Page 255 of Lethal Obsession

“And,” he continues calmly, only the gravelly edge to his voice and hard thrust beneath his suit pants betraying him, “that it doesn’t matter how long that journey takes when you know exactly how it’s going to end.”

He drops his eye to my knickers. “Take them off.”

Turning my back to him, I slide them off, relishing his sharp intake of breath as I bend at the waist.

When I turn back, I have the satisfaction of seeing his smile has disappeared, replaced by the hard, glittering intent that sends fierce heat racing through my every cell. Covering the distance between us in one sure stride, he picks me up and carries me to the daybed. The night breeze billows the hangings above and scatters the flowers strewn atop it.

Standing at the edge of the bed, Alexei stares down at me, deliberately allowing his eye to linger on every peak and crevice until I’m helpless beneath his eyes.

“Long before the first night I saw you lying here,” he says roughly, “I knew it was forever. I just didn’t know how to make forever possible.” He begins to unbutton his shirt, his eye never leaving my body. I allow my own eyes to roam the achingly familiar landscape of ink, scars, and muscle that has become my territory.

“But after that night,” he says, dropping his shirt to the floor and opening the buckle of his belt, then pulling the leather smoothly through the straps, “I knew one thing with absolute certainty.” Holding the leather in one hand, he pops the catch on his suit pants, his mouth curving as my eyes lock on the hard length straining behind them. “Do you want to know what that was, angel?”

“Huh?” I drag my eyes back to his face, struggling to focus.

The slightly cruel twist to his mouth betrays how hard he’s working to maintain control and melts whatever was left of my own restraint. “Tell me,” I whisper.

The belt drops open from his hand, and he raises the leather strap, trailing its cool smoothness up the inside of my leg.

“I knew you were a lethal obsession. One I’d never be able to walk away from, no matter how much I knew I should.”

Leather flutters over my swollen flesh with aching precision, so light it’s barely there, and my eyes close as I arch off the bed.

The belt slowly lowers onto my body, its length laid flat over my pulsing sex, just enough weight to drive me insane but not enough to drive me where I desperately want to go. I strain against it helplessly.

“Open your eyes, Ofelia.”

Helpless to disobey, I do as he says. He’s looming over me, holding the silk cord the priest used to bind us in marriage, turning it slowly in his hands.

“Put your hands over your head.” All trace of volatility is gone, his voice low and controlled.

Yes. Oh, God, yes.

As he slips the cord over my wrists, tying them to one of the wooden posts, something dark and dangerous begins to unfurl inside me.

Alexei slowly turns the leather belt on its side so the fine edge rests at the very juncture of my thigh, directly atop the scars made long ago by his knife. His hand slides higher up my thigh, so close to the most intimate part of me that I can barely breathe, then halts. I feel the chill touch of the buckle and gasp, my eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me.”

Still wearing his suit pants, he lowers himself to the bed, his eye blazing with an intensity that matches my own.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” My voice is barely there.

The flat of the buckle presses against my outer folds, a strange, cold pressure that makes me suck in my breath. His eye holds my own, and I bite my lip as the point of the buckle pricks my skin with delicate precision.

“Good.” Alexei puts his mouth directly to my ear. “Now scream, Ofelia.”

Epilogue

The crowd arrives as a purple dusk turns to night, women in cocktail dresses and men in well-cut suits filling the Generalife gardens of the Alhambra with low chatter and the clink of champagne glasses. Nocturnal jasmine from the nearby Moorish orchards scents the warm Andalusian night air, and the illuminated palace fortress slumbers in ocher sensuality on the adjacent hill.

“Christ.” A white-faced Benny peeks through the towering wall of precisely manicured cypress trees dividing our backstage preparation area from the stage, his eyes wide as he gapes at the vast open-air amphitheater. “This is more terrifying than the Royal Albert Hall.”

Thankfully, Director Dittorio’s arrival saves me from answering. Our small orchestra gathers around him, each face as tense and nervous as the next.

“Tonight must be exceptional.” His voice, despite being uncharacteristically low to avoid attracting the attention of the crowd beyond the trees, is no less commanding. “Ludovico Einaudi himself is in attendance, and ve perform his piece tonight at his own request—vhich is vhy, as you know, the stage has been modified to fit both orchestra and piano.”