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He stopped by the balustrade and dropped her leash. No torches tonight so the lights from below cast strange, harsh shadows across his face. Her urbane lawyer werewolf. She wanted to beg him to devour her.
Except she knew he would.
Now that she’d pushed him over the edge of restraint.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he raked his eyes over her, clearly enjoying the sight. He dropped it, then unbuckled his belt and suggestively slid it from the belt loops. Tension rippled through the lean muscles of his chest and the belt snaked out, licking her thigh. She gasped, then cried out when it stung her other thigh.
“Anything you want to say?” He taunted her. “No? Then bend yourself over that railing, ass high, legs spread.”
It wasn’t easy, but he helped, positioning her just as he wanted her, adjusting the medallions hanging from her nipples so they dangled over the edge, pulling mercilessly. She stared down at the lit pools and fountains below, another world than this keen-edged one. Miguel attached her ankle cuffs to rings at the foot of the wall, so at least she didn’t have to worry about tumbling over the edge.
That edge, at least.
Otherwise, she was in complete and utter freefall. No compromises.
The belt landed on her flesh, sudden as a snakebite. She screamed but lost breath immediately with the shock of the rapid ensuing blows. Even after a few days, Miguel seemed to know exactly how to drive her reactions, so that she dissolved into sobs, her tears falling freely, convulsing with the release of all the tensions and worries of their fight.
She swayed under the belt, offering herself to it and Miguel, mindless, soaring. When he plunged his condom-covered cock into her, it felt all of a piece. She split open, rent by him, by the splitting pain of the nipple clamps releasing and the instant climax that followed, the explosion of ten thousand suns of longing.
Blind with ecstasy and tears, she watched the medallions fall as if in slow motion, golden orbs winking and turning, disappearing into the fountains below.
January 2
Ninth Day of Christmas
Nine Ladies Dancing
After that session, which seemed to shatter them both on a profound level, Miguel released her from all her bonds and carried her into the bedroom. Putting her to bed, he curled up behind her and they fell instantly and deeply asleep.
But when she awoke in the middle of the night, desperate to pee, he wasn’t in the bed.
Probably just as well, because she whimpered at the sting of her bruised tissues and he likely would have felt guilty and they seriously did not need to go back down that spiral. She bundled herself into the guest-room robe, more for comfort than anything, and wandered through the place and out to the terrace. She found him there, drinking a glass of brandy and smoking a cigar, a shadow in the moonless night.
“Why are you awake?” he asked her. “It’s nearly four in the morning.”
“I could ask you the same.”
She sat in the chair opposite, surreptitiously tucking her feet under her to cushion her bruised bottom.
He grunted, but didn’t say more. The warm, tropical-scented night breeze rolled over them and it hit her that in only three days, she’d be flying back home to winter, to her similarly frozen life.
No compromises, she reminded herself. Time to make changes.
“I lost because I cared too much.” Miguel stubbed out the cigar.
“What does that mean?”
He laughed without humor. “You know the jokes about lawyers. Everyone can think up half a dozen of them without blinking. They all boil down to one thing—lawyers can’t be emotional. The moment it’s anything more than chess moves...you’ve lost.”
“What happened, Miguel?”
She kept her voice soft and even, a contrast to the crazed bitterness in his.
“The short answer? Our pretty private island will soon be another piece of the Miramoto empire. And I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And yet your sorry changes nothing. Do you want to be the one to tell my grandmother th
