His voice broke the silence, low and rough. “You want everything, Kyrie?”

“Yes, Valentine. Everything.”

“Do you have any clue what you’re asking for, darling?”

“I think I have an idea.”

I felt his lips on mine, a rough quick kiss. “I don’t think you do.” He moved across the room with me, and I heard his foot bump the bed. He stopped, leaned over, and set me down. I could feel his overwhelming presence, though I could see nothing. “You can still leave, Kyrie. This is your very last opportunity.”

I reached up, found him with my hands, slid my palms over his shoulders, and pulled him down to me. “I’m where I choose to be, Valentine.”

His growl of approval washed over me. “Good answer.” His mouth covered mine, and our tongues tangled. “Tell me, who do you belong to, Kyrie?”


“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Try again.” His weight settled on the bed, his hands beside my face, his knees on either side of mine.


I knew instinctively then the words he wanted to hear. I felt no hesitation in saying them. “I belong to you, Valentine. You own me.”

“Yes. You’re mine.” I heard his voice moving from my face down to my chest as he bent to press his lips to my skin, somehow finding, with unerring accuracy, in the darkness the hot, flushed skin of my cle**age.

And then he was off the bed, moving away. I saw the glow of his cell phone, heard the clicking of a digital keyboard as he sent a message. To whom or why I couldn’t fathom and I didn’t really care, except for wanting him back, wanting his hands on my skin, wanting to feel him take my clothes off and kiss me and drive his big hard c**k into me. I couldn’t wait another moment to feel him, to taste him, to have him.

I heard the sound of him setting his phone down, a moment or two of silence, and the thump of shoes being tossed aside. Another sound, one I couldn’t decipher. Roth picking something up, possibly, from a dish? I wasn’t sure. Then I heard a click-scrape, and saw a jet of flame illuminating Roth’s hand holding a lighter, a hint of his arm, and a tall white candle in a silver holder. I lay on the bed, watching as Roth moved around the room, touching the lit wick to at least a dozen unlit candles. In moments, his bedroom was lit by the soft amber glow of flickering candlelight.

He crossed the room slowly, moving with a predatory grace. “Stand up, Kyrie.” I stood, trembling with eager anxiety, staring up at him, trying to act fearless, when in fact my heart was shuddering madly in my chest. “You…you’re breathtaking, Kyrie. So beautiful.” His voice was a reverent murmur.

He reached out and touched my cheekbone, his finger warm, slightly rough. His fingertip scraped ever so gently across my cheek, up over my ear, brushing a loose tendril of hair away, mimicking the way he’d first touched me. That day felt so long ago, as if weeks or months had passed, rather than mere days. I remained motionless in front of him, watching the way his eyes roved over me, the way he seemed to be embracing this moment, taking me in, all of me, really seeing me, into me, knowing me. And I knew him. I’d seen parts of his heart, part of who he was. Enough to know he was real, he was different, he was something incomparable, and I was ready and waiting and deliriously unprepared for what was about to happen between us.

He blinked once, his gaze moving from my face down to my br**sts. I took a deep breath, and he watched my chest swell. Roth grabbed the zipper of my dress between finger and thumb, drew it down slowly. No part of him was touching me, but I felt his gaze as a caress. The zipper lowered, and my dress loosened. Roth brushed a palm over my shoulder, sliding the sleeve of my dress away. He did it again on the other side, and I shrugged my shoulders, brought my arms together in front of me, letting the dress fall down around me, billowing to pool at my feet, leaving me clad in my bra and nothing else.

He reached behind me and unhooked my bra, tossing it aside. My ni**les stiffened, hardening to taut peaks under his hot gaze. I expected him to touch me, but he didn’t. He leaned past me, lifting something off the bed. A small garment of red silk and a scrap of black lace.

Roth took my wrists in one of his hands and lifted my arms over my head. He slid the red silk over my arms, guiding my hands through, tugging the garment down into place. He adjusted my br**sts in the bustier so they were barely covered, the tops of my areolae peeking out, the silk hem coming to rest just above my navel.

He ran his eyes over me from head to toe, shaking his head slightly. “How can you be so perfect, Kyrie?” I could only shrug. He held up the long scrap of black lace in both hands. “Are you ready?”

In response I held out my hands, wrists together, offering myself.



Roth tied the lace around my wrists, loose enough that it didn’t hurt, but tight enough that I was well and truly bound. Tied up. Totally at his mercy. I tested the bonds, and knew that I was held fast.

Despite knowing I was perfectly safe with Valentine Roth, I felt a shimmer of fear. I’d never been tied up before. I’d never been so completely within a man’s thrall before. In that moment, I knew I would do almost anything he asked of me. And I was okay with that, because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to do anything I wouldn’t want, wouldn’t enjoy.

A growl left his lips, and he reached for me, grabbing my ass and jerking me against him, cupping the back of my neck and my ass to hold me flush against him, his jeans rough against my skin, his c**k thick behind the denim, hard and straining. Roth plundered my mouth with his, a kiss so furiously desperate that I was left breathless when he pulled away. He palmed both cheeks of my ass and lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, draped my bound hands behind his head, leaning down to kiss him, demanding his passion with my own kiss. He took a step, another, and then leaned forward, letting my weight drop me to the bed, my wrists at the back of his neck pulling him to me, keeping the kiss unbroken, mouths moving, our lips tasting and teeth nipping, tongues merging and tangling, and I felt heat in my belly, an ache that had never been sated, a desire made volcanically potent by his torturous teasing with fingers and mouth, never giving me the fullness of his body.

Roth ducked out of my arms, backed away, shedding his blazer. I rose to a sitting position, reaching for him, grabbing a fistful of T-shirt, keeping him within in my reach. I tugged up with both hands, knotted in the cotton, and he bent to let me pull the shirt off him. Next I reached for his pants, leaning in to kiss his breastbone, and as my lips passed over his chest, I felt the pounding of his heart, a staccato rhythm of nerves to mirror my own. He was outwardly calm and in control, despite what his pulse revealed. He stood still, staring down at me with a hint of a smile curving his mouth, as I fumbled with the button of his jeans and then, somewhat awkwardly with my tied wrists, lowered his zipper. I pulled the denim down around his knees, and he stepped out of them. With my bound wrists I could only get one hand curled inside the elastic of his boxer-briefs. I pulled them down in front, revealing the broad, purplish head of his thick c**k waiting for me. I used the elastic to pull him closer, and then I bent over and licked the drop of clear liquid from his tip, then wrapped my lips around him, tasting him, salty and springy-soft.