Free Elemental Desire by Denise Tompkins Page B

the back of his thighs earned her a gasp.
    Returning to the toy box, she picked out the two items she wanted. The long feather made him shiver as she used the tip to trail the paddle’s stinging path, dual sensations undoubtedly creating a sense of confusion and overstimulation. And that’s just what she wanted—to confuse his awareness, scramble his circuits and blow his breaker. She had no intention of breaking Seth. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t drive him to the brink of madness, though.
    If she could get him there, the very walls that held his emotions in check and kept his element barred would come down.

Chapter Ten
    Seth’s world had been reduced to two brutally complex realities. Sensation—touch, smell, sound, taste—and emotion. So much emotion it clogged his throat, his nose, his mouth. He choked on that emotion. It smothered him. He railed against it. Began to succumb.
    The directives, while delivered gently, battered his sense of self, his understanding of his internal makeup. It shamed him to realize he might not be able to take this, that he desperately wanted to call
red
. Yet every time he would open his mouth, she seemed to know. She would be there, kissing him, feeding him bits of fruit, stroking him or taking him closer to the precipice he’d never been brave enough to face.
    Her smell drifted around him—so rich and riotous and out of control. He’d never smell rain again without thinking of her.
    Something soft and warm traced his lips. A fingertip? “I need…” A hard tremor raced through him.
    “You need to let go.”
    Licking his lips, he tasted the sweet honey of woman. He groaned. His tongue lapped up the arousal and he parted his lips, silently pleading for more. One more taste. That would get him through this. How could he have possibly gone through the evening without tasting her? She was made of heady stuff, this witch.
    A soft slap across the backs of his upper thighs caught his perineum and testicles and he cried out.
    She did it again.
    His composure slipped. Hands fisting, he strained against the bench. Breaths came in short, hard gasps.
    The eye of the brewing internal storm moved toward him in a slow but steady advance, centuries of living in a void about to catch up to him. He could see it happening. No way could he emerge unscathed.
    During brief moments of lucidity, he swore to himself he was going to get even with the woman. She’d centered him in his own personal hell. Payback was guaranteed, and it would be a real bitch.
    The rest of the time he was simply a slave to sensation, caught up in the most fundamental self-realization he’d ever experienced.
    Something soft skated across his testicles. Involuntary movement had him almost popping his hips out of their sockets as he tried to grant better access. A sharp point dragged up the swollen ridge behind his sac. A series of vile curses left him in a rush.
    That damnable voice, husky and demanding, whispered in his ear. “Feel, Seth. Experience. Let me take care of you.”
    Nails raked across one nipple. Soft fingers traced up and down the ridges of his abdomen. They brushed the head of cock. He sucked in a breath as he rolled his hips toward the touch he craved. “More, damn you.”
    “That’s three.”
    Sounds of hard plastic rattling and latex squeaking violated the room’s silence, save for his harsh panting and the occasional clink of restraints as he strained. Something—scissors? knife?—cut plastic.
    Slick fingers probed his ass and he clenched.
    “Don’t make me give you the breathe-through-it speech.” Undisguised laughter wrapped around her words.
    Gods, he really was going to kill her. Still, he breathed and fought to relax. A soft
pop
and something hard passed his sphincter.
    “One.”
    Arching his back pressed the object against his prostate, the pressure un-freaking-believable. The second
pop
surprised him.
    “Two.” Soft pressure, then a strangled, “Three.”
    The third left him feeling