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He uncoiled a huge bullwhip, and cracked it three times—tracing two horizontal slashes and a diagonal slash connecting them in the air. Gayle shivered, picturing the whip connecting with her flesh and carving the trademark Z into her skin. Or perhaps he’d take a page from Antonio Banderas’ Zorro and use the whip to strip away her gown, leaving her bare before him.
Instead, he lunged forward, grabbing her wrists. He cracked the whip, coiling the tail of it around the wooden frame that had been mounted to the wall since her last visit, then used the remaining length to lash her wrists together, binding her to the frame. Gayle gave a halfhearted tug against the restraint, not at all eager to escape. Her rapid breathing threatened to spill her breasts out of the low-cut dress, and she felt the first beads of moisture pooling between her legs.
Rikard crushed his body against hers, his hard thighs forcing her legs apart, while his gloved hands skimmed from her bound wrists down her arms to her flattened breasts.
“I’ll scream,” she whispered. “Don Rafael’s men will come running to investigate.”
“Not if I silence you first.”
His mouth captured hers, his kiss hard and merciless. But she didn’t scream. She could barely breathe.
She returned his kiss, opening her mouth to draw his tongue inside as she tipped her hips, straining to press her throbbing pussy against the solid bulge in his leather pants.
Rikard’s kiss softened, his lips nibbling hers instead of grinding against them. One of his hands glided up to cradle the back of her neck, supporting her head as he tilted it to deepen his kiss. His other hand drifted down to her hip. Tugging on her thigh, he lifted her leg up to his waist.
He reached beneath her billowing skirt and cupped her ass. The smooth leather of his glove caressed her skin, and she moaned into his mouth. Hot fluid dripped down her standing leg. She rolled her hips, wide open and pressed against him.
It wasn’t enough. She wanted him out of those pants and inside her. Whimpering a protest, she struggled against the whip restraining her hands, writhing against him.
Rikard broke the kiss and lifted his head, even as he dropped his other hand to her thigh and lifted her remaining leg to his waist, pinning her to the wooden frame with his hips. “Trying to escape, Consuela? Do you plan to run to Don Rafael as soon as I give you a chance?”
“No, Zorro. I have no love for Don Rafael. He forced me to help him. If I did not cooperate, he would destroy my tavern. I would lose everything.”
He kneaded her ass with both hands, rolling his hips to stroke his cock against her throbbing clit. “If he catches me, I will lose my head.”
“But he won’t catch you. You are too clever to fall into his traps.”
“Then he will destroy your tavern.”
“Not if I can convince him I did as he asked. It won’t be my fault if his guards fail to catch you.”
“And what did Don Rafael ask you to do?”
“Lure you here. Signal the soldiers. And then distract you with my feminine wiles until they could respond.”
“What is the signal?”
“I was to blow out the candle in the window.”
“Then I shall have to keep you away from the window.”
He unwrapped the whip from around her wrists, and she immediately put her arms around his neck. Easily bearing her weight, he carried her across the room to one of the padded tables. He set her down, then untangled himself from her grasp and stepped back to study her.
Her skirt was rucked up, exposing her legs to the thighs, and her bodice had twisted to one side, one shoulder strap slipping down her arm while the other dug into her neck. One nipple peeked out over the skewed neckline. She sat without moving, enduring his scrutiny.
“What can I do to prove I’m telling you the truth? I will not betray you to Don Rafael.”
Rikard reached beneath the table and withdrew a wicked curved knife with a forked tip, like the kind that would be used for gutting hunted animals. Gayle sucked in a sharp breath, and cringed away from it, even as the fear flooded between her legs with wet desire.
“I could mark you with my Z. Carve my symbol into your soft flesh. Here.” His gloved fingertips traced the letter on the rapidly rising and falling curve of her breast. Then he pushed her skirt aside and traced a Z on her damp inner thigh. “Or here.”
“No. Please,” she whispered. “Don’t cut me.”
He rested the flat of the blade against her exposed nipple. The cold shock stabbed straight to her groin, making her gasp from the pleasure, even as she froze and stared in terror at the deadly blade pressed against her vulnerable breast.
He twisted the knife, sliding the blade beneath her bodice strap. Gayle didn’t dare to breathe as the knife stroked upward, over the curve of her breast and up to her shoulder. With a savage wrench, Rikard sliced through the strap. It fluttered down against her breast and folded down her back.
Her breath gusted out, and she sobbed in relief. She barely noticed when he lifted the other strap away from her skin and sliced through that one as well.
