He played with the candles for several minutes, letting the wax melt and pool. When he turned back to her with one of the candles in his hand, she had some idea of what was coming. Her pulse tripped, revved up a few notches.

He laid the palm of one hand flat on her stomach. “Hold very still,” he warned her before he poured.

The wax landed on one thigh, and at first the shock of the heat made her yelp. Then for a second or two she thought it wasn’t as hot as she expected. But when he poured again in the same spot, the second pour sealing in the heat of the first, the pain was like a simmering buildup that took a few seconds to hit her brain.

“Ah, fucking Christ!”

“Breathe,” he commanded, and she pulled in a gasping breath.

He gave her a minute, then he poured again, this time on the other thigh. The wax had obviously had time to build in temperature, because the burn came right away, and she cried out.

“God, Jamie!” The chains clinked and crashed as she yanked on them, her body convulsing in pain.

He stroked a hand over her skin, his touch soothing, helping her to convert the pain to pleasure. “Shh, you’ll be okay. You can take it, Summer Grace.”

She bit her lip, then made herself pull in and blow out a few breaths.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I want to take it. For you, Jamie.”

“Good girl.”

This time he moved his hand between her breasts and poured onto her stomach and she yelled again.

“Fuck!”

“Breathe,” he told her, his hand smoothing over her breasts, caressing them, pausing to feather his fingertips over her nipples, bringing some pleasure to help her ride out the pain. She sighed.

“Summer Grace.”

Blinking, she looked up at him, and he held her gaze while he played with her nipple, teasing it into a hard point. Still holding her gaze, he drew his hand back to pour the melted wax over her breasts.

“Ah! Jamie . . . Goddamn it, that hurts!”

With a small smile he bent to kiss her lips. “Yes it does, sweetheart.”

It did—it hurt like hell. But at the same time her body was being flooded with endorphins and dopamine—the lovely brain chemicals that made her fly. That and the fact that he called her those sweet pet names while he hurt her really did something to her head.

He did it again and again and she lost track of time, of their surroundings. All that she was had to do with Jamie’s touch, the burning pain, the sound of her own cries in her ears. And all of it while he stayed close enough that she could smell his skin, his desire. All of it while her body burned with a need so intense she thought she might come as he poured the wax onto her skin.

Impossible.

But nothing was impossible with Jamie.

She flew, safe in his command, under his hands, in his love. And it was everything.

*   *   *

JAMIE PRESSED DOWN on Summer Grace’s skin, the heat beneath his palm melting into his skin. For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he welcomed the pain. Welcomed that moment of connecting with what she was feeling.

He glanced up at her face, so lovely and soft. So lost in subspace. So entirely his.

She was squirming on the table, pulling a little on the chains as her body undulated He was certain she had no idea what she was doing. No idea how unbelievably beautiful she was. How hot it was for him to watch her moan and squirm, to hear the metallic clink of the heavy chains, to see her bound in them.

He licked his lips as he slipped a hand between her spread thighs. She was soaked, swollen. When he stroked her hard clit, she gasped. His cock twitched. He pushed his fingers inside her, and she was so hot and wet it nearly sent him over the edge. He stripped his jeans off, kicked his way out of them and his boots, grabbing a condom from the table before climbing onto the table on top of her.

She looked up at him with that sensual, gleaming blue gaze as he knelt up between her spread legs to slide the condom over his hard cock.

“Have to be inside you, baby,” he murmured, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

“Yes. Please, Jamie. Yes.”

As he slid his hands under her buttocks, lifting her, opening her up, she bit her lip, her fingers wrapping around the chains that still held her to the table. He shifted, pulled her hips a little higher, and surged slowly into her.

“Ah, Jesus.”

She was so wet and tight and clenching his cock already. Pleasure went through him in a rush that made him dizzy. Keeping one hand under her, he stroked her body with the other, finding her skin in between the patches of wax hardening on her stomach and ribs. He began to move inside her, and raised his hand to her face, which was torn with pleasure. Touching her lips he ordered, “Suck,” and slipped two fingers into her mouth.

Wrapping her lips around his fingers, her tongue slid over the tips, in between them. She worked them as she would his cock, and he had to force himself to calm, to not explode inside her. He began to fuck her in rhythm with her warm, sucking mouth, losing himself in the cadence, in her body, in her utter submission to him.

Summer Grace.

“You are mine, my sugar girl. My girl. My heart,” he muttered, gasping in between the words that didn’t do enough to convey what he felt.

She moaned around his fingers to tell him, “I’m going to come. Please, Jamie. I need to . . . Please.”

“Yes. Come for me. I’m gonna come, too. Now . . . Right now. Ah!”

He fell on top of her as his climax came down on him like a wave of heat and need that drowned him in sensation. He grasped the chains above her head, felt her fingers searching for his and twined their hands together as she shuddered, as she came with him.

“Baby, baby, baby . . .”

“Jamie. Love you, Jamie.”

He drew in a long breath, breathing it all in—the scents of desire and candle wax, their intermingled sweat and come. The scent of her hair and what was left of her sugary lip gloss. And he had to kiss her, to drink her in. To drink in this moment. He pressed his lips to hers, heard her small sigh, felt her body give in to his once more. And it was perfect. They were perfect.

CHAPTER

Twelve

SUMMER TURNED ONTO the main boulevard and headed toward home. The city was quiet on a Sunday night, and she considered stopping for groceries but decided she could do her shopping tomorrow night after work. She wanted to stay in her head, exactly in this lovely space where Jamie had put her. Her cell phone lit up, but she saw it was her mother’s number, and let the call go to voice mail. She wasn’t ready to tell her about Jamie, about their budding relationship. And she didn’t want anything to intrude on her mood.

Their weekend together had been incredible. Being with all their friends made her feel more like a couple somehow. And then their night at The Bastille . . . She was still flying from the wax play, and even more from the amazing connection she’d felt that night, and still felt. The weekend had stripped away the nagging voice full of doubts that always seemed to be lurking in the back of her mind, waiting to come out and take over. But Jamie’s love, his tenderness after they played and even during the play, wiped out everything else. If only they could be together all the time those voices might not ever come back.

A small shadow of self-doubt flitted through her mind, but she fought it down.

“No,” she murmured to herself. “Everything is fine. We’re together. He’s not going anywhere.”

She made another turn into her neighborhood and the lights and buzz of the city gave way to the quiet Gentilly district. She passed the rows of old homes, some of them still closed up or showing signs of damage from Katrina, many more restored to their former glory. She was glad to see her neighborhood coming back to life, blossoming in the wake of the terrible storm. She felt somewhat the same inside.