stay higher and off her skin, even if they got wild, which there was no question would happen. Once he had it up, he put the scrunchie back in, securing the mass even tighter than she’d had it to make sure it wouldn’t fall. It wasn’t an easy task when her mouth was surrounding him with such heat.
He stroked her shoulders, using rougher touches. He’d noticed before the kinds of brushes on her skin that heightened her pleasure or could confuse her body, bringing her too close to pain to make the touch truly pleasurable. He might be a dominant, and he preferred erotic bondage and intense play, but not if it hurt her. The moment she said it hurt, he would stop and they would never repeat the act again. She needed firm, not light, and he massaged her arms and shoulders, her neck, digging his fingers into her muscles as if he owned her.
He caressed the sides of her breasts with firm strokes of his knuckles and then his fist. She nearly swallowed him whole. Her gaze jumped to his for reassurance. He let his eyes do the talking, knowing his showed his dark lust for her. He felt her mouth grow hotter, nearly scorching him. Her hips rocked. Beneath her skin something moved aggressively and liquid formed in her eyes.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he reassured. “We’re there. She’s close.”
He continued to move his hands over her body, a slow assault, touching her in all the places he knew she loved the most, every touch a heavy stroke of ownership, concentrating on her, not on the sensations she was creating in him, for him, nearly driving him insane. He traced her ribs and then traced under her breasts before forcing himself to remove his cock from her mouth, although it was one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He felt like he might shatter, he was so hard. He caught up the bottle of lotion he’d had the presence of mind to bring and poured it into his palm to lather over his aching cock.
“Sevastyan.” Flambé’s body trembled and she reached out to him, the expression of terror and lust on her face breaking his heart.
Slipping from the railing, he crouched down, his hands on her thighs, fingers digging deep, loving her the only way he could tell her. Taking care of her. Showing her she wasn’t alone and whatever she needed, no matter what it was, he could find a way to be that for her. He stroked his tongue up her thigh. She felt so delicate. Her entire body shuddered. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders. He was careful to go slow when she tried to force fast.
He knew she felt desperate, but fast wasn’t good for her—not yet. She needed a slow assault so her body could accept his. He had to use the utmost care in every touch when her body was this sensitive. The lotion and balm the doc had given them would only go so far to calm her nerves. The shots he gave her for clotting and hopefully, again, to help with her hypersensitive nerves, wouldn’t last forever. He was the one who had to learn her body and how to touch her to relieve the burn. He was an expert when it came to reading her and she mattered that much to him. He would take it slow and keep his touch as firm as possible to get her body ready for his.
She didn’t have to love him back. He probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if she did. No one ever had. He had the feeling she hadn’t ever felt loved. That was going to change. He knew he loved her. He didn’t know when or how it started, it just crept up on him, but he wasn’t going to let her feel alone. She would always know she could count on him.
Tying was a personal art. He had to know every subtle sign his model gave him. He’d always been extremely careful of every person he’d tied, but Flambé was more than just a rope model to him, she had become his world. Her nails bit into his shoulders and she cried out as he nipped at her inner thigh and murmured soothingly, letting her feel the warmth of his breath against the sensitive nerves bursting like fire beneath her delicate lips and inflamed clit.