Man (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 9) Page 4

  He straightened, but instead of going for the door, he walked down the hallway.

  She scurried to her feet. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “To get some wine,” he called from over his shoulder, “and to fix you a proper meal. You can’t live on fruit and salad.”

  She bristled. Storming after him, she said, “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Long enough.”

  He stopped so suddenly she almost bumped into his back.

  Twirling around, he cupped her neck. “Rest assured that I’ll keep on watching you, your every move, your every thought, until I have what I want. The only way to get rid of me is to talk.”

  As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, he set her free and continued on his way to the kitchen. She stumbled a step before regaining her balance.

  “I’ll call the police,” she called after him.

  “With a husband like yours? Yes, I’m sure you will.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, fuming. Helplessly, she watched as he took a bottle of her best white from the fridge and pulled the cork. He knew exactly where to find the corkscrew and glasses. He poured two and handed her one.

  “Sit.” He motioned at one of the high stools at the island counter.

  Fine. She’d play his game. For now. She smiled sweetly and complied. After going through her fridge, he took out the steaks she’d gotten for Godfrey and lit the gas to heat two pans.

  Pushing the basket of potatoes her way, he said, “You can peel those if you want to make yourself useful.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why do you want information on my husband?”

  Taking a knife, he started peeling the potatoes with astounding efficiency. “So I can kill him.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Just like that.”

  “Yes.” He gave her an unfazed look. “Does it surprise you?”

  Many people wanted Godfrey dead, but they didn’t admit it to her face in her own kitchen while cooking her dinner.

  “What makes you think I’ll help you?”

  He glanced at her again, but didn’t answer.

  A chill ran down her spine. “What are you, Mr. Asshole?”

  “A man.”

  “You’re not supernatural?”

  “No.”

  “What about that thing you said about reading my mind?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Can you read my mind now?”

  “No. Why? What would I see if I could read your thoughts?”

  An image of them from last night flashed in her memory, but she expelled it. “Why can’t you read my mind?”

  “You’re blocking it too effectively.”

  “You think you’re going to break me,” she said with sudden insight. That was why he’d touched her.

  Again, no answer. He sliced the potatoes into quarters, dumped them into the pan, and drizzled them with olive oil. After sautéing the potatoes for a while, he patted the steaks dry with a paper towel. The meat made a sizzling sound when it hit the pan.

  “You’re not vegetarian, are you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you eat meat?”

  She shrugged. “It’s too much of a hassle to cook for one.”

  “You need to take care of yourself.”

  She sipped her wine, studying the man who was cooking in her kitchen as if it was his right.

  “I love your work,” he said out of the blue.

  She gave a start. “You snooped around in my studio.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t disrespect an artist like that.” He added with a wink, “Not without need. I’m merely referring to the ones in the sketchpads you left lying around the house. Very dark. What prompted them, if I may ask?”

  “You may not. You had no right to touch my personal stuff.”

  He looked back at her, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “Only your body?”

  “It’s not the same. I thought you were going to kill me.”

  He helped himself to her spices and added garlic and rosemary to the potatoes without replying. The only sound in the kitchen came from the food sizzling energetically in the pans. He worked in silence until the potatoes were brown and the delicious fragrance of grilled meat filled the space.

  “Food’s ready.” He switched off the gas and took two plates from the cupboard. After dishing up, he carried the food to the counter and placed a plate in front of her. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

  She had no appetite, but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him. She cut into the steak and took a bite.

  He studied her as she ate. “Glad you like it.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She shrugged. “You’re a good cook.”

  He raised his glass. “To your health.”

  She snorted.

  “Next time,” he said, “I’ll bring a red. It goes better with the meat.”

  “It’s very presumptions of you to assume we’ll ever share a meal again.”

  No answer.

  “You know my name,” she said.

  “Of course I do.”

  Having finished as much as she could eat, she put her knife and fork on the plate. “I’ll change the locks and the code for the alarm.”

  “Save yourself the trouble. It won’t stop me.”

  “What are you going to do to me if you don’t get what you want?”

  No answer.

  His silence only confirmed her deep-sated knowledge. The fact that he wasn’t hurting her now didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  He got up, took her plate, and carried it to the sink. She sat motionlessly as he scraped the remains in the trashcan. While he rinsed the dishes, she had ample time to study him. His body was broad and muscular. His gigantic hands worked efficiently and with economic movements. Everything about him screamed strength and power. He was disturbingly attractive. Too well-groomed and cultured for a criminal or her generalized conception of a stalker. She judged him a good ten years her senior, which gave her an advantage. If he had strength, she had fitness and endurance.

  Drying his hands on a dishcloth, he turned to her. “It’s late. Go to bed.”

  Her cheeks heated at the suggestion, worry creeping into her gut.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you.”

  Just as disappointment surprised her, leaving a bitter taste of shame in its wake, he added, “Not tonight.”

  She got up. “Leave.”

  “In good time.” He flicked his head toward the door. “Go. I’ll tidy up in here. It’ll give you time to undress.”

  Who the hell did he think he was? She glared at him, at a loss for insults. Left with no verbal ammunition, she rushed from the room so he wouldn’t see the feeling of angry helplessness that crippled her senses. Not able to throw him out physically or call anyone for help, there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do.

  In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and stripped down to her underwear. His steps sounded on the stairs when she slipped under the sheets. He paused in the doorway, watching her for several seconds before walking to the chair in the corner and pulling it right up to the bed. He sat down and shifted his body into a comfortable position.

  “For how long are you going to make yourself welcome?” she asked with a bite in her tone.

  “Until you’re asleep.”

  Like that was going to happen. For a long time, there was only the ticking of the clock on the nightstand.

  “Go to sleep,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Why don’t you go to hell?”

  He only chuckled.

  It was creepy, lying in bed with a stranger watching over her, but she didn’t feel threatened. Not yet. The pathetic part of her that craved human interaction felt less lonely. The night was hot and humid, and her body was overheating even under the sheer cotton sheets. After a while of tossing, she threw her leg out from under the covers. Not a good idea.
The man fixed his gaze on her exposed skin. She moved to cover herself again, but he grabbed her wrist, stilling the action. Her skin tingled where his fingers lightly encircled her arm, sending a ripple of awareness to her womb. Her belly contracted wantonly as a memory of last night heated her senses. His gaze shifted to her face and sharpened. If he was trying to read her mind, he was reading the wrong body part. Moisture gathered between her legs, making her already damp folds feel slick. This was dangerous. Wrong. It made her need burn fiercer. This is the kind of fucked-up you get when you’d looked death in the eyes, when you knew every second counted, and that the next could be your last. What she needed was a flick of a hand away. If he shifted his fingers a few inches to the left, he’d touch the part of her body that throbbed in longing. No. That wasn’t need. That was lust.

  Disgusted, she turned her head away. At the broken eye contact, he let go. The chair creaked. She imagined him settling back in it. When she finally gathered enough courage to face him again, he’d pulled the gloves back on. Her heart sunk and she hated herself for that feeling. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. His breathing was even, but not the sleep kind of even. Mr. Stalker would remain watchful and alert.

  Trying to overcome the turbulent collision of fear and arousal that set her on edge, she escaped into her mind, conjuring a make-belief scenario as she’d done so many times before to cope with an unsavory circumstance. She pretended the enigmatic stranger was there to keep her safe from the world. She pretended that he cared what happened to her. Her fantasy took another turn, one where he did to her what he’d done last night, but in this one, his motivation was personal. Mutual lust.

  With a shaky sigh, she switched on the lamp. “If you’re going to sit there, you may as well make yourself useful.”

  His lips tilted. “Need a midnight snack?”

  When she threw the covers aside and wiggled out of her panties, his gaze became predatory. He watched her with the attention of a hawk.

  “Olivia.” There was a warning in his tone.

  Her words were needy, breathless. “Distract me.”

  The skin over his cheekbones drew tight. “If I touch you now, the distraction will be mine.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” she teased. “I’m not going to kill you.”

  He rose with the same predatory intent she’d seen in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll restrain you, just to be sure.”

  Her belly clenched in response. “What prevents you from killing me when I’m tied up and at your mercy?”

  “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be so.”

  She believed him. He didn’t have to lie about his intentions. There was nothing she could do about it, anyway. They’d established that she couldn’t overpower him. It didn’t mean she couldn’t outwit him.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  It should’ve been unsettling that he knew where to find her scarves, but why wouldn’t he? He knew where her corkscrew and glasses were.

  “Have you been through my whole house?” she asked as he tied her wrists to the bedpost.

  He tested the stretch and then did the same with her feet, spread-eagling her. “You know the answer.”

  “Did you get off going through my underwear drawer?”

  He unfastened the clip at the front of her strapless bra and let it fall open before stepping back to regard his work. “I don’t have to. I can get off on seeing them on your body.”

  “Do you watch me when I dress and shower?”

  He climbed onto the bed and kneeled between her legs. “Not if I can prevent it.”

  “What are you? A chivalrous stalker?”

  “What I’m about to do is far from chivalrous.”

  She shuddered with anticipation, years of need unlocking from someplace deep inside her. “Seems out of character for you.”

  “You asked so nicely. I wouldn’t be a gentleman to deny you.” He dragged his gloved hands over her breasts, caressing her aching nipples. “You need this, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said shakily.

  “Are you always this honest, or only when you’re tied up?”

  “I guess you’ll find out.”

  He trailed his hands down her stomach, the leather cool and rough. “I said I wouldn’t touch you tonight, so you have to give me a good reason for breaking my word.”

  “This isn’t a good reason?” Her legs trembled when his hands dipped lower, coming to rest on her pubic bone.

  “Beg.”

  It wasn’t beneath her. After all, she’d already degraded herself by asking a stranger to play this decadently erotic game with her. A stalker, no less. Probably a killer, too. But then again, her life wasn’t exactly normal. She’d been surrounded by killers and dangerous men since the day she’d met Godfrey.

  “I don’t hear you,” he said.

  “Touch me. Please, make me come.”

  His fingers flittered over her folds. “That’s better.”

  The light touch made her shiver some more. “Aren’t you going to take off the gloves?”

  “I don’t need to. Not for what I have in mind.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I guess you’ll find out,” he said, throwing her words back at her. His hands continued their journey over her body, setting every inch of her skin on fire as he traced her arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach, and legs. When his head lowered to the juncture of her legs, she stiffened automatically. It had been so long. Not since her and Godfrey’s wedding night.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. His deep voice turned even raspier. “Tense?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “No worries. Same here.”

  Holding her eyes, he dragged his tongue through her slit. With diligent attention, he outlined her lips. God, it felt good. She threw her head back and surrendered to the sensations, allowing him to control what she felt and with what intensity. He went for quick and powerful, opening her with his thumbs and spearing her with his tongue. His mouth was so hot. She pulled on the constraints, letting her lack of choice in the matter fuel her arousal. He took her with deep strokes of his tongue until she panted with need and clenched her inner muscles, chasing after the deeper friction she needed. He didn’t make her wait long. He lapped up her moisture with a flick of his tongue, lashed onto her clit, and pushed a gloved finger inside. She nearly came on the spot.

  “Please.” The begging tone of her voice was shocking.

  “Please what?”

  She had to keep her head. She couldn’t lose it in the throes of passion. “Tell me your name.”

  He nipped her clit, making her yelp.

  “Naughty girl.” He pumped into her faster. “If this was a ploy to make me give up my name, you’ve lost.”

  Dammit. She moaned when he added a second finger to the first. “I need to know what to call you when I come.”

  “Nice try.” He renewed his assault on her clit, sucking and pinching with his lips.

  Her hips arched off the bed. So close. “I-I’m––”

  An intense orgasm drew her muscles tight, making her inner muscles clamp down on his fingers. She cried out her pleasure, not bothering to swallow the sounds. There was no shame or regret. Not even guilt. He sucked her right through it, until the vice that held gave and her body sagged on the mattress. She was still trying to catch her breath when he gathered her wetness with a thumb and massaged it around her clit, continuing right where he’d stopped. He dragged his fingers over sensitized tissue, the sensation almost unbearable.

  “No.” She tried to scissor her legs, remembering too late they were tied. “It’s too much.”

  “We’re only getting started.” He kissed her stomach. “When you let me tie you up, you gave me control.”

  She couldn’t have another orgasm. She knew her body. She wasn’t a multiple orgasm kind of woman, but he curled his fingers inside her and stroked her clit harder. His mouth closed around her breast, sucking her nipple
deep into his mouth. Oh God, her need was climbing again. It took longer, but the wicked man in the white clothes was patient and relentless.

  “Please.” She was on the edge. She needed the release or she’d go out of her mind.

  He bit down lightly on her swollen nipple and increased the pace of his fingers. The bite of pain sent a bolt of electricity straight to her clit, making her tumble over the edge. The climax detonated slowly and lasted longer. Her thighs quivered in the aftermath, shaking with aftershocks. She moaned and shivered as he teased her swollen folds with his tongue. She felt boneless.

  Gently, he withdrew his fingers. “Thirsty?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “I’ll be right back.” The bed dipped and his heat disappeared.

  A moment later, he entered the room carrying a glass and her basket of washing pegs.

  She lifted her head in alarm. “What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” He held the glass to her lips. “Drink.”

  Cool water soothed her throat as she swallowed. She licked the drop that had spilled from her lips, and watched him warily as he shifted between her legs with the basket.

  Her eyes widened as she understood his intention. “You’re not serious.”

  “Don’t worry.” He patted her breast. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s to help you reach your next orgasm quicker or you’ll be exhausted by the time I’m done with you.”

  “I can’t possibly have another one. It’s too much.”

  “I know you can take it. You’re too strong to break from hard loving.”

  Biting her lip, she craned her neck to watch his actions.

  He parted her pussy and carefully applied a peg at the top of her swollen lip. “You shouldn’t feel as much as a bite of pain, but tell me if it hurts.”

  Her protest came meekly. “You don’t have to go this far, really. Two orgasms were quite all right by me.”

  He gave her a dark look. “Not by me.”

  He continued to clip two more pegs on one side, and then on the other, paying absolute concentration to the task. Just as he’d said, it didn’t hurt. Actually, the pressure felt good.

  He lifted his eyes to her face. “Now for the last one. Ready?”

  She didn’t bother with a reply. If she could handle six, why would the seventh be different?