Read Online Three Days of Dominance by Cari Silverwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cari Silverwood
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and kissed her hard enough to make her sink into the kiss. Soon, nothing existed in her head except the feel of those lips on hers, taking. When he slowly drew away, her thoughts were spinning in empty space, and it was several gasping moments before she remembered where she lay.
Weren’t there some warnings about the fae? About not eating their food, and so on? Was there one about not allowing them to make love to you in case you had a heart attack? If not, perhaps there should be. But then, she was part fae, according to his tendril theory.
Her wrists were still bound and she felt the slow crawl of buzzing tension up her from toes to stomach to throat. She was lying here, in her garden, her hands tied together, her pussy naked to the world if she dared to open her legs because somehow the cotton of her shorts had fallen apart…and she found it exciting. Wetness seeped between her thighs. She liked, no loved, everything he did to her.
He was combing his fingers through her hair, as if quietly happy to let her think things through.
And she had her head nesting in the warm corner of his arm and shoulder. Firm biceps and odor of man. Heaven. She let herself stay there a few moments longer before she roused.
With the words, untie me , clamoring to be said, she raised her hands. Something thin snapped.
A string of interwoven grass blades and yellow clover flowers slid down her arms. Frowning, she picked it up. He’d tied her with this tiny thing?
She went to add something, to ask for an explanation, when he spoke.
“Why don’t you tend to this garden? Half of them are dying or injured.”
“Injured? Them? They’re plants.”
“They’re living.” He tugged on a coil of hair at her nape. “You live in the midst of a paradise, and you barely see it.”
For a moment, she glimpsed a possibility, as if she saw what the world might look like with Heketoro by her side. Clear and glimmering with aliveness , instead of the dull monotony of her days, where the gray highlights were counting the number of speeding tickets issued, or blessing the lack of domestic disturbances and battered wives and children. And then there were the other days, the worst ones, when she saw the world from the bottom of a very dark well.
Annoyance prickling her, she shrugged. “Look. Okay, I used to like gardening but now…I have better things to do with my life than to water and fertilize trees.”
“Such as?”
“Drinking gallons of scotch and dragging strangers into my bed!”
“Ah!” He smiled sadly and trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “The scotch you can do without. Though I wish we had time to try this bed of yours.”
She dragged herself up onto her elbows. “What, so you can tie me to it with this?” She picked up the circlet, waggled it before him. She stared at it, wondering why it had felt so substantial around her wrists. Grass and clover? “How did you—”
“Symbolic,” he said, as if that covered all possibilities. “Though that does sound interesting.” He grinned.
Interesting? Heat unfurled in all those well-used places where his hands and lips had been. She closed her mouth, blushing. She’d walked into that one.
Why was she sitting here calmly, well almost calmly, having a conversation about bondage with this man? All she knew about him was the peculiar story he'd told her about being fae and having killed someone in another world—a story her gut reaction told her was true, yet who in their right mind would believe it?
And besides, how did she know what he'd done hadn't been murder, assuming it had actually happened? Certainly, it would come close to manslaughter. He'd volunteered the information, of course, and that seemed to count in his favor, but the way he'd mingled telling her with giving her a mind-blowing orgasm made her wonder at his motives. Pure association of the state of ecstasy with his revelations had made the facts more digestible. She shivered. Far more digestible.
At least
Weren’t there some warnings about the fae? About not eating their food, and so on? Was there one about not allowing them to make love to you in case you had a heart attack? If not, perhaps there should be. But then, she was part fae, according to his tendril theory.
Her wrists were still bound and she felt the slow crawl of buzzing tension up her from toes to stomach to throat. She was lying here, in her garden, her hands tied together, her pussy naked to the world if she dared to open her legs because somehow the cotton of her shorts had fallen apart…and she found it exciting. Wetness seeped between her thighs. She liked, no loved, everything he did to her.
He was combing his fingers through her hair, as if quietly happy to let her think things through.
And she had her head nesting in the warm corner of his arm and shoulder. Firm biceps and odor of man. Heaven. She let herself stay there a few moments longer before she roused.
With the words, untie me , clamoring to be said, she raised her hands. Something thin snapped.
A string of interwoven grass blades and yellow clover flowers slid down her arms. Frowning, she picked it up. He’d tied her with this tiny thing?
She went to add something, to ask for an explanation, when he spoke.
“Why don’t you tend to this garden? Half of them are dying or injured.”
“Injured? Them? They’re plants.”
“They’re living.” He tugged on a coil of hair at her nape. “You live in the midst of a paradise, and you barely see it.”
For a moment, she glimpsed a possibility, as if she saw what the world might look like with Heketoro by her side. Clear and glimmering with aliveness , instead of the dull monotony of her days, where the gray highlights were counting the number of speeding tickets issued, or blessing the lack of domestic disturbances and battered wives and children. And then there were the other days, the worst ones, when she saw the world from the bottom of a very dark well.
Annoyance prickling her, she shrugged. “Look. Okay, I used to like gardening but now…I have better things to do with my life than to water and fertilize trees.”
“Such as?”
“Drinking gallons of scotch and dragging strangers into my bed!”
“Ah!” He smiled sadly and trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “The scotch you can do without. Though I wish we had time to try this bed of yours.”
She dragged herself up onto her elbows. “What, so you can tie me to it with this?” She picked up the circlet, waggled it before him. She stared at it, wondering why it had felt so substantial around her wrists. Grass and clover? “How did you—”
“Symbolic,” he said, as if that covered all possibilities. “Though that does sound interesting.” He grinned.
Interesting? Heat unfurled in all those well-used places where his hands and lips had been. She closed her mouth, blushing. She’d walked into that one.
Why was she sitting here calmly, well almost calmly, having a conversation about bondage with this man? All she knew about him was the peculiar story he'd told her about being fae and having killed someone in another world—a story her gut reaction told her was true, yet who in their right mind would believe it?
And besides, how did she know what he'd done hadn't been murder, assuming it had actually happened? Certainly, it would come close to manslaughter. He'd volunteered the information, of course, and that seemed to count in his favor, but the way he'd mingled telling her with giving her a mind-blowing orgasm made her wonder at his motives. Pure association of the state of ecstasy with his revelations had made the facts more digestible. She shivered. Far more digestible.
At least
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