Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (4 page)

“Do they make you
feel
seductive?”

My God, was I so easy to read? I nodded.

“Strange how today they make you feel seductive, when only yesterday I would swear you were afraid of them.”

Oh!
I was so easy for
Ethan
to read—that much was undeniable. He hadn’t missed my reaction to the shoes yesterday; he’d just opted not to broach it at the time. The curl in my lip smoothed into a straight line.

“Why is that?” he continued.

Unsure of what to say, I shook my head.

“Why, Angelica?” His tone was insistent.

“I told myself the fear was irrational,” I blurted, not really wanting to discuss the origin of my unreasonable antipathy toward red shoes.

“I see.” He paused for a beat. “So although only yesterday it was clear the shoes caused you significant anxiety and your compulsion was to avoid them, something persuaded you to reexamine. Today you were powerless to resist them. Your intrigue for how they might make you feel, too overwhelming to ignore. You listened to what your body and your mind was telling you. You reasoned that the fear was unfounded, senseless—you listened… and you became a seductress.”

Oh!
I hadn’t quite thought of it like that, but yes, I supposed that’s exactly what had happened.

“It’s progress. A productive beginning to this evening’s lesson.”

My brow behind the blindfold furrowed, still uncertain of what the purpose of the lesson was, or whether it had even begun.

“Have you figured it out yet? Today’s learning objective?”

There he goes again, reading my mind.

I shook my head, a virtually undetectable movement.

Ethan sighed. “You’ll learn to focus on your senses. Specifically hearing, smell, taste, and touch, but with the exception, as you’ve probably guessed, of sight. You’ll experience physical sensations and examine how your mind interprets them—perception, appreciation, reaction—and whether your comprehension has value. You will recognize the difference between instinctive reaction and logical reaction. Without your sight, you’ll be forced to analyze the sensation for longer. You’ll learn not to rely solely on your initial or desired interpretation, but to look further than the surface, deeper than what is in front of you. To listen closely to what your body is trying to tell you, and hopefully—eventually—you will see things more clearly.”

Whoa! Deep!

“Do you understand, Angel?”

I wasn’t sure that I did. I nodded.

“Good. Sit down.”

Without pause, I sat down on the chaise, my knees and thighs together, my posture tense, reflecting my confusion and uncertainty. For some reason, the profound intensity of his words and his mood was troubling me.

“You need to relax. Shuffle forward so your ass is perched on the edge.” I swallowed hard and did as I was told. “I’m going to leave you for a few moments. I don’t want you to move. All you’ll have is your hearing. Be mindful of it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

After a few seconds, I heard him leave the room and then apart from the erratic beat of my heart, there seemed to be an endless silence. Eventually, I heard the soft padding of his bare feet and the vague sounds of rattling and something being placed on the floor. His footsteps retreated again and I waited, my mind examining the possibilities of what was to come. Despite the air of apprehension, I found it impossible to ignore the slow burning excitement that was stirring in the depths of my core.

Suddenly, there was the low tinkling of music, quiet at first then growing gradually louder. I recognized the beautiful tones of the choir arrangement instantly: Scala & Kolacny Brother’s
“Every Breath You Take.”
It was the piece played in the back of the Escalade when Ethan had made me touch myself. My lesson in controlling impulsive behavior which led to a lack of regard for my safety. I recalled how much I enjoyed the lesson.

Without warning, I seemed hyperaware of my body: the way my chest rose and fell as I breathed nervously in and out, the movement causing my nipples to graze against my bra, until the swollen buds protruded through the fine lace. I felt an overwhelming urge to part my legs and arch my back to press my aching sex against the seat beneath me, just a tiny bit of pressure to soothe the increasing throb. Instead, I fidgeted a little, the inadequacy of the action causing me to scrape my teeth over my lower lip in frustration. My sudden aroused state was unexpected and intense, similar to the way I felt when I watched Ethan’s gaze slide admiringly over my body.

“You’re aroused.” Ethan’s voice and obvious close proximity made me jump out of my skin. I gasped, my head snapping sharply in the direction it came from—a few feet, at most, in front of me.

I shook my head frantically in embarrassed denial.

“Yes you
are
.” He flicked my nipple, the sudden, sharp, erotic pain causing me to cry out in shocked but pleasurable surprise. “Yes you are, baby.” His breath was inches from my face. “
Listen
to what your body is telling you.”

I did. Despite my initial objection, my impulse to refute the accusation, he was right. I was incredibly aroused. Now, even more so.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m aroused.”

“Good. Now respond to your feelings.”

I froze, uncertain of what he wanted me to do.

“Respond, Angel.” His voice was velvet smooth, demanding, coaxing. “Your pussy aches, doesn’t it?”

I gasped, nodding. Hating—loving how well he knew me.

I responded. My knees separated, my feet inching apart to spread my thighs wide open, my fingers curling over the edge of the smooth velvet chaise. Arching my back, I began to roll my hips, grinding my sex against the fabric beneath me with as much pressure as I could administer. A soft groan of relief hissed through my parted lips as I found the friction I so desperately needed.

“That’s right, baby—you soothe that ache.” His voice was low and husky, evidence of his own increasing desire. I wanted him to touch me, realizing suddenly, that he hadn’t touched me once since he’d arrived home. “Was it the music that reminded you? Is that why you’re aroused?”

I nodded.

“What does it remind you of?”

“When you made me touch myself.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “And what was the lesson objective?”

“To learn to control impulsive behavior.”

“Yes. Action without forethought is imprudent, Angel.”

I nodded.

“Are you in control now?”

“Yes.” I breathed in deeply, attempting to regulate my wildly beating heart.

“Good. Very good. Now—spread your legs wider.”

What? Like that’s going to help my self-control
.

He waited a beat and added, “Do you
want
to open your legs wider, baby?”

“Yes,” I answered without delay.

There was a pause as I felt his heat against my neck. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Scala’s “Blower’s Daughter” began to sift sweetly into the room as I shifted, extending the distance between my knees and feet until I was wide open for him to observe.

Suddenly, I felt something make contact with the inside of my ankle, the slightest, featherlike touch making its way deliberately slowly up the inside of my calf. As it progressed, the pressure increased, and as I focused on the cold, hard, smooth sensation, a picture began to form in my mind. The vision was that of knife, not the sharp edge, but the smooth flat surface of a blade journeying slowly up my inner thigh toward my yearning sex. I tensed instinctively, the sensation too foreign and indefinite for me to be certain of its intention.

The contact halted its leisurely trail immediately.

“Do you think there’s the remotest chance that I might hurt you, Angelica?” There was a hint of frustration in his voice.

“No, of course not.”
Of course not!

“The image you created in your mind was indicative of danger, and although only mildly, you responded to it. Now you’ve employed reason, how do you want to respond?”

Oh! Okay.

My muscles suddenly loosened, my body visibly relaxing as I pushed my legs wider still and gently rolled my hips forward. Ethan sighed in appreciation and continued on his journey. By the time the blade approached the apex of my thighs, I was absurdly attuned to the sensation, my nerve endings prickling with the uncertainty of its destination. The blade suddenly shifted direction, moving to run alongside the edge of my panties and coming to an abrupt halt at the fine sliver of lace which attached the back of the thong to the tiny triangle of lace that was the front.

Suddenly, I heard a sound—a snip—and the fabric relaxed against my skin.

Did he just cut through my thong?

Before I had time to compute, the blade ran softly over my lower stomach, just above my pubic bone toward my other hip, the light tickling sensation causing an involuntary quiver.

Snip
.
Scissors—not a knife.

I gasped as the frail material collapsed to completely expose my now pulsing sex.

Ethan took a sharp breath inwards. “Oh Lord.” He paused, waiting to regain control of his faltering poise. “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you look right now.
‘I can’t take my eyes off you,’
” he sang along to the words of the song. “How absurdly appropriate.”

My hips jolted forward reflexively, thrusting my soaking sex toward him in search of some relief. I could feel him close, his gaze burning into my hungry flesh.

“Ethan,” I cried out.

“Shh,” his voice was soothing. “I know, baby, I know. But you have to be patient.” He seemed to catch his breath again. “This is so hard… Your pussy is so dripping wet that you glisten in the candlelight.” I groaned because I knew that his face was only inches from me, and I mentally urged him to take me in his mouth. “Put your hands behind you on the seat and lean back. Don’t move forward an inch. Don’t try and reach out for me.” It wasn’t a request; it was a demand.

I responded instantly, desperate now to hurry this game—this lesson—so I could feel him inside me. As instructed, I lay in position, not daring to move, until finally, I felt the slightest almost imperceptible sense of something near me. A breeze—breath, it was his sweet, warm breath floating wondrously across my quivering clit. The tiniest fraction of an inch and there would be contact, and then the sudden sound of him inhaling deeply almost tipped me over the edge. A long, deep moan grated from my throat, an almost torturous plea for him to touch me. And then he was gone.

“No.” I shouted in protest, but he didn’t respond. “Ethan?”

“A second… please.” His voice came from somewhere off to the edge of the room. I knew from his tone, his words, and his distance, that, like me, he was fighting to maintain his self-control. The thought was comforting and somehow seemed to facilitate in my own composure. Breathing deeply, I waited for him to return.

After a few moments, I felt him approach.

“Hold still.” He was back in control.

Suddenly, the blade was back, gliding purposefully up my abdomen toward the hollow between my breasts. I braced myself.
Snip
. As the cups of my bra fell away to expose my heavy aching breasts, I gasped again—this time in sheer disbelief.

“What?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I actually liked this underwear—a lot.”

“Mmm, me too. But the gifts of lingerie were for my indulgence. Not yours. Sorry.”

My lip curled at his matter-of-fact tone.

“Get rid of the bra,” he instructed.

My brow furrowed in question as to why he didn’t do it himself. “Why won’t you touch me?”

“Because if I do, I won’t be able to stop. Now get rid of the bra and lift up your ass so I can dispense with this scrap of material.”

I did as I was told, sliding the bra down my shoulders and discarding it to the side then tilting my pelvis to feel him tug away the thong.

“Now lie down. Your hands above your head.”

Reacting instantly, I lay with my arms stretched above, my legs open wide in a blatant display of utter, solicitous want. I felt brazen, and sexy, and not in the least bit inhibited. Ethan’s breath came in short, sharp gasps in communion with mine, and the scent of desire hung heavy in the air.

All of a sudden, I heard the sound of a button popping, the slow gliding of a zipper, and the swish of material as he worked his jeans past his hips and thighs. The image of his pulsing cock springing free from the confines of the denim had me thrusting my pelvis skyward. For a second, I wanted to reach down and touch myself, the burning rush of liquid desire becoming almost too difficult to control.

“Focus, Angel.”

I inhaled deeply, my senses on red alert for the next sound or movement. Somehow, I seemed to sense the shifting of light, as if a flickering candle had been passed in front of my eyes, the scent of a burning wick and melted candle wax wafting under my nose. And then without warning, a sharp stinging burn seemed to scorch my skin. The pain was localized to the trail leading from my navel down to my sex, and I cried out, jolting away from the sudden contact. It was gone in a second, the shock leaving me gasping in confusion.

“Ethan…?”

“Shh, baby. Relax.” His soothing voice interrupted me. “Take a breath. Remember, employ the logic—look deeper. Here it comes again.”

“No, Ethan. It’s too hot… it’s burning.” Images of dripping candle wax blistering the most sensitive areas of my body came rushing into my mind.

“Are you sure?”

Am I sure? Course I’m fucking sure. It hurts like hell!

The sensation came again, a heated, searing, almost piercing pain, this time continuing its torturous journey up the trail to circle my navel.

I flinched, but my instinct to reach out and rub at the burn was suddenly halted in its tracks.

Ethan’s words echoed in my head.
Are you sure? Employ the logic—look deeper.

“Ice.” The word hissed from my lungs, along with the breath I hadn’t known I was holding, and suddenly the sensation was altogether different. It wasn’t burning hot—it was freezing cold.

“Good girl,” he crooned, the smile in his voice as evident as his arousal.