Temptation’s Edge (38 page)

“You can put me down now,” she told him, laughing as he reached with one hand to turn the hot water on in the shower.

“Eventually,” he told her.

He kissed her again as they waited for the water to heat, a slow twining of tongues, a sweet press of lips. He stopped only long enough to step into the shower, where he finally set her on her feet beneath the spray of warm water. He bent to kiss her once more, his arms wrapping around her waist, hers going around his neck.

He stopped to tell her once more, “Love you, my girl.”

“Love you, Connor.”

“Come on, let me wash you.”

He soaped her, rinsed her with the shower wand, then washed himself. And even though they’d spent plenty of time in the shower together, this felt more intimate to her than it ever had before.

“Connor…there’s something about having admitted this
to you—that I love you—knowing that you love me back, that makes this different.”

He nodded. “
We’re
different. We let it happen. That
makes
us different.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

They got out and he dried her carefully, then dried himself, and they went to bed, hand in hand. He held her in his arms as they drifted off. Mischa slept, dreamless, the most peaceful sleep of her life.

It was morning, the winter sun slanting through the paper shades like a white mist. Mischa’s body was warm beside him, his arm half-numb from her weight resting there, but he didn’t want to move.

Connor thought for a moment about the night before, about all that had happened. He felt as if his chest were bursting. It was several minutes before he realized this was what happy felt like.

As he rubbed his free hand over his jaw his stomach rumbled.

He was also starving.

He turned and kissed her awake, grinning when her blue eyes fluttered open.

“Time to wake up, darlin’,” he told her.

“Mmm…okay, I’m up.”

He kissed her again, then dipped under the covers to tug one nipple between his teeth.

“Hey!” She was laughing even as she held his head to her breast.

He came up from under the gray comforter. “I’m making us breakfast.”

“Ooh, I get service. Nice.”

“Sassy wench.”

He turned her over and smacked her lush bottom, making her laugh again before he got up, slipped into a pair of navy cotton pajama bottoms and headed into the kitchen.

As he scrambled some eggs and made toast and tea he found himself whistling, something he hadn’t done for years, maybe. He stopped himself, shook his head, then said, “Fuck it,” to the empty kitchen and whistled some more.

He brought a plate and two mugs of tea back into the bedroom, pleased as hell that Mischa was sitting in his bed, her blue eyes shining, the swell of her gorgeous breasts peeking above the covers. He sat down next to her, fed them both bites from his fork, and they sipped tea in between.

“So, what are your plans, Mischa? For Seattle, I mean.”

He hadn’t meant to be so insistent, but he had to know.

“Well, I’ve talked to Billy at Thirteen Roses, and he’s fine handling things there, for the most part. I still have to be there to tattoo once in a while, but he and Greyson and I agree I have to make 1st Avenue Ink my priority until the shop is established.”

“And that means…?”

“That means I’ll be here most of the time for the first six months, at least. Dylan will let me stay in her apartment until I can find a place of my own.”

“Stay with me.”

The words came out before he could think about what he was saying. But as soon as he said it he knew it was the right thing.

“Connor, are you sure?” She set her mug down on the nightstand. “This is still so new.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Are you having doubts?”

She smiled at him. “Not about us, no. A little about myself, maybe. I’m not going to be great at this relationship thing, you know. I have no experience. And I don’t like doing anything without
doing it perfectly, so it’s going to make me a little crazy. I might get cranky.”

He let the plate rest on the bed, took her face in both hands, gazed into her eyes. Eyes as blue as the sky in Dun Laoghaire. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be yourself. We’ve always lived a little like outsiders, you and me. We’ve embraced it. That’s part of the connection, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to blow it fairly regularly, I’m certain. Which might make you cranky. Can you live with that?”

“It’ll make me feel better about not getting it all right myself.”

“So, then.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Will you at least think about it?”

She threw her arms around his neck, holding on to him tight.

“Do I take that as a yes?”

“Yes, I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Stubborn girl. I may have to spank you until you see the error of your ways.”

She pulled back to look at him, and her eyes were sparkling. Beautiful. “I may have to stay stubborn, then, until you do.”

His cell phone rang from the other room, and he muttered, “Crap. I need to get that. I’m expecting a business call.” He got up, called over his shoulder, “But then we’ll see about that spanking—and how long you think you can hang on to your stubborn streak. I’ll make you mine yet, darlin’.”

Mischa grinned to herself as she watched him walk out of the room, the flex and shift of muscle in his back. She nearly had to sigh at the sheer beauty of the man. And he was all hers.

Wasn’t he?

They’d talked about love. About him wanting her to live with him. But they hadn’t talked about commitment. Was that part of
the package? Or maybe it wasn’t until they’d declared it. He said he’d make her his. She wanted to be. Wanted to
show
him.

Throwing back the covers, she walked naked across the room to his dresser—and saw for the first time that he’d replaced the drawing on the wall above it with a new one. One of
her
.

Her jaw dropped. When had he hung it there? How had she not noticed it earlier?

It was beautifully done in charcoal on thick paper, framed in black against a classic creamy matting—her laid back on the sofa, naked, one knee bent, her head raised, her gaze focused, full of sensual promise. Even though she was alone in the room, even though she’d certainly never been self-conscious about her body, she found herself blushing. It was the sheer compliment of it—that he’d drawn her, had bothered to have it framed, hung it in his bedroom rather than the gallery of his work in the hallway.

There was a surge of warmth in her chest. She’d have to ask him about it later. But right now she had something important to do first.

She opened the top drawer of his dresser, where she knew he kept a number of his toys, including a black leather collar, the one thing she’d always shied away from. It was too much a symbol of ownership, and those who wore them too utterly submissive. But she knew at that moment she
wanted
to wear it for him, wanted him to place it around her neck. Wanted that sensation of being
his
, to feel it deep in her bones. And she understood this was the only way to get there.

She pushed her hair from her face, got down on her knees on the rug at the end of the bed, facing the door, stilled herself while she listened to the soft murmur of his voice in the other room. She didn’t mean to listen in, but she liked hearing him talk about his work, his tone all business. Confidant. Utterly capable.

Sexy.

Her body was loose with desire—the physical desire that was purely about wanting his touch, the more powerful desire to belong to him. There still lingered some small shock that she knew so thoroughly she wanted this strange thing she had never wanted with any other man.

She was trembling by the time he came back into the room and found her, arms outstretched, holding the leather collar in her hands. On the floor before her she’d placed a leather blindfold, another previously taboo item, and a pair of leather cuffs.

His brows furrowed. “Mischa?”

“Connor…” She had to stop, to draw in a breath. It felt so damn
crucial
. She went on quietly, “I need to tell you…I get it now. I understand what it means to give myself to you. I couldn’t have done it with a man I didn’t feel something for. And I felt something for you right from the start, even though I didn’t recognize it then; only in hindsight. But even then, I couldn’t surrender to you completely until I trusted you all the way, until I trusted myself. But it goes deeper than that. Because I couldn’t find the trust until I found the love.”

He moved closer, bent over her. “Mischa…” He stroked her face, then touched the collar laid out across her palm. “Is this what you really want?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. This is my gift. Not only the surrender, but the love, Connor. I’m giving you everything.”

“And giving up nothing, I promise you that.”

“I know.”

He stroked her cheek, her hair. “Ah, I love you, my darlin’ girl.”

“Show me, Connor.”

It might not have been the way other people expressed how they felt, but they weren’t like everyone else. For the two of them this was exactly right. He took the collar from her hands.

“Stay right there on your knees, darlin’, and bend your head for me,” he told her. His tone was quiet, but the command she loved so much was there, threaded with emotion.

She did as he asked, a thrill of anticipation running through her. Then she felt him draw the band of leather around her neck, fasten the buckle. He left his hands there for a while as she shivered, as she absorbed the sensation of belonging. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She never wanted to stop feeling this way.

“Connor,” she whispered, lifting her gaze from the floor to meet his. His eyes were dark with desire, lit up with love. “I’m yours now. Finally.”

“Yes. Mine, Mischa. But you know what a collar between us means—that I belong to you just as much. It’s the only thing it
can
mean.”

Her heart surged, and she smiled up at him. “That’s exactly what I need. That, and to
feel
you. Please, Connor.”

He leaned over her and gently laid her down on the rug, the wool pleasantly scratchy against her bare back. Her body was alight with need, desire and love blending in her system like liquid heat.

He drew her arms over her head and used the cuffs to bind her wrists together. She luxuriated in the sensation of Connor overpowering her, in her own yielding. In the way her body was stretched out, elongated. The sense of safety she felt in his hands, under his command, his collar around her neck. She felt treasured, precious, as he gazed at her with raw, naked emotion in his eyes, which had gone a dark mossy green with banked desire.

“Now,” he said.

She closed her eyes as he slipped the blindfold over her head. She inhaled the spicy scent of the leather, exhaled. There was one
small quiver of fear, but the moment he laid his big hand over her heart, pressing down the tiniest bit, she was reminded of how safe she was with him.

“You all right, love?”

“Yes.”

It was true. The last shred of fear faded away and she gave herself over, truly, completely, for the first time.

He kissed her, a light brushing of his lips, and she smiled. What followed was a long, sensual exploration of her body, his hands, his mouth everywhere, it seemed. Kissing her shoulders, her breasts, her belly. Stroking her thighs, her jawline, her lips with his fingertips, until she was shivering with need, desire a languid yet electric current running through her.

It went on forever, or seemed to. And even as the need turned to an ache that nearly screamed to be quenched, there was nothing in her that wanted anything but for him to set the pace.

She knew in some far-off way that she was flying on endorphins. That her mind was a lovely blur of sensation, her body all panting breath and acutely sensitized flesh. Wanting so strong she could barely stand it, yet giving that wanting over to
him
.

Finally his fingers slipped into her aching cleft and she sighed as pleasure swarmed her, hot and liquid.

“Ah, I love to see you like this. Lost in pleasure. And never like this before, darlin’. You’ve no idea what it does to me. I had no idea what it might do…”

She heard him draw in a long breath, knew he was trying to calm himself. Felt pleased that he had to do it. And jumped when he pinched the inside of her thigh.

“Oh!”

“Good, yes?”

“Oh yes…”

He knew just how to do it; how to take her to the height of pleasure, then ramp it up by delivering just the right amount of pain.

He pinched her again and she squirmed, moaning, pain and pleasure mixing exquisitely in her system.

“Come on, now, Mischa,” he said, using one hand on her hip to still her. “Hold still for me. Just breathe through it.” She inhaled, forced her body to lie quietly as he pinched her inner thigh, while his other hand slid into her sex, his fingers pushing inside.

Her heart hammered, her sex tightening.

“Not yet. Don’t come yet.”

So much authority in his voice, if he hadn’t been specifically telling her not to come, she might have, simply from the sound of it.

He kept his fingers inside her, pumping gently, driving pleasure deep. At the same time he slipped a hand under her and pinched the tender skin of her bottom, harder and harder, over and over in the same spot. She got sore so fast it made her head spin. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. In sublime pain. In unendurable pleasure.

“You can do it, love. Take a breath.”

She did as he said, holding her orgasm back. For him.

“Ah, you’re good. So good, my beautiful girl.” He stopped pinching her, and she felt his palm resting on her thigh. “Now I want you to relax. I know it seems impossible, but it’s not. Do it, Mischa.”

She tried, but desire was thick in her veins, flowing through her.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered. “I need to come. It’s too strong.”

“Ah, but this is all about you controlling it, darlin’. Controlling
it by letting it go. Do you understand what I’m saying? You can do it.”