“Mutinous even in the face of sure defeat? You never cease to amaze me, lovely,” he murmured. “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand. She walked beside him, halting suddenly when she saw her reflection in the mirror.
The sheer black thigh-highs made her skin look very pale in contrast, as did the red-gold thatch of hair between her thighs. Her hair tumbled in a wild mess all the way to her waist. Her nipples were stained a dark pink and beaded tight in arousal; the pale globes of her breasts rose and fell as she panted shallowly.
She stared, slain by the image of herself transformed by desire.
“You see it?” Ian asked, leaning down near her, his warm breath in her ear causing a spike of pleasure to go through her. “You see it, don’t you?” he murmured as he spread his hand over her belly in a possessive gesture. “You see how beautiful you are?”
Her flushed lips parted, but no words came out.
“Say it,” he whispered roughly. “Say you see what I see when I look at you.”
“I see it,” she replied, her tone dazed . . . a little wondrous, as if she actually thought, for a few seconds, that he possessed magic mirrors.
“Yes. And that’s not a power you play with, is it?”
It took her a moment to realize Ian’s small smile didn’t come from smugness or cockiness. No—he looked triumphant because of what she’d seen in the mirror . . . because of her admission. Why did he care whether or not she thought she was beautiful?
He led her over to the kinky-looking contraption that hung from the ceiling with the inexplicable harnesses and straps, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast. He pulled down on the main horizontal black bar, stretching a spring on the contraption so that three four-inch-wide padded-leather harnesses fell horizontally about four feet from the floor. Wait a second . . . those leather loops could be used to suspend a body in midair. If that circular pad of leather was to support the head, and that harness was for the chest area, and the lower one for the pelvis, then those other straps could be used to bind a person’s hands and ankles.
They’d be completely restrained . . . helpless, Francesca realized. She looked at Ian as he held the swing. The light from the chandelier gleamed in his blue eyes. Her incredulous expression faded as a heavy pressure fell on her chest.
Oh, no.
She already was completely helpless when it came to Ian Noble . . . and it had nothing to do with the restraining swing.
He put out his hand, beckoning her.
Her ass muscles clenched tight; liquid heat rushed at her sex.
She raised her hand and he grasped it, drawing her toward him.
“It’s time you learned that when you play with fire, you’re going to end up at its mercy,” he said.
Ian’s hands were gentle, his hold firm when he lifted her off the floor and slid her body, belly downward, through the loops of the swing. He arranged the padded straps below her hips, beneath her breasts, and under her forehead. She gave a shaky yelp when the harnesses dipped once he gave them her weight.
“Shhhh,” he soothed from above her, stroking her back. “The swing is hooked through a steel beam in the ceiling. It’s extremely secure. Relax.”
She exhaled after a moment, realizing that now that she’d settled, she did, indeed, feel steady. Strange and aroused and a little scared, but secure in the knowledge that Ian would keep her safe. His hand left her back. He touched her calves, and then her ankles. She peered sideways but couldn’t see through the thick fall of her hair. She felt him slip first one foot through a nylon loop, then the other, and tightened them on her ankles. He’d bound her feet at a lower angle from her body, making her legs drop below her hips, as if she were in a bent-over position, but in midair. Once he’d secured her feet, he came around to the front of her and restrained her wrists in a similar fashion, letting her arms fall in a semi-straightened position beneath her chest.
His brisk, knowledgeable manipulation of the swing and her body let her know Ian had a lot of experience with it.
“Let me get you something for your hair.”
For an anxious moment, she couldn’t see him. Then his deft hands were sweeping her long hair away from her face, lifting the gathered mass. She turned her chin slightly and was able to see him in the mirror as he twirled his hand, twisting her hair and finally binding it on her head with a huge clip. She couldn’t take her eyes off his powerful form in the mirror; couldn’t take her eyes off herself, naked and suspended there in midair, vulnerable to anything and everything Ian wanted to do to her.
Perhaps he noticed her anxious studying of them in the mirror, because he brushed his long fingers beneath her chin and met her stare in the mirror.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
She blinked, seeing something in his eyes that gave her courage. Passion. Tenderness. A clear intent to possess, but not in a way she should fear or abhor. She nodded once, feeling breathless.
He walked over to the table, and when he returned, he carried the paddle. Her clit pinched in arousal at the sight of it gripped surely in his large hand. It suddenly struck her how vulnerable her bottom was, suspended there at hip height in midair. She held her breath when he came to a halt and raised the paddle, brushing the exquisitely soft fur over her still-tingling spanked ass.
He gripped the straps above the harness that held her hips, securing her in place. She watched wide-eyed in the mirror as he tossed the paddle in the air a few inches and flipped it expertly. When it landed, the leather side faced her ass.
“I will give you ten strokes,” he said gruffly, placing the paddle against her ass. Her cheeks heated at the sensation . . . at the vision of the black leather pressing into the flesh of her pink buttocks.