He touched her with reverence disguised as authority, with an intimacy that made every nerve wake. His hands found her warm mound and the place where she had been untouched until she met him. Iris gripped the arms of the chair, eyes closing as sensation spread through her in waves she could neither name nor govern.
“Look at me,” he said.
She forced her eyes open.
His dark blue gaze held hers while he pleasured her, and there was no escape from being seen. Her ankles strained against the buckles, but her legs remained open and inviting to him. That was the humiliation. That was the release. She knew that Blaise saw her want and she yielded to his touch.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
The word entered her like mercy.
She shook her head, but he tightened his hand on her thigh.
“Do not deny me when I praise what is mine to praise.”
A sound escaped her. She did not know if it was a protest or a plea.
Blaise rose and kissed her again, swallowing it gently. His mouth moved from her lips to her throat, across the upper curve of her breasts, lower only in promise, in heat through fabric. She trembled against him, stunned by the pleasure she was already experiencing.
Then he reached for the silk, and Iris went still.
Blaise noticed.
“I will untie your ankles and only bind your wrists,” he said. “Only if you wish it.”
She looked at the silk in his hands. It appeared too soft to frighten her.
“I wish to do that,” she whispered.
“I know.” His voice was gentle. “Give me your hands.”
She did, and he bound her wrists with care; the silk was smooth against her skin, and it was a restraint more symbolic than secure. Blaise unbuckled her ankles and lifted her off the chair and placed her on unsteady feet.
He touched the knot in her tied-up hands, then her cheek. “Is it too tight?”
“No.” She wriggled her wrists to prove it.
It was tied securely but not too tightly.
“Are you frightened, Little Blossom?” he asked her huskily.
“A little.” She confessed.
He kissed her bound hands. “Good. A little fear keeps us honest.”
She laughed then, breathless and astonished that they were actually in the red room. Blaise looked down at her with what seemed like admiration. It was not at all how she imagined he would be. She expected a harsh demeanor and cold acts of passion.
“You are magnificent when you stop fighting for what you want.” Tears pricked unexpectedly at her eyes.
She turned her face aside, but he caught her chin.
“You are not allowed to hide anything in this room, not even your tears.”
Iris nodded, and Blaise drew her closer, her bound hands caught gently between them, as he kissed her until the last ofher resistance loosened. Behind him, she saw the suggestion of leather, the hard glint of iron, and instead of terror, she felt an answering pull.
Blaise rested his forehead against hers.
“This is only a taste,” he said.
