Prologue
004
She was nearly naked again, wearing nothing but tiny black panties, and his hands were everywhere but where she needed them to be. Calloused fingertips traced the column of her spine down to the small of her back, then deliberately avoided the aching place between her legs as he gripped her thighs and pulled them apart.
Wider. Wider. Strong hands moving to grip her ankles with a careless ownership that made a soft moan escape her lips.
“See there, Nicky. Aren’t you glad I caught you in time?” His voice was as rough as the rope he used to secure first one ankle and then the other to the bedpost behind her. As he worked, Nicky could feel her mind softening, sinking into a pool of cool, clear water even as her entire body caught fire.
Descending into submissive space, into that place in her mind where nothing mattered but one man and what he would command her to do, had always reminded Nicky of floating. Drifting into a delicious dream where pleasure and pain fused together, where mind and body finally made peace with each other, where her consciousness focused to a knifepoint and she finally felt completely alive.
Subbing was a better high than any drug and three times as addictive. It was like flying without any fear of the fall.
At least not any fear until it was all over . . . and it was too late to take back those parts of herself she’d given away.
“Tell me, Nicky.” He’d finished with her ankles and was now hovering above her prone form, braced on the hands he’d placed at either side of her shoulders, close enough she could feel his heat but not the comforting weight of his body. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, his lips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as he spoke. “Tell me what you want.”
Nicky shivered, but not because of the cold. She’d grown accustomed to the chill in the cabin. Too bad she couldn’t grow accustomed to what this man did to her, couldn’t seem to control her body’s instinctive response to the dominant he’d become.
Of course, even if he hadn’t grown into just the kind of man her twisted libido craved like a fat man craves cake, just the fact that he was Jack would have probably been enough. The familiar smell of his skin made her wetter than she’d been in years, the feel of his large hands moving to her wrists had her nipples drawn into tight, aching points, and the way he said “want” was nearly enough to make her come. Right then, without as much as a fingertip between her legs.
And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. The bastard.
“Fuck you,” she whispered, the defiant words kicking her arousal into overdrive. Unfortunately for her, the only thing more arousing than being a good girl was being a bad one. That’s why she didn’t fight him as he rechecked the cuffs securing her to the headboard. Fighting only fueled the fire.
“I don’t think so. No more distractions. We’re going to finish this,” he said, the surety in his voice underscored by the buzzing of the tattoo machine beside the bed. Her pulse pounded unhealthily in her ears and a cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades as she realized a needle could be only a few inches away from her skin. “Tell me what you want, Nicky. This is your last chance.”
But she didn’t say a word, only pressed her face into the cool quilt and waited for the familiar sting. Waited for Jack to mark her flesh the way he’d already marked her heart.