Born of Ashes

Her brows rose. She lifted up on her elbow and as he placed the box in front of her, she pulled the bow with one hand. He helped since he didn’t want her to sit up. He didn’t want his view of her waist and hips, of her beautiful naked breasts, disturbed by anything.

She lifted the lid and her brows rose. She drew a long narrow scarf from the box. “Oh, Jean-Pierre,” she whispered, her eyes wide. She laid the scarf over her waist, then pulled out the second one. She let this elegant piece of silk join the other. She pulled out a third and shuddered when she withdrew a fourth.

She met his gaze, her lips parted. A heavy wave of buttery croissant almost pushed him flat on his back.

“I love my gift,” she said, sliding her arm up around his neck. She drew him close and kissed him. Against his lips, she said, “Where do you want to do this, chéri?”

“I will fold you to the room.” Once more, he took her hand and lifted her to her feet.

He gathered up three of the scarves. With Fiona holding the fourth, he folded them to a bedroom she would not have seen before, a guest room in black toile and white.

The bed had a black wrought-iron frame, at both the head and the foot. She stepped away from him and scrutinized the bed. She took the scarves in hand and looked up at him. “I want you on your back, arms and legs spread wide.”

* * *

Where was all this boldness coming from?

Fiona marveled that she was this person who could demand of her lover something so … sensual. But he smiled and with a wave of his hand managed to dispense with the bedding except for the bottom sheet, which was black.

She shivered as this naked man rolled into position, everything on display, his hair now loose about his shoulders, his cock still partially erect.

She stood at the side of the bed, trembling but not with fear. She clutched the long silky swaths as Jean-Pierre threw his arms wide and smiled at her.

She had to stop staring but he was a thing of beauty, part vampire, part man, part muscled animal, and he was all hers, to do with as she willed.

She forced herself to move to the ankle nearest her. She tied one end of the scarf up, then hooked the other around the tallest iron post at the foot of the bed.

“Is this where you have always wanted me, chérie?”

His voice weakened her fingers but she formed the knot anyway. He had once told her to speak the truth, so she did. “I have always wanted you like this.” She met his gaze, being bold with him, because she knew he would like it, he would approve.

She approved. She liked this woman she had become. She stroked his ankle and ran her fingers up his leg. She loved the feel of his hair. “In my fantasies, yes, you’re tied up and I do whatever pleases me.”

His jaw quivered as he groaned and a heavy roll of his coffee male scent nearly knocked her backward a few feet. As it was, she caught the iron post, steadied herself, then took the remaining scarves to the head of the bed. She leaned over and wrapped the second scarf around his left wrist. She secured him to the upper rail, but left him enough room to bend at the elbow and still rest his shoulders and arms on the bed.

She completed the chore and her body wept for him. Whatever the fantasy had been, this was so much more, because he was flesh and blood and real.

She crawled onto the bed. He was hers to feast upon and so she feasted.

She used her hands first, feeling every muscle, every rise and dip of his body, over his arms, his shoulders, his chest and lower, to caress what was so very male, to draw her hands down his heavily corded thighs, his calves, his feet.

The entire time he was aroused, and at times he trembled and made strange grunt-like sounds. She smiled and then she applied her tongue and explored once more. She took her time, sucking at certain parts, licking the rest, until he wept from the tip of his cock and pulled on the scarves.

But there was one thing she had always wanted to do, a very small thing, from the first time he had kissed her.

She put her fingers in his lips and stroked back and forth. His tongue made an appearance but she forbade him. “I want to know your lips. I love these lips.” She leaned down and placed very small kisses on his lower lip, the full sensual part, beginning at one side and progressing to the opposite.

Then she worked on the upper lip, digging her tongue into the points and using just the tip to outline.

When he was bowing off the bed and crying his frustration in deep groans, only then did she kiss him. She kissed him and kissed him, driving her tongue into his mouth over and over. She still held his face, her fingers close to his mouth. She let her fingers replace her tongue and her lips.

She drew back and looked at him as she worked two of her fingers in and out of his mouth. His eyes had a frantic, wild look and her body wept a little more. The potion still worked over her breasts and tightened her body very low, where more potion tingled. She was very close to another climax, just stroking his mouth.

He was close as well.

Then she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

“You’ll need to be brave,” she whispered.

His eyes flared, but she continued to thrust her fingers into his mouth. Why, chérie?

“Because I need you to do something to me, but you’ll be afraid to do it.”

What, chérie? I could not hurt you, if that is what you’re asking, but mon Dieu, your fingers in my mouth. I am so close. Tell me what you desire.

“When I tell you, I want you to break free of the scarves and take me, on my back, but don’t enthrall me. Do you understand? I want to feel you, all of you, as I was meant to feel you. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“But not until I tell you.”

He nodded again.

She removed her fingers and at the same time, she shifted her hips to position herself above his cock.

He groaned as she eased down on him, as she took him into her very wet opening. She cried out, arching her back, because he felt so good and she was so ready. The potion, very low, still teased all her nerve endings and nearly brought her.

She put her hands on his shoulders. She met his gaze, his wild intent gaze, and she cried, “Do it. Now.”

The illusion that he was truly bound shattered instantly, as all four scarves tore in a blur of movement. The bed shook, creating a little earthquake. She was airborne but still connected as he used whatever this particular preternatural power was and flipped her onto her back.

Fiona was a new person. She felt it now, the new power she possessed. Maybe it was because Rith had been carted away, or maybe because she had survived an abduction by an Upper ascender, but whatever the case, as Jean-Pierre moved over her, his body pressed to her, holding her down, pinning her, she felt only a profound sense of release and even accomplishment.

“Stretch out over me. Lay yourself down on top of me.”

He didn’t argue. He simply eased down until the full weight of him was on her chest. It was heaven.

She couldn’t remember, even a little, why this had ever bothered her. She felt his shins rubbing against hers, his heavy muscled thighs pressed to her, his hips, his stomach, the thick pecs that always made her lips tingle with promise.

“You’re heavy on me,” she said, but she smiled and he gave her an answering grin.

He even took her hands in his and threaded his fingers through her fingers then held her arms far out to the sides so that his weight grew.

But instead of feeling the whirling snakes in the pit of her stomach, she felt an airiness in her chest, a warmth within, a glow that brought a wonderful sigh flowing out of her.

Then he kissed her and captured her breath and possessed her mouth. Her hips responded, pushing against him. He moved inside her, drew back, and thrust hard.

She groaned but there was just one more thing. Take my blood, she whispered through his mind.

A heavy groan rumbled in his throat and before she had taken a breath, he had pierced her neck and was sucking. I won’t last, came as a cry through her head.

But already the orgasm swelled within her so that she spoke into his ear. “Come for me, Jean-Pierre. Come with me. Come now.”

He drew back from her throat and as pleasure streaked through her body, as she gripped him deep, holding all that was so strong, so powerful, so forceful, she watched him rise up off her and cry out as he came.

“Look at me,” she said.

He brought his gaze to her and when that happened, it was as though all the sensation tripled and a second orgasm barreled down on her. He became fierce in his movements, thrusting hard and bringing her a second time and a third, writhing over her.

He was hard again. Oh, God.

“Your blood,” he murmured. “Like a fire in me.” He drove her once more, looking into her eyes and bringing her so that she rose up and surrounded him with her arms and pulled him down to her to once more press her into the bed, a heavy weight, anchoring her, shielding her, caring for her.

Only then did the sensations start to drift away, as he lay on top of her, his body slack now, breathing hard, his work done.

“Chérie,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

“Mon amour,” she responded. His mouth was on her shoulder and she felt him smile. Then his ribs rose and fell in a breath and a sigh.

He rose up just a little and looked at her neck. “Do you want me to heal your throat?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe later. I want to enjoy it for a while.”

“Bon.” He lay back down on her.

She marveled again that she no longer felt the oppressive fear of being trapped. She surrounded him with her arms and fell into a doze.

She dreamed of flying high above the White Tanks. The day was clear and sunny, very dry, of course. The lake beneath was a glittering diamond and she felt such peace.

But from the east storm clouds, black and furious, rolled over the tops of the White Tank Mountains and descended toward her at a perilous rate. She was suddenly engulfed and thrown down into the lake, below the surface of the waters. She struggled to swim, to rise to the surface, but she was bound and each movement made her bonds even tighter.

Words flowed through her mind: Find the deepest place, live there, then rise.