Evgeni (Siberian Ambush Book 1) (7 page)

Behind her, Evi tensed and growled loudly, pumping brutally as he came. She squeezed her thighs muscles and bit her lip, inhaling trembling breaths as she tried to ignore the heat bubbling in her belly.

“
Blin
,” he swore. Sweaty and huffing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up against him, rolling onto his back.

She could only guess his motives for clutching her against him. There was always the miniscule chance that he enjoyed a post-nookie cuddle—and again, that was a dismally small chance. No, she was rather certain he merely wanted to ensure she couldn’t run off while he was trying to recover from what sounded like one hell of an orgasm.

Squirming, Celia tried to allay the now painful ache between her thighs and the feel of brittle wax tugging at her skin. To say she was uncomfortable was a serious understatement.
And when is he going to remove this damned blindfold?
she wondered in frustration.

Evi stirred from his orgasm-induced stupor. She was hauled off the floor by her arms and then his hands were on her shoulders, steering her backward. Since she couldn’t see, she trusted in his silent direction and stopped when she felt the duvet against the backs of her thighs. With a few tugs, the blindfold was untied and tossed aside.

Celia blinked as her eyesight adjusted. Evi was already walking toward a nearby door, his sweaty back turned to her. She supposed she could have made a run for it then but ultimately remained rooted to the spot. She’d come this far. It was too late to renege on the deal now.

“Lie back on the bed, Celia,” Evi said, entering the bedroom with a small stack of washcloths and hand towels.

Wordlessly, she did as instructed. Evi paused to pick up the bucket of icy water and plunked it onto the nightstand next to his bed. He tossed a few of the washcloths into the water, soaking them, and threw the hand towels onto the duvet next to Celia. Wringing out a washcloth, he sat beside her. Very carefully, he peeled away the wax clinging to her thighs, using the cold cloth to wipe away the tiny specks and soothe the red splotches left behind.

Remaining perfectly still, Celia observed his tender ministrations with the same confusion as earlier.
What is he playing at?

***

When Evi began removing the wax from her breasts, he watched Celia’s stomach quiver as she held her breath and looked away. He worked slowly so as not to tear the skin but even still, he knew the irritation was intense.

Evi noticed her tiny grimaces and felt the tiniest tinge of guilt. Yes, he’d planned to inflict a little discomfort and this was just a part of playing with wax, but there was something about Celia that brought his conscience into the mix. He supposed it had something to do with having known her as a child.

But she was no child now. Sitting beside her, staring down at her naked body, he was confronted with the reality that she had blossomed into a delectably nubile creature. The curve of her lush breasts and those hips called to the beast inside him. Too long he had denied himself a mate. Too long he had foregone the urge to breed. Everything about this beautiful woman made him ache and yearn for things he had never thought to want.

This surprisingly strong-willed and resourceful young woman had performed exceptionally well for what he was certain was her first foray into bondage and pain play. He found himself more than willing to overlook her minor indiscretions, those tiny groans and movements. Surely she deserved a little comfort now.

Leaning down on one elbow, Evi draped his other arm around her waist and lowered his mouth to the blotch on her left breast left by the wax. Ever so gently, he traced the outline of the red patch with his tongue, smiling as he felt her shiver. While Celia writhed and issued throaty moans, he spent a little time on each spot, moving slowly down her body until he was kneeling between her legs and dragging his tongue across the wax mark just below her navel.

He could smell the musky scent of her arousal mixed with the taint of wax and saw that her labia were still swollen from the double orgasm denial he had forced on her. Grabbing a damp washcloth, he gently wiped away the traces of their earlier coupling, removing the wax and latex scent that disagreed with him and leaving her pristine for the tasting.

Never again, he thought, his mind already racing ahead to the next time and the next and the next that he intended to have her. No more latex. No more barriers. He would have her as nature intended—to hell with the consequences. He didn’t want to think about how she would fight him or raise merry hell about his plans to keep her. Not now. Later, he decided. He would figure out all of the details later.

Unable to contain his urge, he pressed his face between her thighs. She squealed at the sensation of his nose pushing against her inflamed clit, and with a pump of her hips, silently urged him to lick her into abandon. Intoxicated by her earthy smell, he traced her nether lips with his pointed tongue but avoided her clit. He would save that for the very last moment. He wanted her to be desperate with need.

With broad tongue strokes, he lapped at her labia and flicked his tongue at her now-dripping opening. Hands on her thighs, he tongue-fucked her pussy, savoring the tangy flavor as she mewled and arched atop the duvet. Finally, he sucked her plump clit between his lips, rolling his tongue across the bud before releasing it. Almost manically, she ground her pussy against his face, silently begging him to give her release.

For better access, he grasped her knees and draped them over his shoulders before slipping two fingers into her well-lubricated passage, tilted them up and pumping. The more she squirmed, the harder and faster he moved his fingers. His lips and tongue continued their assault on her clit, and he mixed up the sensations by gently teething the quivering bud after every nine or ten strokes.

When her pussy started to spasm, he went wild on her clit, frantically moving his mouth side to side. Celia screamed an incoherent string of Spanish curse words as she came, her legs flexing and toes digging into Evi’s shoulders. He greedily ate her pussy as if it were an exotic and juicy succulent fruit, taking and tasting and imprinting her scent in his memory forever.

While she trembled and panted, Evi wiped his mouth on a clean washcloth and began tidying up the room, ignoring his engorged cock. For the better part of five minutes she seemed completely unaware of his movements. The sound of ice water dumping into the sink garnered her attention and she sat up on the bed, her eyes hazy with pleasure, her skin still marred by the wax play.

Evi took in her disheveled state for a second before speaking. “I suggest you rest until I have everything set up for our next game.”

“Next game?” she repeated with a hint of apprehension.

Smiling devilishly, Evi strode to a door on the other side of the bed and flung it wide. “Tell me, Celia. Have you ever been strapped to a spanking horse?”

Chapter Eight

Celia heard squeaking wheels and then saw an ominous black leather contraption being pushed out of the closet and into the center of the room.

Oh shit.

It didn’t take much coaxing to convince her to mount the spanking horse, however—not that she really had a choice. Built in the style of a gymnastic vaulting horse, the sturdy contraption was shorter and boasted two angled and padded benches for knee rests lining either side. The leather hump she straddled was just long enough to brace her torso, leaving her bottom suspended just over the edge—a prime position for Evi’s use. Heavy steel D-rings had been attached to the front and back ends and at even intervals on both sides so that one’s lover could be immobilized for maximum effect.

Evi explained that the spanking horse was one of his many pieces of erotic furniture. However, it was the only one that he had specifically ordered to be made mobile. Its size and mobility allowed him to use his favorite prop in various places in the manor, unlike the larger racks and tables closeted away in a room across the house.

Celia lay facedown on the horse, her leather-cuffed hands attached to the front D-ring and her ankles in leather shackles attached to the knee rests on either side. A rubber ring gag held her mouth open wide but left her with a rudimentary ability to speak.

Resting her cheek on a small white towel, Celia anxiously eyed Evi’s lissome tread as he circled her, obviously reveling in the sight of her exposed body. He moved like a feral cat, his stride reminding her of a prowling beast stalking its prey.

He had already explained the rules of the game to her again, namely that she wasn’t allowed to move, orgasm or speak unless she needed to use the safe word or was asked a direct question. He was giving her another chance to prove herself, and any infraction of either rule would result in increasingly more painful punishments.

As if testing her, Evi left her in that position for half an hour while he lounged in his Chesterfield, sipping cognac and watching her. The minutes ticked on, and Celia gained a smug sense of satisfaction from her ability to withstand making any sounds or movements. She was just stubborn enough to endure pain to prove that she could outlast his punishments.

Seeming to lose interest in waiting, Evi drained his snifter and rose from his chair. She watched as he entered the closet and then rolled out a metal tray similar to those found in hospitals, strategically placing it in front of her. He laid a white towel on the shiny surface and then began retrieving devious implements from the closet.

Celia warily eyed the arsenal of toys on display. There was a red suede flogger, a plain wooden ruler, a bundle of rattan canes, a thin schoolmaster’s cane, a black-handled Wartenberg wheel, wooden clothespins clipped to a black ribbon, a purple vibrator, two anal plugs of varying widths, a black egg-shaped vibe and an industrial-sized bottle of water-based lube. She couldn’t quite figure out how the string of connected black carabiners fit in with the rest of the items.

Swallowing nervously, she wondered which of those devices would be used on her.

She didn’t have to wait to find out.

“I’m giving you permission to make small movements but absolutely no noise. Do you understand?”

She gave a tiny nod, watching apprehensively as he picked up the connected carabiners and clipped one end to the front D-ring to which her wrists were cuffed. Unlatching her leather wrist cuffs, he hooked them both to the opposite end of the carabiner string. This provided enough length for her to sit up slightly, and he immediately instructed her to do so. Rising to her elbows, she used her arms to support her upper body.

Although enjoying her new position, she cautiously regarded Evi as he pried two clothespins from the ribbon. He palmed her right breast, purposefully brushing his fingertips against the inflamed marks left behind from their wax play. Tugging her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he placed a clothespin on the mocha skin, carefully applying it to the areola.

She gasped when she felt the bite of the clothespin, and he made a tsking sound before smacking her right ass cheek with his flat palm. This time she made no noise but did flex her calves as the stinging sensation spread.

At a torturously languid pace, Evi applied a clothespin to her left nipple and then moved around her body, randomly clamping bits of her flesh between the coarse pads of the clothespins. They clung to the skin between some of her fingers and toes, to her ribs and even the sides of her breasts. Although the pain was intense at first, it quickly began to dull.

Celia was smart enough to realize that the unpleasant pressure would be nothing compared to the sting of flooding blood that would result when they were eventually removed.

Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, Evi stepped back and considered what to use next. He settled on the Wartenberg wheel, a spiked pinwheel that would create deliciously prickly sensations on Celia’s skin.

Even before the thorny metal wheel touched her skin, she knew exactly where he was going to start—the soles of her feet. Keeping all noise contained, Celia bucked as much as her restraints would allow, fighting to remove her feet from the prickly path. It was a useless battle though. Every time she moved, it only encouraged him to remain in the same area, running the device slowly up and down the bottoms of her feet until she was panting and shaking.

Just like the wax and ice cubes, the painful sensations caused by the Wartenberg wheel were transferred to her clit. She could feel the hot wetness gathering between her thighs and knew it was only a matter of time until Evi smelled or saw the evidence of her arousal. Once he realized she was turned on by the pain, she was certain he would continue torturing her.

Abandoning her feet, he rolled the pinwheel up her left calf and thigh, across her ass cheeks, and down her right thigh and calf. He repeated that path twice more before zigzagging the tool across her back.

When he began pulling it down her left arm, she tightened her jaw, just waiting to feel the metal points on her breast. Evi didn’t disappoint. When he’d had his fill of watching her strain against her cuffs as he circled her tender breasts with the wheel, he tossed it aside.

“I’m revoking your right to move.”

That was all he had to say. Celia understood that the original rules applied again. She wondered if this was all some elaborate plan to set her up for failure by forbidding her to move, then allowing it and then taking it away again. He knew she would grow confused and make a mistake, thus earning a punishment.

What a sneaky bastard!

Retrieving the red suede flogger from the tray bearing his arsenal of toys, he barely touched her back with the soft tips. She shivered as goose bumps pricked her flesh. With the lightest amount of force, he teasingly swatted her ass, moving the flogging strips from cheek to cheek. The suede licked her thighs and then her shoulders. Inevitably she squirmed, and he increased the tempo and force of his flogging until she learned to stay still.

Eyes closed, she exhaled slowly. This game was going to be the hardest to play but she was determined to succeed in staving off the sensations building in her belly.
For Bianca
, she reminded herself.