Timeless Read Online Free Page B

one.
    His eyes are dark but gentle as they search mine. “Are you okay?”
    “Of course.” I try to sound nonchalant but it comes out breathlessly.
    He smiles faintly, and I know I’m not fooling him for a minute.
    “Then I guess I should tighten them a bit.” He slides the ring higher up and the pressure becomes more intense as my nipples start to throb. I whimper slightly and he stops. “Perfect.”
    He grabs the chain and tugs on it lightly, and I almost come undone. The feeling is incredible—an exquisite bite of pain that shoots straight to my sex and has it rippling with tiny little spasms. Using the chain like a leash, he pulls me toward the wall.
    “Stand with your back to the wall, arms over your head.”
    I comply, even though some distant part of my brain is telling me I should run like hell. He steps closer, invading my space with the sheer breadth of his chest and the heat of his body. And my god but I’d forgotten how good he smells—clean, masculine, and woodsy, with a hint of sultry sex.
    With capable hands, he firmly grasps the chain between the wrist cuffs and fastens it onto some kind of hook over my head so I’m pinned to the wall like a butterfly. He tugs on the chain between my breasts again and my back arches as the pinch of the clamps intensifies deliciously.
    “You like that,” he observes with a small smile.
    I don’t answer.
    He turns and selects a flogger from the bag at his feet and then takes a step toward me. The flogger looks just like the one Michael used, except it’s all black, and I’m thankful that I already know this one is pretty benign because there’s a gleam in Marcus’ eyes that’s making me a little nervous.
    My relief is short-lived. With a flick of his wrist, he whips the leather strands across my clamped breasts. I gasp, sucking air into my lungs even as I feel the telltale moisture gather between my legs. He’s not messing around. And it’s hot as hell.
    He begins flogging my breasts, lightly at first, and then with increasing intensity, and all I can do is close my eyes and absorb the exquisite feeling. Occasionally, the leather strands hit the clamps and the unexpected but brief bite of pain sizzles through me, somehow increasing my arousal. All too soon, he stops.
    I want to stomp my foot and demand he continue, but before I can get a word out he’s in my personal space again, so close that my hypersensitive nipples chafe against the crisp, starched fabric of his button-down shirt, sending another wave of pleasure rolling through me.
    His hand closes lightly but firmly around my throat.
    “That was just a taste, Ari. Now, unless you’re willing to admit you’ve had enough, I’m going to turn you around and flog your ass until it’s a lovely shade of red and you’re begging me to stop. Is this what you really want? If not, just say so now and leave.”
    The fucking bastard. He’s trying to scare me into leaving, but I can’t back down now, and I’m not sure I really want to. Even though it’s Marcus. Or maybe especially because it’s Marcus. I’m more than a little intrigued by exactly how far he’s prepared to go with this, and how far he’s willing to take me.
    “This is what I want,” I say stubbornly, tilting my chin up slightly.
    “Well then, gattina,” he rasps, using the Italian nickname for kitten that he used to call me by a lifetime ago. “Let’s begin.”
    I watch, wide-eyed, as he reaches back into the bag and pulls out two more floggers that he arranges next to the black suede one on a low table next to the sofa. One is a mix of suede and shiny oiled leather with medium falls, and the other is downright wicked-looking, with thin leather strands and little plastic beads on the end.
    He unhooks my arms, unclips the hooks that connect the cuffs together and removes them.
    “What are you doing?” I ask a little wildly. “I told you this is what I want.”
    “I won’t restrain you, Ari. If you stay, it’s because you