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“This is a gallery. In your bedroom. I didn’t expect this. You did all these?”
Holly felt her cheeks warm up. She felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable. She’d never brought anyone here before. Her bedroom was a work-in-progress, something taken, literally, from her dreams. And a couple of those dreams had occurred during the past two months and involved Rez. They weren’t meant to be seen.
“Oh, Sweet Goddess, I forgot.”
“Or maybe you wanted me to see this.”
She loved her bedroom. The bed was covered in a teal silk comforter that went to the floor. The headboard was made of strong, black wrought iron. End tables and lamps flanked the bed. A stone fireplace, much smaller than the one in the living room, added a cozy feel.
“You have an amazing gift, Holly. But these three of me must be recent.” Slowly, he set her on her feet. He seemed captivated by her art and moved to examine her work more closely.
“They are. They’ve haunted me from the time I healed you in the Wild Boar. I kept having recurring dreams. Vojalie suggested I put them on canvas. It stopped the dreams, but now here you here.”
Holly had found the paintings of Rez mysterious. She often looked at them last thing before sleep. In an odd way, they comforted her. He appeared to be moving towa
rd her. She knew he had a weapon of some kind in his hand, but it was out-of-frame.
Her gaze was fixed there, wondering that fate had brought them together. What did it all mean when she was a teacher and he was a warrior?
“Holly?” His voiced had deepened. He even sounded hoarse.
“Yes?” He stood near the east wall where the gallery continued.
She gasped and this time her cheeks heated up like coals. “Oh, no. You shouldn’t be looking at those.”
“They’re self-portraits and very beautiful.”
She knew what they were, what they would be considered by any halfway intelligent realm person. She was naked, with her hands bound, and appeared enrapt.
He drew close and caught one of her wrists. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the tender inside. Her embarrassment gave way to other things. “I need to ask you a question,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any scarves? Long ones, meant for tying?”
She could hardly breathe. She felt odd, almost out-of-her-body strange. Words kept rising to her lips then falling away. While painting these works, she’d fought the euphoria on her face. But it had returned repeatedly and she’d finally given into it. She was naked in all three, nipples peaked, her hands bound to the wrought iron.
Rez shifted and moved behind her very close and pushed her hair away from her neck. He kissed a line up to her ear.
The man could kiss. Each touch of his lips was moist and hot and forced shaky gasps from her throat.
Part of her wanted to say no. He was talking about using the scarves and tying her up.
“Do you touch yourself, Holly?”
“Yes.” She wanted him to know the truth about who she was.
“Have you ever thought about me with your hand between your legs?”
Only a few dozen times. “Yes.”
He turned her slowly in his arms. His eyes seemed filled with an unholy light that sent small erratic shocks to her sex.
“I want to tie you up. I want to do things to you and you won’t be able to stop me. I’ll be in charge. I’ll have control. Do you want that?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the scarves?”
