as he tickled her made him smile, but her knuckles turned white as she held on for dear life.

“Very good, pet.”

Her chest rose, as if reaching out to him, begging him to touch her breasts. He didn’t, but grinned at her neediness before his smile faded.
Not yours
. “You agreed that I could use restraints on you if you do not obey me. If you let go of the headboard, I
will
use sashes or belts to restrain you.”

The pulse in her neck thrummed. She nodded her head. He knew she’d find honor bondage preferable to physical restraints. His gut twisted when he remembered finding her bound and struggling on the cross at Masters at Arms.

Trust me, little sub. I won’t let that happen to you ever again
.

“If you want us to stop at any time, you will say ‘Red.’ That will be your safe word. If you say it, we stop and that’s the end of the scene. Do you understand?”

Angelina nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

He knew she wouldn’t need it for the sensation-play scene he had planned, but wanted to get across she still had power. He knew without a doubt she’d spoken her safe word with Sir Asshole, but the bastard had ignored her. Her body tensed as she appeared to be lost in memories of the same scene.

Marc leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Stay with me, pet.” He nipped the skin on her neck with his teeth. She whimpered. When he stood up again, he saw her nipples had become engorged. So damned responsive.

Marc stretched her legs open on the bed.

“The same is true for your legs. If you move them without permission, I will have to restrain them. It will be harder for you to control your legs than it is your hands, because they have nothing to hold onto. So beware. I will tie them to the footboard if necessary in order to proceed with this scene. The choice is yours.”

* * *

Angelina held her breath. Choice? She had choice left?

Total darkness. Just like at the club. When she did remember to breathe, her breath hitched.
Marc isn’t Allen. He wants to bring you pleasure. You can trust him. Marc isn’t Allen
… The affirmations did little to steady her accelerating heartbeat and shallow breathing.

“Relax,
gattina
.” Marc’s lips brushed against her ear, his scratchy whiskers sending a zing straight to her clit. “Remember, you need only say ‘Red’—like the traffic light—and I will stop. But this isn’t a pain session, pet. Only pleasure.”

You can trust him
.

“Are you okay to continue?”

Marc isn’t Allen
.

“
Cara
, answer me.”

She took a deep breath. What was the question? She drew her lower lip between her teeth. What should she say?

“I asked if you’re okay to continue?”

Oh, thank you, Sir!
She nodded and said, “Yes, Sir.” Now, she’d better stop letting her mind wander. Thankfully, he’d left her legs free.

He kissed her cheek, his whiskers scratching the curve of her neck. “I’m proud of you, pet. I know how hard this is for you.”

His praise spread over her like warm honey. He didn’t know the half of why she was freaking out, but he seemed very aware of her anxiety level and always brought her back down.

Back to him
.

“Now, you will not argue with or disobey me. That will never be tolerated when we…when you are in a scene with a Dom.”

Who me, argue?

He never referred to anything beyond tonight. This was merely a training session, like Karla had said one of the masters at the club did with unattached bottoms and submissives. What if she did disobey him? Would she be punished, even though he wasn’t her real Dom? Dread knotted her stomach. How? Spanking? Belt? Worse? She didn’t want to incur any type of punishment, so she would definitely obey.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now I need to get to work so you won’t wander off in your mind so often. Also, it would be best if you spoke only when given permission or if you need to use your safe word. Is that clear?

“Y—” she stopped herself before too late and nodded her head instead.

“Excellent.” Marc tweaked her nipple, causing her to suck in a breath as she felt blood rush to the sensitive peak. The heat in the pit of her stomach spread lower. Marc chuckled. “I love to watch your body response to my touch, pet.”

She wasn’t sure what had happened to turn on her body’s sexual circuitry all of a sudden, but now she just wanted to bask in the light.

“I love seeing you stretched out for me. So beautiful.”

Lying this way, as if tied, and wearing only the blindfold sent a thrill through her body. Even though he didn’t touch her, she could almost feel his hands on her. With her hands stretched above her head, she imagined her girls were lifted and almost perky. She smiled, less concerned about how she looked and beginning to anticipate his lesson or demonstration or whatever this was with a little more enthusiasm now.

Marc’s lips brushed her right ear. “That’s right. Relax,
cara.
” Marc’s scruff abraded her cheek and ear in the most sensual way. Heat pooled in her core and she tilted her pelvis toward him, begging for his touch.

“Lift your hips.”

Trying to keep her legs where he had positioned them made it impossible to do as he told her very easily, but she raised them as much as she could. His strong hand lifted her higher and he slid a pillow under her butt, leaving her pussy exposed even more. Her heart began to beat faster and her tongue licked across suddenly parched lips.

She felt the mattress sink under his weight, then he straddled her hips, then bent his upper body over hers. One hand cupped her left breast, teasing her nipple, while he brought his mouth down to her right nipple and suckled. Heat from his body enveloped her, the hairs from his chest tickling the skin on her torso and abdomen. He tugged on her nipple with his teeth, stretching her breast to the limits of comfort, then let the tender peak go so that her breast bounced back into place. He repeated the motion again and yet again, just as he had done with his fingers on the sofa last night.

“I love your breasts, pet.”

Gee, I hadn’t noticed
.

He gave her swollen bud another nip with his teeth, then, with a sigh, sat up again. His hand skimmed over her abdomen, just barely brushing the tiny body hair and sending gooseflesh over her entire body. Her hair even stood on end. Then his hand brushed lower, tickling her and causing an instinctively defensive move as she pulled her knees up to protect her pussy. If he weren’t sitting slightly on her thighs, she’d have disobeyed him.

“Ticklish there, are we?”

Her face flushed as she nodded.

He sighed. That didn’t sound good. “Pet, I’m sorry, but more than likely, I am going to need to restrain your legs.”

“No! I’ll keep them down this time.”

“I did not give you permission to speak, did I?”

Frustrated, she groaned, then shook her head.

“If you defy my commands, I will gag you, as well.”

She shook her head vigorously. Not that! How would she speak her safe word if she were gagged?

“Don’t worry,
gattina
.” His voice grew gentle again, as if he smiled. “When I…When your Dom introduces you to the gag, you’ll be given a safe gesture to use instead of a word.”

How did he always know what she was thinking?

“You aren’t ready for that step, so if you simply do as I say, we can dispense with that tonight. But this is your last chance on both counts.”

No leg restraints. No gag. And just what did he do, travel around with ball gags on him? Or would he improvise? She forced herself to relax her tensed muscles and sank back against the mattress and pillows. Marc moved off of her hips, stretching out beside her, and returned his finger to just below her breast where he began trailing it down across her abdomen. When he came close to her mons, her legs bolted up. Oh, no! Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. How could she control the damned reflex if he kept tickling her like that?

Without a word, Marc got off the mattress and she heard his footsteps heading toward the nightstand. She grew tense once more as he took one of her ankles and she felt the coolness of satin or some other cloth quickly warm against her skin. He tied the sash or belt around her ankle, then pulled her leg open wider than she thought comfortably possible. When he had secured her binding to the footboard, she tested her range of motion and found it to be less limiting than she’d expected. He really was trying not to scare the bejeezers out of her.

So sweet of you, Marc...er, Sir
.

At least her hands were still free. She didn’t feel as vulnerable knowing she could at least inflict some serious damage with her hands, not unlike what she’d done to Allen earlier tonight, if Marc so much as…

“Relax your leg.”

She didn’t realize she’d tensed up again and did as he ordered. After he attached another cloth belt to her ankle and restrained that leg, she felt his fingers slide between the sash and her ankle on each side as if testing the tightness. The mattress sagged under his weight on her right side moments later.

“Nod or shake your head. Are you okay with the restraints?”

She nodded.

“I’m proud of you,
cara
. You’re being very brave.”

Brave? He was only the second person to tell her that in her entire life—and the first one was a figment of her imagination. Before her mind could process his praise, his hand glided down the inside of her right thigh to her knee, causing chill bumps to rise in its wake. When he began a slow, upward advance toward her pussy, she held her breath.
Please, don’t!

Don’t stop!

Pent-up tension built to fever pitch. Even though he had yet to touch her clit, the needy bit throbbed, waiting to welcome him. She’d been anticipating his touch for so long while kneeling on the floor that now when she was so close to…something she couldn’t even name…the sensations were nearing torture. She would come at the slightest pressure against the place where she needed him most. She tilted her hips, begging silently. Now! Please!

Nothing. The hand touching her thigh left her. She arched her back, raising her chest toward him, hoping he would touch her nipples again. Bite them. Touch or bite her anywhere. Instead he got off the bed again and she ached at the loss.

Two days ago, if someone had told her she’d be tied to her bed—or half tied, in this case—craving a man’s touch like this, she’d have told them they were delusional. When had she become so depraved? So…submissive? So wanton?

Dear God, she’d become a wanton woman.

No, a wanting woman. And what she wanted more than anything in the world, even chocolate, was Marc’s touch. Where had he gone anyway? What was he doing? Then she felt him climb back onto the bed and his weight pressed into the mattress near her right leg. She relaxed her contracted muscles and smiled. A short-lived reprieve because, rather than feel his hands or mouth on her body, what felt like cold sharp steel traced lightly over the skin from her left sole, causing her to squirm at the ticklish, yet prickly, feeling. She heard a slight squeak, as if it were a wheel of some type, tracing a path from her ankle to the inside of her knee. Sharp, but not breaking the skin, although it probably could cut her if he exerted enough pressure.

She sucked in a gasp of air and held still, holding her breath, not wanting to be cut by whatever he was using. The pinpricks rolled up the insides of her knees, her thighs. Oh, God, not her pussy! She tried to close her legs against the invasion, but couldn’t move them.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Restrained.

She knew she couldn’t stand the bite of that thing against her clit. Could she? Then the wheel rolled along the uppermost ridge of her hipbone and onto her abdomen. Her legs reflexively fought the restraints, but she was unable to defend against his ticklish onslaught. She gripped the headboard tighter, trying not to break into screams—or giggles. He rolled the damned thing lower, toward her mons, and she nearly came undone.

Mind over matter. In her mind, she prepared the batter for an Italian cream cake. After adding the first few ingredients, she was able to control her response to the ticklish stimuli.

“Very good,
cara.
”

Warmth spread over her, then the wheel marked new territory again as it traveled upward. The ticklish sensation gave way to a more biting pressure as the wheel rolled around the edge of her right breast where it met her chest wall. Every hair on her body stood on end.

A finger from his other hand brushed the inside of her knee and moved upward, bypassing her pussy, as well. She moaned in frustration. His fingertip skimmed lightly over her hip, across her abdomen, unerringly along the same path the steel object had traced seconds ago, as if following a pattern across her skin. Was the instrument marking a path on her skin in some way?

The pinpricks skittered across the underside of her left breast, then traveled over the space between her girls and onto the top of her right one, circling around the base of the breast and back to the other one. He was making repeated figure eights. Her nipples tightened, aching and waiting.

Please! Touch me there!

Then his fingertip traced the same figure either around her breasts before replaced by the metal instrument again. This time, it came oh-so-close to pricking the skin of one areola. Thankfully, the area wasn’t as sensitive as other parts of her breast. Then the pricking spiraled closer and closer to one sensitive peak and she felt the bud rise up to meet the steel instrument, without even being touched directly. What was that about?