Forbidden Ritual Page 3

  “What is it that you want?”

  “That.” She nodded down at the rope, then at the bulge of his cock inside his jeans, “and you, inside me.” Her hand moved to her pussy, and she slid one finger into her wet groove, resting it over her clit, pressing and squeezing.

  He watched her fingers moving.

  She stared at him, almost panting with need.

  He pulled his T-shirt over his head and off, abandoning it. The hard muscles of his chest and abdomen gleamed when the light caught them. “Show me how much you want it.”

  For one moment she teetered on the edge. Then, on instinct, she dropped to her hands and knees. Lifting her chin, she looked up at him. There were six, maybe seven feet apart, and he towered over her. In this position, with her breasts dangling and her bottom lifted, she felt vulnerable and exposed, and she knew that’s what he wanted to see.

  The rope still moved through his hands, then he patted his thigh with one hand, beckoning to her. That simple gesture made a tremulous wave of relief and anticipation pass from her chest to her pussy, and she made her way over to him on her hands and knees, until she was right in front of him. Kneeling at his feet, she rested her forehead against his thigh. The rope was a hair’s breadth from her face and as she clung to him, he moved it, lifting it and looping it around her so that it slid down around her back. He had her entrapped.

  When she looked up at him, she was startled by the captivated look in his eyes. It did arouse him to have her lassoed that way. Simple, symbolic and yet so deeply meaningful. She had offered herself, and now she was his.

  She leaned back against the rope. The muscles in his arms went taut as he measured and balanced her, responding to her action. She was allowing him to tip the scales, and boy, was it good. Plucking at the button on his fly, she undid his jeans. The soft black cotton briefs beneath bulged as she folded the denim down. When she latched her fingers over the waistband of his briefs, she looked at him for permission. He nodded, and the rope tightened against her back.

  Dragging the fabric down, she sighed with longing when his cock bounced free. She licked the length of his shaft, savoring his flavor, adoring the heat and potency of him—the part of him that joined them together. His eyes gleamed with pleasure, his lips parted. She took the swollen head into her mouth, riding it against the roof of her mouth. When he groaned, she took him deeper, sucking him hard.

  “Enough.” His voice was hoarse. “Stand up.”

  As she rose to her feet, he pulled his jeans and shorts into place. He cupped her breasts and dipped his head in order to suckle her nipples, first one and then the other. The rope was crushed against the sensitive flesh of her breasts and he rubbed it there with his palms, making her feel it. She moaned aloud, shifting from foot to foot, tension looping from her nipples to her pussy and back, making her unbearably hot. When she swayed back, the rope tightened around her back.

  Every inch of her was aware—aware of the containment at her back, the dense smell of their mutual arousal in the room, and most of all she was aware of his attention.

  “It is the ritual that makes it so special,” he whispered. “It will take me a while to make sure you are properly secured.”

  As he spoke, keeping her informed of his actions, he lifted her arms at the elbow, indicating she should keep them raised and away from her body. He began to loop the rope under her arms, backwards and forwards across her chest and then beneath her breasts. The flexibility only just distracted her from the fact it would be tight against her skin soon and only he could release her.

  Occasionally he would stop and bring another length of rope into play, knotting it into place. That created pressure points on her body—key points, the base of her neck, and along the edge of her rib cage.

  “Good?”

  She nodded.

  “This makes me feel as if you really want to be in my bed.” His smile was wicked. He was right though. Each intricate knot he made bound her to him, and she became mesmerized by the caring attention he showed her. It truly was a ritual for him, and it was fast becoming that for her.

  It didn’t feel overly tight at first, not until she took a deep, ragged breath and then she felt it. Her chest was constricted, breasts squeezed tight and nipples poking through the arrangement of slender ropes. A heady rush hit her. Never had she been so ready to be fucked, never had he made her wait quite so long.

  “I’m going to put you on the bed now.” He lifted her into his arms and she rolled against his body, the bindings making her want to be right against him where she was safe.

  When he laid her down she put her arms flat against the surface. He drew one hand and then the other into one of his, moving them against the decorative metal posts of the headboard. With a length of rope he secured them, tying them together against a single strut, then he looped that length of rope down and around one at her lower rib cage.

  He stepped away and stood at the end of the bed looking down at her. The weight of his gaze was almost too much. She was strung out, raw, and dying for him to take her. When she tugged with her wrists it pulled the rope latticed over her chest. The restraint forced her into a different zone. It made something give way inside her and she rolled her head on the pillow, her pulse racing and her breathing shallow and erratic.

  “Open your legs.”

  She did as instructed. The cool air on her inflamed pussy maddened her swollen clit. She wriggled, desperate to be touched there.

  He moved her legs further apart—spread-eagling her, making her gasp aloud—then lifted another length of the rope. Again he ran it through his hands, readying it. His biceps flexed and caught the light as he did so. With the rope taut in his hands, he moved it to her inner thigh, resting it in the crease of her groin. He looped the rope around the top of one thigh, weaving it into the latticework over her chest, before bringing it down the other side and around the top of the other thigh. Imogen shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Every action heightened her senses, while her splayed pussy felt increasingly vulnerable and exposed.

  He loomed over her, his expression intense while he watched her every reaction, noting every move she made, every whisper of sound that escaped her.

  The rope around her rib cage felt gloriously restrictive, the pressure above and below her breasts and around the tops of her thighs making her more horny than she’d ever been, and when she glanced down at her totem-like nipples between the electric-blue hemp it looked so lewd and lusty that her head rolled against pillows.

  After he checked that she was secure, he lay at her side, one hand on the pillow next to her head, the other stroking her left nipple. When he pinched it and she cried out in ecstasy, he watched her face. “Are you comfortable?”

  She nodded. It was true, because she felt naked and raw but incredibly safe, because he had secured her. “It’s good,” she whispered.

  Moving his hand around her right breast, he cupped it, squeezing it before placing his fingers around the nipple. Through his jeans she could feel his erection solid against her hip, but still he took his time. She squirmed, her sex throbbing, desperate for him. Each touch set free a burning sensation that traveled to her core, where it stoked the fire there.

  Moving over her body, he ran one finger beneath the rope, as if checking it. Then his hands trailed over her abdomen to the plump flesh of her exposed pussy. He stroked her engorged clit then squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger. Needles of sensation shot through her groin. She felt as if the skin on her chest and neck was burning, her stomach tight in response to the delicious provocation. When he pinched, she almost came.

  “You know why I’m doing this now, don’t you?”

  A breathy laugh escaped her. “To drive me insane.”

  Still he brushed his fingertips over her exposed pussy, tantalizing her swollen folds with the briefest of strokes. The rope around her in
ner thighs seemed to tighten as her body blossomed under his touch, the restriction making her gasp in delight.

  “Because I adore you, and to have you like this is the closest I can get to making you let go and enjoy it completely.”

  Imogen blinked, her ability to focus on his words fading in and out.

  “I want more than you’ve given me,” he added.

  “I’ve given you everything,” she gasped, her body tight with the need for release. “You’ve got me here, like this…please, Giles. Please fuck me.”

  “Oh, I will, but that’s not the only thing I want.”

  Sweat broke out on her skin. “What do you mean?”

  “I want us out, as a couple. I want us to be together, officially.”

  Her throat tightened and her eyes smarted. There was no escape from hearing this and having to respond. On instinct, she shook her head. That need to run was ingrained in her, despite the state she was in.

  He eased one finger inside her sex. Her body clamped, grateful for the hard intrusion, her hips rising as much as they could from the surface of the bed.

  “There’s no reason not to. Unless you’re ashamed of having me, a younger man, your junior, in your bed?” He withdrew his finger.

  “God, no!” She blurted out her response, but when she met his gaze she saw the humor there and she cursed softly. “Damn you. It’s not that at all… It’s just hard for me to…” The words wouldn’t come.

  “What… hand over your stubborn independence in exchange for a good relationship?” He rose to his feet and looked down at her while he unzipped his jeans, then ran his fist up and down the length of his erection as he considered her.

  Imogen didn’t think she could get any more needy, but she was wrong.

  “I think you’ve underestimated me. The rope isn’t just about the thrill, if that’s what you thought.” He gestured at her. “This, shibari, is about the next level for me. It’s a sign of ultimate commitment and trust.”

  Battling down a rising sense of panic, she met his gaze. When she did, he put his hand back between her legs, and she had to blink back the wave of pleasure that shot through her groin when he stroked one finger over her clit and down the groove of her pussy.

  “You’re so aroused, so swollen.”

  Her face flushed. She could feel her hair sticking to the damp skin on her neck. Mumbling incoherently, she pressed her face against her tethered arm.

  “You want to come, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “How badly?” He squeezed her clit, locking it between two fingers and rocking his hand.

  “Oh, God.” She half sat, her wrists jolting against the rope at the headboard. Staring at him, she saw how still he was, how watchful. Her back arched against the bed, the tension in her hips and chest intensifying. Hot liquid ran down between her buttocks.

  “So wet.” He ducked down between her legs, his mouth closing over her clit.

  “Giles, please.”

  He sucked her, took another lick, his tongue moving from her entrance up to her clit. Breathing over it, he sighed.

  “Fuck me,” she cried out, “please!”

  He moved his hands away from her pussy. “Are you agreeing to my terms?”

  Oh, God! What were his terms? “Yes, Giles. Please, please fuck me.”

  He stood up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a condom packet.

  Shoving off his black briefs he let them fall to the floor. His cock bounced free, slapping against his belly as he tore open the condom packet. The pulse in her groin beat wildly as he rolled the rubber sheath over his upright shaft. Then he climbed over her and moved into position. He rested a kiss on her breast over her caged heart, and then she felt the head of his cock at her opening. He filled her in one smooth lunge, pressing to her very center.

  The room spun. Her eyes clamped shut and she bellowed aloud. Her wrists tugged this way and that as another liberating climax hit her.

  He urged her on, rising up onto his arms, thrusting deep and rhythmically, his eyes shining with determination as he watched her. She was lost to it, her core clenching and unclenching around his cock, setting off another rolling wave of pleasure as it did it so. She was so wide open, and he was so deep. Her entire groin burned with pleasure, deliciously edgy with raw sensitivity and almost too much to bear.

  She moaned, begged for mercy.

  Still he pushed her on, his breath hot on her face as he arched over her.

  He was getting closer and his skin shone damp in the half light, the occasional grunt escaping him as he worked himself into her. She knew he was giving her everything he had.

  “Oh God, Giles, yes.”

  He nodded, growing still, and his head went back, the muscles in his neck standing out as he let rip and roared. One last thrust, deep and hard, and she felt as if she’d been doused with liquid fire as his cock jerked inside her, over and again.

  * * *

  Afterward, he brought her iced water and held the glass to her lips as she drank. When he put the glass aside, he began to undo the rope. He started at her groin and left her wrists until last. She gazed at him through the haze of her afterglow as he worked. Each knot was undone with care, and he rubbed her skin gently and checked on her.

  “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Kinky sex?”

  She laughed softly. “No, I meant this….”

  “Ah, looking after you?”

  She nodded. “Why?”

  “Because I love you.”

  Imogen was stunned. The way he’d said it, so matter-of-factly, while he continued to undo the rope that bound her to him made her think she’d imagined it. She stared at him in disbelief until he suddenly looked at her, catching her, and her face heated. She tried to look away, but he drew her back to him with one finger beneath her chin.

  “Don’t be so surprised. You are lovable, much as you hate to admit it.”

  She was floored—not only by what he said, but by the easy way he spoke to her now, after the intensity of what had gone before.

  He looked at her expectantly. “This is the bit where you tell me how you feel,” he added.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know how I feel or I wouldn’t be here, allowing myself to be exposed this way.”

  He flashed her a challenging glance.

  “Okay, I love you. Damn it, Giles. I fell in love with you ages ago, but I was scared.”

  “No need.” The simple comment was an understatement, but it meant so much. Unbinding her hands, he drew them to his mouth and kissed the tender skin inside her wrists. “I was serious about sharing breakfast too. Starting tomorrow morning. You’ll have breakfast here with me.”

  “But I don’t have a change of….”

  He put his finger over her lips. “And I want us to spend our evenings together. We can even talk about work sometimes, if you insist.”

  The final resistance she clung to began to dissolve. He really did know her. She chuckled at the idea of it. “But we might end up arguing over policy in our own time.”

  “That’s what couples who work together do.”

  “Couples..?” She felt dizzy even though she was on her back.

  “Yes, Imogen, couples. That’s what we’re talking about here.”

  Before she could even think of objecting, he kissed her, halting her words.

  Her emotions soared and for the first time Imogen allowed herself to sink into the moment completely, her arms wrapped around him—the only man who could anchor her, the only man who knew how.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, look for these other titles by Saskia Walker, on sale now wherever ebooks are sold:

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  ISBN: 978-14592-3112-2

  Forbidden Ritual

  Copyright © 2012 by Saskia Walker

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.