Taken By The Hero (Hero Romance 2) by Kalena Lyons Page B

half an hour fixing her make-up in the mirror; choosing the right subtle rouge to accent her flushed cheeks; the right shade of wine-red lipstick; and the right hint of perfume. She combed her hair immaculately, coiffing it in a tightly wound bob. When she was finished, she caressed the heaving voluptuous body staring back at her in the mirror. She wanted to reach right through and stroke and grope every inch of that reflection. She gave herself a teasing pout in the mirror, and pleased with the affect, froze it simply and assuredly, strolled into the front room.
    The room was dimly lit, with only candles flickering in votives across the mantle. She drew a certain power from the ambience as she slunk in, and narrowed her eyes in due accord. Her eyes eventually came across the sight of Micheline’s nude body, helpless and with legs splayed strategically on a chair. Her hands and legs were bound to the chair expertly with silk rope, forming an exquisite criss-cross pattern up and down her soft, marble-like limbs. A leather mouth bit had been stretched across her face, but she revealed no signs of struggle. On the contrary, her voluptuous flesh sank into the restraints willingly, fusing into her body as naturally as other women might choose to adorn themselves with jewels. Even her eyes seemed to linger in the heady atmosphere of her constraints, both appreciatively and seductively, her eyes transmitting a fume of cold smoke that filled Laura’s nostrils. She could feel her heart racing as she stepped closer to the helpless figure.
    “I am so tired of sloppy drunks,” Jack’s voice resounded from the couch. She turned around to face him. “Not. Another. STEP,” he commanded, his low steady voice suddenly growing stern and authoritarian. “Turn back around.”
    Laura did so, deeply taking great gasps of breath to try to still her quivering body. It didn’t help. Jack got up from the couch, her back facing him and guided her by the arm directly to the seated Micheline, who looked, for all ostensible purposes, like some stolen ancient queen seated on her throne.
    “Kneel,” he commanded, forcing Laura directly on her knees in front of Micheline. He tied a blindfold around her eyes, and adjusted it securely, bringing her hands down to the floor. He unlaced her bustier, and let it fall to the floor where it landed (at least to Laura’s ears) with less a thud than a crumple.
    “Kiss her knees,” he said nonchalantly. She stuck her lips out and did so, not expecting the sting of the leather thongs against her bare back. She winced, both from the pain and surprise, but also felt the blood rushing from her head to her solar plexus. It warmed her, coating her skin in a thin skein of pins and needles as Jack expertly swung it across her back a second time. It was swung with a delicacy and a method that was as much punishment as it was encouragement for Laura to look down deeper into herself. Deeper and deeper…
    The thongs tickled down from her neck to the base of her spine, teasing her, taunting her, tempting her. She buried her face against Micheline’s legs, tasting her sweat beginning to seep onto Laura’s parched tongue. A faint hint of tears began to make their way down her blindfold, staining the rouge on her cheeks.
    She didn’t know what possessed her, but Laura flung her hands out instinctually along the length of Micheline’s thighs, and began tracing her tongue up her soft, ample thighs. She longed to taste Micheline in her mouth more than anything right now, but she also knew that Jack controlled the reins. He gave her one final lash against her back, before she shuddered and straightened her back up.
    Laura flung her arms up, blindly caressing the whole of Micheline’s splayed flesh before her; the smooth, soft belly; the ample breasts, the supple, inviting neck. Restrained though she was, she could feel Micheline shudder with each stroke of Laura’s greedy fingers. She kneaded and caressed each centimeter