Free Masks of a Tiger by Doris O'Connor Page B

precision it skimmed across her breasts, and she sucked in
her breath at the heat that spread over her skin. Her pussy clenched, and tears
pricked the back of her eyes again. She hadn't been this emotional since her
parents died. She never cried, damn it, yet here she was reduced to the edge of
tears again by this man, and the myriad of emotions he unleashed in her. A few
more well aimed swats followed until her entire torso was a mass of stinging,
sensitive skin.
    "Show me your
fists, sweetheart. Let me know you're still with me."
    She clenched her hands
obediently, and he smiled. He removed her gag, and the kiss that followed
shocked her with its tenderness. It was a slow exploration of sensual bliss
that started a gnawing hunger inside her belly and left her aching to be close
to him. Tears rose again, and he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against
her.
    "Let it go,
sweetheart. Let it all go. It doesn't matter anymore."
    The sob came deep from
within her soul and shocked her with the violent intensity of it all. She tried
desperately to hold it in, but cradled against him, with his hands massaging
her scalp and him whispering Russian words into her ear, the sweet burn of the
ropes into her skin adding to the ache in her soul, she couldn't.
    Neeve broke down
and cried. Tears of hurt, frustration, wonder, grief, sorrow, and hope all
mixed in together, until she was hoarse, until she couldn't cry anymore. When
she finally had herself back under control she was back on the bed, cradled in
the protective cocoon of Grisha's arms.
    "Now, that wasn't
so hard was it, sweetheart?"
     

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    Grisha held his
woman in his arms, his tiger for once quiet. He breathed in her scent and
willed his body to behave. She needed tender after care right now, not hot sex,
even if his balls were in danger of falling off. He ground his teeth and
counted backwards, but with her soft curves pressed into him, he had a hard
time holding onto his composure. She stirred, and he brushed her hair off her
face better to see her expression. With her face all blotchy from crying, her
eyes red rimmed and moisture still clinging to her lashes she still looked the
most beautiful woman ever to him. Her delicate skin carried the marks of his
claws and the rope, and his balls grew tight. His cock twitched against her leg,
and he groaned when she touched the grotesquely swollen head of his dick with
the tip of her finger. That light touch was enough to have his pre-cum spill,
and he closed his eyes and breathed in and out of his nose.
    The bed dipped as she
moved, and she pressed an open mouthed kiss on his abdomen at the same time as
she grasped his shaft.
    "Jesus,
woman." The curse hung between them, and his hips bucked off the
bed. His eyes flew open to see her smile. A shy, tender smile of uncertainty,
that was his complete undoing, as were her whispered words.
    "Please, Sir, let
me?"
    Did she have any idea
what she was doing? How sweetly submissive she was being? He groaned and cupped
her face in his hands.
    "You don't have to
do that. I didn't bring you here to service me." Her eyes widened in
surprise, and he rubbed his thumb over her full lips. An image of those lips
wrapped around his aching cock made him groan. His thighs shook with the effort
to contain himself. He couldn’t remember ever being this desperate for relief.
    "You didn't?"
Her voice sounded terribly small and unlike her usual self. Another
reason not to take advantage of her current vulnerability.
    "No,
sweetheart. I brought you here to help you, to show you what you're
capable of. To show you what you need. To show you a better way of dealing with
all that hurt you carry around inside of you, than injuring yourself."
    She swallowed and
dropped her eyes to his chest. Fresh tears glistened on her eyelashes, and Grisha kissed them away. She made a strangled sound in the
back of her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck, straddling him, until
she was as close to him