Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(74)

. . . beyond thrilling to feel the tension level leap in Ian’s muscles as he f*cked her ass with the plug.

He sunk it deep, making her yelp in surprise.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, maintaining pressure with his fingers to keep the plug inserted.

She shook her head into the sofa, too overwhelmed to speak. The clit cream had gone into full effect. She tingled and simmered. As if Ian had sensed this, he reached beneath her and parted her labia, rubbing the erect piece of flesh. She shuddered in his lap.

“You begin to see why a woman might like this”—he drew the plug out of her and slid it back into her ass again—“as much as a man?”

She moaned uncontrollably. Did she ever. Nerves all along her sacrum flared to life as he continued to plunge the plug in and out of her while he rubbed her slick clit. If he kept this up, she’d soon be quivering in orgasm.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t Ian’s plan. He removed his hand, and the plug slid out of her ass, making her groan at the sudden interruption. She felt his fingers moving on the handcuffs. He unfastened the buckles and then slid the blindfold off her head. She blinked, even the subtle illumination from the crystal chandelier seeming bright after the pitch black of the blindfold. He took her hand.

“Stand up. I’ll help you,” he said.

She appreciated his guiding hands as she tried to do what he’d demanded, still disoriented from the light and the abrupt cessation of pleasure. She stood before him, feeling flushed with arousal and flustered and unsteady in the high heels. He looked up at her, his eyes glowing with heat and arousal, his long legs spread slightly, his arousal flagrantly obvious.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, his narrowed gaze studying her.

“No,” she whispered, knowing her hot cheeks, flushed skin, and tight nipples betrayed her lie.

He just smiled and stood. She looked up at him, unable to disguise her longing, when he gently smoothed her loose hair away from her face. She gasped softly at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, caressing her, and the cloth of his pants and shirt brushing against her sensitive skin.

“Mutinous even in the face of sure defeat? You never cease to amaze me, lovely,” he murmured. “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand. She walked beside him, halting suddenly when she saw her reflection in the mirror.

The sheer black thigh-highs made her skin look very pale in contrast, as did the red-gold thatch of hair between her thighs. Her hair tumbled in a wild mess all the way to her waist. Her nipples were stained a dark pink and beaded tight in arousal; the pale globes of her breasts rose and fell as she panted shallowly.

She stared, slain by the image of herself transformed by desire.

“You see it?” Ian asked, leaning down near her, his warm breath in her ear causing a spike of pleasure to go through her. “You see it, don’t you?” he murmured as he spread his hand over her belly in a possessive gesture. “You see how beautiful you are?”

Her flushed lips parted, but no words came out.

“Say it,” he whispered roughly. “Say you see what I see when I look at you.”

“I see it,” she replied, her tone dazed . . . a little wondrous, as if she actually thought, for a few seconds, that he possessed magic mirrors.

“Yes. And that’s not a power you play with, is it?”

It took her a moment to realize Ian’s small smile didn’t come from smugness or cockiness. No—he looked triumphant because of what she’d seen in the mirror . . . because of her admission. Why did he care whether or not she thought she was beautiful?

He led her over to the kinky-looking contraption that hung from the ceiling with the inexplicable harnesses and straps, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast. He pulled down on the main horizontal black bar, stretching a spring on the contraption so that three four-inch-wide padded-leather harnesses fell horizontally about four feet from the floor. Wait a second . . . those leather loops could be used to suspend a body in midair. If that circular pad of leather was to support the head, and that harness was for the chest area, and the lower one for the pelvis, then those other straps could be used to bind a person’s hands and ankles.

They’d be completely restrained . . . helpless, Francesca realized. She looked at Ian as he held the swing. The light from the chandelier gleamed in his blue eyes. Her incredulous expression faded as a heavy pressure fell on her chest.

Oh, no.

She already was completely helpless when it came to Ian Noble . . . and it had nothing to do with the restraining swing.

He put out his hand, beckoning her.

Her ass muscles clenched tight; liquid heat rushed at her sex.

She raised her hand and he grasped it, drawing her toward him.

“It’s time you learned that when you play with fire, you’re going to end up at its mercy,” he said.

Ian’s hands were gentle, his hold firm when he lifted her off the floor and slid her body, belly downward, through the loops of the swing. He arranged the padded straps below her hips, beneath her breasts, and under her forehead. She gave a shaky yelp when the harnesses dipped once he gave them her weight.

“Shhhh,” he soothed from above her, stroking her back. “The swing is hooked through a steel beam in the ceiling. It’s extremely secure. Relax.”

She exhaled after a moment, realizing that now that she’d settled, she did, indeed, feel steady. Strange and aroused and a little scared, but secure in the knowledge that Ian would keep her safe. His hand left her back. He touched her calves, and then her ankles. She peered sideways but couldn’t see through the thick fall of her hair. She felt him slip first one foot through a nylon loop, then the other, and tightened them on her ankles. He’d bound her feet at a lower angle from her body, making her legs drop below her hips, as if she were in a bent-over position, but in midair. Once he’d secured her feet, he came around to the front of her and restrained her wrists in a similar fashion, letting her arms fall in a semi-straightened position beneath her chest.