Page 129 of Delicate Escape

One corner of Shep’s mouth kicked up. He ghosted a finger over my face. “Cheeks flushed.” Down the column of my neck to my collarbone. “Breaths quick.” He moved lower, tracing his finger down my sternum and belly to my thigh. “Clenching those pretty thighs.”

Shep’s eyes flashed gold. “So, tell me. What’s happening in those pages?”

There was a brief flicker of fear and worry that Shep’s playful curiosity would turn to the darkness Brendan had been consumed by, but that concern quickly disappeared when I focused on Shep’s face. There was no judgment there. There was only heat.

The fact that I was turned on by what I was reading only turned Shep on in return. Something about that made me fall a little more in love with the man pinning me to the mattress with his golden gaze. And that love made me bold.

“He, um, likes to tie her up.”

That heat in Shep’s expression intensified. “You like that.”

It wasn’t a question, but I still nodded.

“You want to try that?”

I bit my bottom lip but nodded again.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “What else?”

“He, uh, blindfolds her.”

Shep studied me for another moment. “You like the sound of that?”

I swallowed, my mouth going suddenly dry. “Yes.”

Shep’s fingertips grazed over my thigh. “Cutting off one sense heightens the others. Makes you more aware.”

My pulse pounded in my neck. It was somehow already like he’d removed a sense, my hearing maybe? Blood roared in my ears, and I could feel the barest touch of Shep’s fingers on my thigh more than when I’d tried to bring myself to orgasm countless times before.

Those fingers traced a figure eight that nearly drove me over theedge. Shep watched my face, fascinated, almost reverent. “Didn’t give you what you needed tonight, did I?”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“I need to apologize, then.”

My mouth parted again, and I sucked in a breath. “I like your apologies.”

Shep chuckled, throwing off the covers and sliding out of bed. He stalked across the room toward my closet, muscular ass visible through the black of his boxer briefs. He opened my closet and rummaged around for a few minutes before reemerging laden with what I could just make out were scarves.

Lots and lots of scarves.

My breaths came quicker as he strode back across the room. To the bed. To me.

Shep let the array of fabrics and colors flutter to the mattress, like the sweep of hummingbird wings. He stared down at me, heat and need and tenderness all mixed together in his gaze. “You sure about this? We’ve had a day.”

“I’m sure,” I whispered.

“You say the word, wherever we’re at, and this stops. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

I waited for Shep to argue, maybe suggest that he knew better, but he didn’t. Something about that made me fall even more in love with him. That we could learn, grow, and change…together.

Shep’s eyes stayed on me as he reached for the pile of scarves. Heat swirled in those amber depths. Then his gaze dropped to the array of fabrics. I missed the feel of his attention on me. The way it made energy crackle between us, to the point where I could almost feel the contact.

Shep pulled a pale green scarf out of the pile and ran his long, thick fingers over the fabric, assessing the feel. Then his hands gripped it, pulling it taut in two quick snaps.

I felt the bite of that movement across my skin. A flush of warmth swept through me, and I pressed my thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache there. It did no good.

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