Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [7]
His fingers slid around that edge, brushing the very upper edges of my thighs. He rubbed his thumbs on that warm inside hollow that frames a woman’s groin. He massaged my thighs, but it was the pressure of his thumbs that helped draw my legs farther apart. So he could reach what he wanted, and what I wanted him to reach.
Nathaniel came in behind me. Without the coffee table there was room enough between me and the couch. His arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms against my upper body. The feel of his nakedness pressed against the back of my skirt was amazing. Then he let me feel the strength in his body, as he held me, held me so tight. It sped my pulse faster, caught my breath in my throat.
“So strong,” I whispered.
“So trapped,” he breathed against my face. He squeezed harder, just this side of bruising my arms against me. But I didn’t tell him to stop. I loved knowing that I was trapped. If he had meant me harm, I couldn’t have stopped him. My gun was trapped under my arm, digging into my body. All it would take was Jason to grab my legs and I was trapped.
I hadn’t much liked that I enjoyed things like this. In fact, I’d hated it. But lately, thanks in part to sharing emotions with Nathaniel, who loved bondage and submission, I was acknowledging that fantasy was okay. That I didn’t need to analyze why in real life being trapped made me fight like hell and do all in my power to destroy the ones trapping me, but in sexual fantasy I liked being trapped, a little. In a safe place, with people I trusted, it was more than just exciting.
“What are you doing up there to make her react like that?” Jason asked. His hands had gone still against my thighs.
“Holding her, very, very, tightly,” Nathaniel said in a voice that showed the strain of holding me tight.
Jason’s fingers suddenly dug into my flesh, from gentle to bruising in an instant.
I whispered, “Yes.”
“Is that the game we want to play?” he asked, and his voice had changed, too, deeper, darker, for lack of a better word.
“I do,” Nathaniel said.
Jason’s fingers pressed harder into my thighs, so that I cried out, and told him, “Enough, enough.”
“That’s her safe word,” Nathaniel said.
“I’ve already stopped,” Jason said.
“But I haven’t stopped, have I?” Nathaniel whispered.
“No,” I said, voice breathy. He was holding tight enough to be trapped, but not quite tight enough to hurt. It was a fine edge to walk, but Nathaniel knew how to walk it.
“Do I rip the panties off, or take them off?” Jason asked.
“Rip,” Nathaniel said, and it was almost a growl.
I said, “Please.”
“Please what?” Jason asked.
“Off,” I whispered.
He ripped the satin panties in one harsh move that jerked my body. Nathaniel tightened his grip on me, until it was hard to breathe.
I whispered, “Ease up.”
He eased until he was back where he’d been. Tight, but not too tight. Trapped, but not hurt. Of all forms of sex that I’d found, BDSM took the most trust, the most communication.
Jason pushed my skirt up until he bared me to the light from the kitchen. “How rough can I be?” There was no sex in the tone of his voice; he was truly asking.
“Start easy,” Nathaniel said, “she’ll let you know.”
I realized that Jason had never given me oral sex before. I’d gone down on him, but he’d never had a chance to return the favor. He used his hands to spread my thighs wider. He let me feel the strength in his hands, but not as hard as he’d been when I told him to ease up. The sensation of being bound by the sheer strength of him was amazing. There was no need of ropes or chains when you could feel how terribly strong they both were.
Jason’s hands were harsh, but he leaned in toward me as if he were going to give the gentlest of kisses. The juxtaposition of the harsh and the gentle left