“Van, what are you—”
He lowered his mouth to hers, effectively rendering her speechless. His lips melded to hers and every reason for why this was wrong floated right out of her grasp. It was even better than she remembered. Her hands flew to his neck, threading through his hair and pulling at him—even though it was literally impossible for him to get any closer than he already was.
Gently sucking her bottom lip, he pulled his mouth from hers and placed his lips next to her ear. “Go, Stella Jo. Walk. Don’t run,” he said with confidence she knew was genuine. “But get your perfect ass in your bed and wait for me. I want you naked and I want you ready.”
The air disappeared from her lungs. “R-ready for what, exactly?”
Van tilted his head towards where the ropes and saddles and riding crops were. “Ready to feel.”
Stella Jo was doing her absolute best to stroll casually over to her little bungalow. She couldn’t help but glance around to see if anyone—specifically a certain blond mortal enemy—might be watching. So far the coast was clear.
Her heart pounded and her hands shook with anticipation. He was crazy. And she was absolutely out of her mind.
But telling him no would’ve been impossible. Every single cell in her body ached for him. For this mysterious man she should be running from. But couldn’t.
So she left her door unlocked.
Undressing in front of her full-length mirror, she saw her flushed skin and smiled. Kicking her boots and jeans to the corner, she practically laughed out loud. Whatever he had planned, she wanted. Badly. She dragged her tank top over her head and tossed it toward her jeans.
When she heard her door opening, she practically leapt into her bed. He’d said naked, but for some reason, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove her bra and panties. Her pulse raced at the image forming in her mind of him removing them for her.
But as the door clicked shut and his heavy footsteps made their way towards her, panic set in. He’d said naked. He’d been perfectly clear. Would he be rougher because she hadn’t followed instructions?
Strangely, she felt even more excited by this possibility. Which startled the shit out of her. Never in her life had she fantasized about a man being rough with her. In bed or otherwise. Logically, it should’ve been the stuff her nightmares were made of. But when he appeared, silent and holding a rope and a riding crop, the relentless throbbing began between her legs.
She’d been up half the night wondering how far she’d have let him go. Looking at him now—rippling muscles mostly covered in black ink she wanted to explore intimately, clenching jaw, burning eyes focused on her—she had her answer.
She’d let him go as far as he wanted.
Her experience was minimal, but he brought something different out in her. Something she hadn’t known was there. A secret. Like them.
He hadn’t spoken a word since walking in and standing at the foot of her bed with what look liked weapons of exquisite torture. She didn’t know if she had much to give, but for him, she’d give all she had.
Chapter Twenty
Van stood at the edge of her bed and stared down at her. He had to clench his hands at his side to keep himself steady.
Fuck, she was beautiful. She was more than beautiful. She was a goddess. She was something no one had created a word for yet. Because no other such creature had existed.
“Lose the blanket, Stella Jo.” His gravelly voice filled the small room.
She nodded, licked her lips, and slid the white comforter down. His eyes narrowed when he saw that she’d left her bra and underwear on.
“I said naked, cowgirl. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I was…” She paused to take a deep breath. “I thought I had more time.”
Setting the rope and riding crop on the bedside table, Van crossed his arms. “You have all the time in the world. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Her emerald eyes widened, meeting his with an ‘are you serious’ stare. He nodded once at her unspoken question.
She stood on shaking legs, and he resisted the urge to let her off the hook. She was nervous. She should be. He was going to do things to her that would wreck her—things she wouldn’t be able to forget so long as she lived. He planned to make damn sure of it.
Bravely, she reached back and unhooked her lacy bra. Unable to keep his eyes on hers, he let them drift as her bra fell. She hadn’t been bare to him the night before, and he’d spent the night regretting that. Which was why he was determined to rectify it.
Full breasts he knew would fit perfectly in his hands and mouth were exposed to him, and a flush crept up her neck to her face.
“You are so fucking beautiful. A lesser man would drop to his knees right now.”
She grinned sheepishly up at him from under her lashes as she slid her panties down her long, slender legs. “But you won’t?”
“No,” he said evenly. “I won’t.” Because he had other plans.
“Lie down,” he commanded tenderly once her delicate feet had stepped out of the sheer lace panties.
She did as she was told, and he took a minute to appreciate the spectacular view. Every inch of her was glorious perfection. A perfection he wouldn’t have believed existed if he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes. His breath caught as she raised an arm above her hair, dipping her fingers into the hair splayed out around her.
“What are you going to do with me, Mr. Ransom?” Her tone was teasing, but her voice trembled. “Or is it Mr. Walker tonight?”
“It’s, sir, cowgirl. From here on out. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, watching carefully as he lifted the rope from the table.
“I would say this isn’t going to hurt, or that I’ll be gentle…” He shrugged as he took one of her hands in his. “But I’d be lying.”
A whimper escaped her lips, and he smiled. The fear in her eyes was genuine, which caused a slight pinch of guilt in his stomach. But she’d said that he’d made her feel, hunger flaring in her gaze when she’d said it, so make her feel he would.
He tied her wrists together above her head and then knotted them to a wooden slat in her headboard.
Taking his time admiring ever inch of silky bronze skin on her body, he made his way south. There were two visible scars on either side of her right knee. He let his fingers trail lightly over them, tracing the lines and small dots beside them. Panic flared in her eyes.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “What happened?”
“I fell. During a race. It’s why I don’t ride anymore,” was all she gave him. He suspected that explained the limp as well.
He placed soft yet open-mouthed kisses on each of the pink puckered marks before sliding his hands down to her ankles. Her breathing increased noticeably as he tied each ankle to the wooden globes at each end of the footboard.
“Breathe, cowgirl. This won’t be nearly as fun if you pass out.” He winked and she nodded, though she was still making a considerable effort to breathe normally.
Her gaze drifted more than once over to the riding crop on the table beside her.
He chuckled low as he secured her left ankle. “Nervous, cowgirl?”
Her bare breasts lifted, and his dick throbbed at the sight. He’d been hard in the barn just picturing this moment. Actually living it was so intense it was almost unbearable. Almost.
“Hanging in there, baby?” he whispered as he picked up the long fiberglass rod with the braided leather handle.
He’d been careful not to touch her skin much. So far only the rope and his lips had made full contact. This was why he’d brought the implement. Because a woman like her—guarded, independent, stubborn—was going to need a little motivation before she broke.