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“Say it,” Kon murmured against her drenched flesh. His hot breath seared her. She didn’t have to ask,
Say what?
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. Why couldn’t he just do it? Why did he have to torment her like this?

His tongue was long and strong and agile. It stroked. It flicked. It darted inside. He was voracious, relentless, fucking her with his mouth, pulling back every so often to let her float down from the brink, only to take up where he’d left off and bring her even closer. Darla was practically sobbing with frustration.

“Say it,” he commanded, more forcefully this time.

“Please... please...” she moaned.

Kon closed his mouth over her clitoris. Darla’s body was no longer her own. Her entire being was focused on that one electrified spot between her legs, her cries echoing the cadence of his greedy, sucking mouth.

She was almost there, teetering on the point of no return, when Kon lifted his head and sat back on his heels.

“
No!
” she cried, thrashing against her bonds and his imprisoning hands. “Do it, Kon. Fuck me.” She didn’t recognize her own voice, the raw desperation and need. “
Fuck me!
”

Kon’s eyes glittered with satisfaction as he reared up, unleashed his cock and drove into her in one long, steady plunge. Darla screamed, the pleasure so acute it nearly tipped over into pain. Never had she been stretched this wide, filled this deep. Her orgasm exploded out of her, wringing a feral groan from Kon as her pussy milked him. He gritted his teeth and groaned again, obviously struggling not to finish too soon. Black spots crowded Darla’s vision as she slid into unconsciousness.

She came to amid an erotic whirlwind of sensation. Kon was still inside her, still rigid as a sequoia, the tip of his penis touching the deepest, neediest part of her. Those big, strong hands stroked her repeatedly, from thighs to shoulders, as he murmured her name and sweetly urged her to open her eyes.

She blinked. His torso was bare, and—she leaned up for a better view—so was the rest of him. His clothes lay in a heap on the backdrop, along with the satin ribbons. He’d untied her wrists and even managed to shuck out of his shorts without unseating himself from her body. She smiled wryly. Konrad Drummond was a man of many talents.

“Don’t get up too quickly. Take some deep breaths.” Gently he pushed her back down. His crooked smile mirrored hers, crinkling the corners of those shockingly blue eyes. “I was afraid you’d snooze all afternoon, and then what would I do?” His hips pumped, a lazy thrust that brought her fully awake. “It’s not my style to fuck an unconscious woman.”

“As opposed to fucking a woman into unconsciousness.” Darla looped her arms around his sinewy neck. “Why do I suspect that isn’t a first for you?”

He grinned at the compliment, then some of the humor faded as he studied her.

“You want to know if I regret it,” she said, toying with the damp curls at his nape. “You want to know if I’m going to burst into tears and accuse you of taking advantage.”

After a moment he said, “Something like that.”

“The answer is no.” Darla ran her hand down his chest, lightly furred and layered with muscle. She brushed her fingertips over his nipple and felt his response deep inside. “Don’t ask me why not. I’d rather not think about all that that right now.”

All that
being Brian and their upcoming marriage. She loved Brian. At least that’s what she’d told herself, and him, these past months as they’d booked the hall and sent out the invitations. The flowers were ordered, the music booked. Last weekend his sister Annie, a wonderful girl whom Darla had asked to be her maid of honor, had thrown Darla one hell of a bridal shower.

“Then don’t think about it. Think about this.” Kon slid his arms around her, pulling her up and pressing his mouth to hers.

Darla had never been kissed like this, like he couldn’t get enough of her, like kissing
mattered
. She tasted a bit of herself on his lips, and it went to her head like an aphrodisiac. Kon’s hips rocked, and she matched his rhythm, mewling into his mouth as her arousal grew. He knew just how to move, how to tease her clitoris with every stroke, and nudge that magic spot within her, over and over.

Kon wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to his feet in one smooth motion. He held her ass, lifting and lowering her on his stiff cock, his eyes burning into hers the whole time. The muscles of his shoulders and arms bunched, but his movements remained fluid and controlled. He had the build of a dedicated athlete—obviously he didn’t spend
all
his time cooped up in the studio.

He strolled off the backdrop and past the detritus of his studio, hammering her steadily without breaking stride. She knew he was close to coming, could see the effort he expended to delay it. Meanwhile her own pleasure spiraled with each ramrod thrust. She clutched him shamelessly, gouging his shoulders with her nails, breathlessly seeking release.

He paused by a pegboard. “Grab that.”

She looked at the object he indicated, a coil of thin brown rope. A needle of apprehension jabbed her. “What are you going to do with—?”

“I said grab it.” His fingers tightened on her butt, and she realized his authoritarian attitude hadn’t changed simply because the photo session had morphed into an all-out fuck-fest. He still expected...how had he expressed it?
Complete compliance.
Which sounded dangerously close to the
O
word—obedience. One part of Darla rebelled against the very suggestion she obey him. Another part experienced a thrill of arousal. It was that part that won the internal battle.

She reached out and lifted the rope off its hook. It was heavier than she’d expected, and she saw now it wasn’t one piece but several substantial lengths of pliable brown cord. Kon returned to the front of the studio and instructed Darla to deposit the rope on top of the stepladder, which she did.

Up to this point, he’d demonstrated remarkable self-control, but she could tell the moment of reckoning was imminent. His breathing had turned ragged, not from exertion but from holding off his own release. Veins bulged in his arms and neck as he worked her on his steely cock. Still he managed to make his way to the big carton overflowing with pieces of fabric, everything from filmy silk scarves to fuzzy faux-fur throws. She gasped as he kicked over the box, which spewed its multicolored contents onto the floor, directly under an enormous skylight. Buttery sunlight puddled on the cloth.

Kon rearranged the pile with one long foot and answered the question evident on her face. “I’m building you a love nest, my dear.” He turned and lowered them to the floor, lying back on the mound of fabric so that she straddled him, still impaled.

Finally! Something
she
could control. Darla rode him hard, and he let her set the pace. He reached around her bottom, touching the place where they were joined, gathering her juices. She was unprepared when his slick finger slid higher and caressed her anus.

“Kon!” She tried to squirm away from the unfamiliar sensation.

“It’s okay.” His other hand gripped her ass, holding her still. “I won’t hurt you. Relax for me, sweetheart.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Shh... Darla...” Kon held her gaze as his finger gently probed. “Are you telling me no one’s ever touched you here?”

She didn’t bother to answer, knowing he could see it in her face, in her body’s alarmed response. She supposed she must appear laughably inexperienced to him, but he wasn’t laughing. He was staring into her eyes, and the way he looked at her, it was as if no man had ever seen her before, really seen her.

Darla took a deep breath, willing her muscles to relax. Kon began fucking her once more, his finger thrusting and withdrawing along with his cock. It was a stunning sensation, being penetrated in both openings at once, and before she knew it, Darla found herself responding, found herself welcoming the novel intrusion. She let go of all her trepidations, her inhibitions, and let herself simply
feel
for the first time in her life.

Her second orgasm was more powerful than the first, if that was possible. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her, and she was grateful for Kon’s big hands locking her to him, grounding her. He came in the same instant with a hoarse cry, his eyes rolling back, his hips snapping hard against her. She felt his hot seed spurt deep inside as her pussy convulsed, drinking it all in.

They continued to rock against each other for a few moments, savoring the aftershocks. Finally Darla collapsed in a sated heap, and Kon rolled them onto their sides on his makeshift nest, their legs entwined. He kissed her, deep and tender, running his hands over her body in long, soothing strokes.

She half dozed for a few minutes, nuzzling his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him. At last he gently untangled their limbs and moved away. She listened to his footfalls recede, feeling cool emptiness where he had just been.

Darla rolled onto her back and stretched, gazing at the grimy skylight overhead, at dust motes lazily drifting in shafts of sunlight. So this was what it felt like to be thoroughly loved.

Wrong. She was thoroughly fucked, and in more ways than one. An image of her fiancé sprang into her mind, and she determinedly pushed it away. Not yet. There would be time for that later, for guilt and self-recrimination. For painful decisions.

She watched Kon stride toward her, clearly comfortable in his naked skin, a study in pure masculine grace. He carried his camera, which he set on the floor nearby, and a damp washcloth.

“What, still conscious?” A teasing smile touched his eyes as he knelt next to her.

“You’re slipping.” She gave a regretful little shake of the head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.”

That prompted a full-blown grin. He folded the washcloth and lightly pressed it between her legs. It was warm, almost hot, and it felt heavenly. “You sore?” he asked.

“A little.” Darla wasn’t accustomed to this much attention below the belt. Sex with Brian generally entailed lying under him for two to three minutes while he grimly humped away like he was on the clock.

Her thighs automatically drifted open as the washcloth stroked and probed her intimate flesh. Kon’s touch as he ministered to her was at once tender and assertive. She felt the leashed strength of his fingers under the sodden terry cloth, felt the buzz of renewed desire as he grasped the nubby cloth by a corner and slowly dragged it over her slit. She released a long, shaky exhalation and reached for his hard thigh, needing to ground herself.

His penetrating gaze met hers, a flash of cerulean under those devilish brows, and she saw he was wholly absorbed in the moment—in her. Her breathing quickened as the washcloth retraced its route, the folds of terry molding themselves to the folds of her labia. He repeated the gesture over and over, with single-minded patience, until Darla was panting and squirming, her hips rising to enhance the contact. She was barely aware of her hand gripping his thigh until she felt his erection brush against her fingers.

Kon tossed aside the washcloth. Darla reached for him, his name erupting from her throat in a ragged whisper. She expected him to fall on her, to fill her. Instead he reached for his camera.

“I’m not finished photographing you.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “In case you were wondering.”

Darla hadn’t been wondering, hadn’t been thinking of anything past the here and now. Kon directed her poses, having her lie and sit in various positions. He shot her from all angles, standing over her, away from her, squatting, even joining her on the floor. At one point he leapt onto a nearby table and shot her from a height.

“The light is perfect here. So are you, Darla.” For long moments he just stared at her. “God, but you are beautiful.”

She didn’t believe him. Wasn’t that what photographers always told their models? Still, the way he looked at her, with equal parts wonder and intensity, she did feel almost beautiful for the first time in her life.

She’d expected her aching arousal to subside as she posed for him, but in fact, the opposite occurred. As she stared at the camera lens trained on her, at this extension of Kon’s own greedy gaze, the buzz of awareness between her legs only grew stronger, until at last it was all she could do to hold still as he composed each shot.

Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.

Kon knelt next to Darla where she lay on the nest of fabric. He positioned her arms over her head, selected a delicate silk scarf and tied her wrists together. He repeated the procedure with her ankles, lashing them together with a long scrap of ivory lace.

The sensual buzz ratcheted up a few notches. Her breasts rose and fell faster, drawing his gaze and his hand, which lightly skated down her torso. Her nipples had pulled into hard little knots, and the fleeting brush of his fingertips felt like an electric jolt. She squirmed, needing more, even as he rummaged through the pieces of cloth and drew out a sheer chiffon scarf.

He floated the large, peach-hued square over her legs and hips, dragging it higher, until it settled like a dirty thought over her chest and face. Her view through the scarf was hazy as Kon half buried her legs under scraps of cloth, draping others over her hair and arms so it looked as if she were emerging from the pile of fabric.