Page 49 of The Escape Artist

Kane approached Claire. Only now did she dare to grind her body against the ropes he'd tied. “You'll chafe if you aren't careful,” he said.

He leaned in close and kissed her on the mouth. It was a long, deep lingering kiss, that had her straining harder against the knot over her clit.

“Please, please,” she whimpered against his mouth.

Kane chuckled and stepped back, ignoring her obvious need. “You make a stunning painting. I'm very pleased. I hope to see you at Saskia's show next week.”

Ari followed him out into the hallway, their voices turning to low murmurs just outside the door. Ari returned minutes later carrying a large knife. When she saw it, her breath went shallow, her arousal fading as quickly as it had come on. She tried to push away the images that clawed at her from the back of her mind but they just wouldn't go. The fear began to flood her.

“M-Master, please... what are you doing?”

He lowered the knife and set it on one of the pieces of bondage furniture. “You know I wouldn't hurt you, little one. I'm going to cut the ropes, so I can get you out of them. I don't have the patience or the skill to untie all of Kane's fancy knot work, and I need to be inside you now. Okay?”

Claire nodded, not trusting her voice. Her mouth went dry as she watched Ari strip out of his white shirt and jeans until he stood naked, the sunlight playing over each perfectly defined muscle.

“Close your eyes. If you don't see the knife, it'll be easier.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn't argue with his logic, and she did know that he wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't sure at what point exactly in their short twisted relationship she'd know this without doubt, but she knew it.

“Good girl.”

Claire heard the ropes being cut in different places. Then Ari said, “You can open them now.”

She opened her eyes as he carefully peeled the ropes off her body. He removed the hair clip, and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled down, framing her face. He scooped her up and carried her to the bondage bed. But he didn't tie her up.

This time when he fucked her he took her gently and carefully, sliding his hard length so slowly in and out of her the pleasure was almost painful.

In another context it would have been that boring normal sweet fucking that she couldn't get off to, but the total power he held somehow shifted the experience. He wasn't asking Is this okay? How is this? Can I touch you there? Do you like that? What do you want? Or any of a million other maddening questions that men liked to ask now to seem enlightened to the needs of women when all Claire needed was a good hard fuck from a man who knew how to light up every nerve ending.

He didn't ask her anything. He touched her like he knew what he was doing with her and to her, each touch careful but sure, precise. It was a sort of methodical lovemaking that stole her breath from her with each slow demanding thrust.

He wrapped a hand around her throat, holding her, capturing her gaze in his, taking her body like he knew it was his to take. Each thrust said I own this. This is mine. Her body opened to him and said yes.

“Do you need to come, little one?” he asked in response to the growing volume of what had started as soft stuttering whimpers.

“Yes, Master.” He knew she did. He'd watched her suffer with need for hours.

“Be a good girl and come for me, then.” He took her harder, his hand leaving her throat only to be replaced by his devouring mouth. Those two shifts were all it took. She bucked against him and came, screaming out her orgasm. Ari swallowed her scream with his kiss, and emptied himself inside her.

Afterward, he held her quietly for long minutes, stroking her hair. Finally he got up.

“I'm going to make us some lunch. Clean up and join me.”

When he'd left her alone, Claire lay there for a few more minutes. She had to will herself to move. She got out of the bed and went over to the easel. No one had shown her the painting yet, and she was curious to see if Kane was as good of an artist as his arrogance seemed to announce.

What she saw on the canvas drew a sharp gasp from her. It wasn't the lewd pose. It wasn't the sultry red lips swollen from hard kisses. It wasn't the nudity. And it wasn't all the emotion he'd somehow captured and pulled from her soul to put on the canvas for just anyone to see. A Q in the lower right-hand corner of the painting seemed to laugh at her with its mocking scrawl. But she didn't need the clue. The work spoke for itself. It wasn't possible. She had to be wrong.

This painting couldn't exist. The artist was dead.

16

It had been a week since the painting of Claire had been hung over the fireplace in their bedroom. Ari paced the hall, dressed in a tux. He tugged at the bow tie. He fucking hated formal events. He stared down at the invitation in his hand. It had been in the stack of unopened mail just like Kane had said it would be. He ran his fingertip absently over the raised black lettering on crisp off-white Crane card stock. He turned the invitation over to see the indentation on the back. Engraved. Kane always used the best stationery—especially when it came to Saskia's art shows.

It wasn't just about the kink with those two. It was about art: the unbridled passion and obsession of it. Kane had taken her on as his protégé and molded and mentored her and had seen to it that her art found an audience. It was a hungry audience, as dark and sexually twisted as Kane and Saskia.

Ari wondered if it was too soon to take Claire out in public. There wasn't even a hint of defiance in her. They were a perfectly matched pair of complementary opposites, joined together by fate. He'd started to believe this so strongly that it had finally caused the lingering self-recrimination to go silent. After all, if this thing between them, however twisted, was meant to be, why fight it? Why beat himself up over taking this woman who was obviously so deeply alone and needed everything he could give her.

Still, the easy way between them, the routine, the orders, the obedience, the pleasure, was that enough to take her off the property? Could he take that risk with her now? Or ever? Realistically he knew it would be cruel to never take her anywhere, to keep her locked up in this prison. And besides, he wanted to show her off.

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