Leopard's Rage Read online

  Cain had looked at her speculatively and asked her if she had ever considered any of the practices. She shook her head and answered honestly that she hadn’t. He immediately invited her to come in the evening and watch from his office, where she would be safe and no one would see her or know she was there. At first, she declined, telling him she didn’t think that was fair to the others who were in the private rooms, but he assured her that if they opened the curtains, they were fine with anyone who wanted to observe them.

  She had gone that first night and stayed alone in his office watching the security screens, a little shocked by some of the things she saw, but mostly excited. Mostly sexually excited. Then Sevastyan Amur had stalked in, looking more confident and arrogant than any man she’d ever seen. He was scarred, rough looking and as dangerous as any man could get. She knew immediately that he was a shifter. He commanded every room he went into. Instantaneous silence fell when he entered a room. It was very clear to her that he could have his choice of any woman—or man for that matter—that he wanted.

  She kept her gaze fixed on him as he indicated a woman with a jerk of his head. He wasn’t particularly nice as he pointed to a chair when they entered one of the viewing rooms. The woman removed her clothing and folded it neatly as he stalked over to the wall where a row of ropes hung in neat clusters. They were in various colors and made of different types of material. He selected a deep green and an olive color, both ropes looking rough.

  Flambé shivered as she watched him return to the woman. Sevastyan looked like a prowling leopard as he circled her, his muscles rippling in his scarred chest. His trousers hung low on his hips. His eyes glowed a vicious, almost dense glacier-turquoise layer over the deep blue ice of the cat’s eyes. It was impossible to look away from him. He was magnetic. Spellbinding. So incredibly impressive she forgot to breathe.

  He whispered something to the woman, his fingers on her pulse as he moved around her, the rope sliding through his fingers. Flambé was so fascinated her heart began to pound. The woman was nearly swaying as he leaned his head down toward her. Sevastyan was a big man, tall, his shoulders wide, and even though she was tall, he seemed to dwarf her. Flambé knew it was because he dominated the room.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees. The woman knelt obediently. Flambé gasped when Sevastyan grasped her long hair and braided it, weaving it expertly. He shoved the mass over her shoulder and then caught first one arm and then the other, thrusting her forward by putting one hand between her shoulder blades. The woman went down farther, prostrating herself on the floor, so only her bottom was up in the air.

  Sevastyan laid the rope against the woman’s skin with quick, sure confidence. Every knot was tied with that same sureness from her neck to the curve of her bottom, anchoring around her hips. There was no hesitation. He worked fast, laying his lines and fastening the ropes into a piece of beautiful art, as if she were a canvas. That piece was done in the dark green and he wove it back up her body, laying the knots up her front without seeing what he was doing, laying them almost blindly. She could tell he was laying them perfectly as he built the sleeveless blouse for her.

  Standing in front of the woman’s bowed head, Sevastyan suddenly popped the rope, tightening the knots so the entire shirt clamped around her skin. Her body jerked and she cried out, whether in agony or in pleasure it was difficult to tell. The sound was muffled and barely discernable when the audio in the room was only coming over one speaker. It was impossible to hear anything Sevastyan said; he spoke too low as he tied off the rope and picked up the olive-colored one.

  Goose bumps broke out all over Flambé’s body. Her nipples tightened into hardened peaks. Her breasts ached, straining against the material of her bra. Between her legs, she felt the brush of fire, almost as if that lash had stroked over her clit. She wanted to be that woman. Desperately.

  Sevastyan pulled the woman’s head back by her braid and began to weave the braid into the rope, knotting it every other inch until she was straining, the position awkward, one difficult to maintain. He pulled her arms behind her and wove a harness made of intricate knots from her shoulders, hair and then down her arms to her wrists, so she was completely helpless.

  Flambé had never seen anything like it until she’d seen the artwork in Cain’s office. She’d looked up the ancient art on the internet and discovered all kinds of information on the practice. It had intrigued and shocked her just a little at all the various ways Shibari was used.

  Watching Sevastyan lay those knots, so impersonally, so relentlessly, his face a merciless mask, she felt as if she was being lashed with lightning. She couldn’t take her eyes from him as he used his foot to shove the woman’s knees wide apart. Heart pounding, she actually watched as he took the woman almost brutally, his body a machine, taking her from behind, not looking at her face, as if she mattered so little he wouldn’t look into her eyes. When he was done, he glanced over his shoulder, beckoned, and another man hurried into the room.

  Sevastyan tugged on the rope and loosened the knots, first on the olive rope and then on the dark green one. He indicated both loosened ropes to the newcomer and then pointed out shears he’d laid out on a table. The man thanked him and then gently removed the woman’s bonds and comforted her, his arms around her, as Sevastyan just turned and strode out without once looking back. It took Flambé a few minutes to realize that the other man was the woman’s partner.

  She found herself gripping the edge of Cain Dufort’s desk, tears swimming in her eyes. Finding out about one’s submissive sexual cravings alone in a club when she knew she was leopard and the man she hungered for was also leopard was terrifying. Especially when that man clearly could have cruel tendencies and she was not only attracted to him, she desperately wanted him. She had always been careful to fulfill her sexual needs with human men—except she was never fulfilled.

  There was something very, very wrong with her. She had to leave. Get out of that place. That first night, she resolved to never meet Sevastyan Amurov. Never be in the same room with him. She, more than any other female, knew exactly how dangerous it was to be with a dominating shifter. They could be very cruel, especially to a mate. She was never, never, going there.

  As days went by, she found herself obsessively thinking of him all the time. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself to stop, or how many long hours she put in working; she couldn’t control her thoughts. She couldn’t sleep. Her body told her he could sate the terrible fire that burned in her night and day. She burned for him, for the things he could do for her. For the world he could open for her. Maybe she could go to Cain. He was interested in her. She could tell. She always could tell when a man was interested. He was also a shifter and she didn’t burn for him or obsess over him the way she did over Sevastyan. Would he be able to sate her? She doubted it.

  She found herself trying to look Sevastyan up on the internet. She found articles about his cousins, but there was very little on him. That made him all the more mysterious and intriguing to her. In the end, she justified going back to the club because she had to begin work there. She stayed later and later, behind the cordoned-off glass, safe from those playing in the rooms. No one even noticed her there as she diligently planted the trees and bushes, or the delicate little flowers and bulbs that would make up the garden of paradise Cain wanted.

  It was a couple of weeks before she saw Sevastyan a second time. Flambé knew he was there before she actually looked up and saw him. Her body reacted. She was on her hands and knees, head down, fingers pushing the dirt gently around plants when chills went down her spine and her sex clenched. Her heart accelerated. Went into overdrive.

  She lifted her gaze to look through the glass. He was there, larger than life, crooking an arrogant finger at a woman who preceeded him into a room just across from her. He was so gorgeous. So beyond even what Flambé remembered. Her heart sank. She was never going to be rid of he
r obsession with him. It was just going to grow and grow. The worst of it was she could tell his leopard was riding him hard. He wore that same expressionless mask, but his eyes were colder, the lines in his face deeper.

  A shiver went down her spine, and deep inside, something feral stirred. Sevastyan halted just inside the door to the room and looked around, his eyes glowing, his cat very close to the surface. She froze, not daring to move, staying low, wishing she hadn’t stayed so late, but knowing she had just in case this man came in.

  Abruptly, Sevastyan turned away, closed the door and pointed to the chair. The woman took off her robe, folded it and placed it on the chair. A man sat in a deep armchair just outside the door. The woman turned her head to look at him. Sevastyan said something, and at once she stiffened and turned back to him. Flambé realized that like the other woman Sevastyan had chosen, this one had a partner. He didn’t tolerate any interference. If they were with him, they focused completely on him. Her partner wasn’t alone in watching. Many others had drawn up chairs. Flambé counted herself lucky that no one had put theirs in front of her spot.

  Sevastyan left the woman standing alone and naked while he inspected a variety of colored ropes hanging on shelves. Eventually he chose several charcoal and brown bundles. He shook the charcoal one out and ran it through his hands as he walked around the woman, talking softly to her. She nodded to him several times. He touched her neck and she leaned into him. Flambé found that small movement very telling. Sevastyan could create intimacy with just his voice and the lightest of touches.

  The woman was bound and tied in an elaborate corset and leggings with her breasts and sex framed just like in the pictures in Cain’s office. Done in charcoal and brown rope, the knots intricate and beautiful, the work was fascinating. Flambé found it captivating and gorgeous against the skin of the woman Sevastyan worked on. His expression never changed, not when he whispered to her in reassurance and not when he suddenly tightened the ropes. Her expression would change, going from a kind of rapture to shock and pain, settling back to rapture.

  In the end, Sevastyan spun her body away from him and once more took her from behind, his body moving hard in hers, lasting a long time, while she seemed to cry out over and over in bliss. Again, it was her partner, after Sevastyan loosened the ropes, who removed them and comforted her, while he simply walked away without a backward glance.

  Flambé found herself sitting back on her heels breathing hard, one hand going up to her throat protectively. She didn’t know the first thing about that kind of wild sex, and she didn’t want to know, did she? But she dreamt of it. No, not of it. Not of the sex. Of him. Of Sevastyan. She was more obsessed than ever. There was no getting him out of her head. She needed that kind of sex. Raw. Hot. Rough. Pure fire.

  She had gone back to the club repeatedly because she had to work. Cain didn’t allow anyone other than her to come there. He said he would prefer the work to take longer rather than risk a violation of his clients’ privacy. Cain spent time with her, bringing her coffee, talking with her while she worked, and she liked him. Once or twice she even felt a brief stirring of interest, but it faded quickly. Both times she found him looking at her speculatively, but he never tried to push her into agreeing to any of the sexual offers he made her.

  She stayed late most nights and realized Sevastyan only came every couple of weeks and there was no pattern to when he might show up. When he did, he commanded the attention of everyone by his presence alone. She wasn’t the only one obsessed with him. He never seemed to notice or care if others were around or watched him. He always chose a woman who had a partner who would care for her. The women he’d tied vied for his attention, but he didn’t use them more than the one time. The only person she ever saw him speak to was Cain, and then only briefly in the hall. They seemed to be friendly enough. Flambé wasn’t about to ask Cain about him or show interest at all.

  In the end she decided one night of crazy sex with Sevastyan would get her over her obsession. He never spent more than one time with a woman. Never. He barely looked at her. So really, it would just be sex, not even a night. She couldn’t do it at a club. She was fairly certain of that. She had to figure out a way to casually meet him. She tried to find a nightclub he might frequent, or a bar. Someplace she could go where she might be able to run into him and then be flirtatious enough that he would do his thing and walk away. One time. That should be enough.

  She was very committed to saving her species. There were so few of them. They had also been reaching out to the Arabian leopards, slowly bringing one or two into the country as well. It was a very slow process, getting the right elders to help them. She didn’t have the time or energy to be in a relationship and she knew a man like Sevastyan Amurov was not the kind of man to be in a loving committed relationship, so the sex was going to be wild and crazy and one time. She didn’t trust male shifters at all and she wasn’t about to be in a relationship with one.

  Now, Flambé rolled over and pushed herself into a sitting position. She’d made a bed for herself in the closet. The main room was just too big for her. A part of her wanted to sneak away and go back to her small studio that felt safe, homey and hers. This place was too large and masculine for her and it smelled like Sevastyan. He was everywhere. Stamped into the walls and floor. He might not reside in the rooms, but his presence was everywhere and she found it too overpowering. She hadn’t counted on that.

  She wasn’t a weak person. She could stand up to anyone and often had to when it came to her business and the people she brought into the country to save. Her species of leopard was very submissive to their mate, but they were ferocious fighters and extremely protective of their children. Still, those things Sevastyan had made her feel when she’d been at a distance from him in the club were a thousand times more intense this close to him.

  She forced herself to her feet and out into the main bedroom. The privacy screens had been lowered on all the windows, blacking out any light from the moon, but she could see easily in the dark. Pacing, Flambé thought about what to do. She had to be practical. Really assess who she was and what she could do now that she’d met Sevastyan in person. When she’d gotten the request for work, she’d been thrilled. She was going to get the chance she wanted.

  The first meeting had to be cancelled because Flamme had made her presence known in a big way. Already, Flambé’s body had been crawling with need, her nerve endings alive and raw with a kind of fiery burn that translated to a sexual heat of its own. Her leopard’s sudden appearance added even more of an urgency, so much so that she couldn’t trust herself to go out of her room. Her body was in a frenzy of need. Hot and aching. She’d called and cancelled, because she couldn’t trust herself around him.

  At the same time, Franco had contacted her and tried to set up a meeting with her. He let her know he was watching her. That was really frightening and she had been extremely careful, making certain she stuck close to her crew whenever she left her offices or home after that.

  The second meeting she was supposed to have with Sevastyan had gone way wrong as well. Her leopard was spinning out of control. Completely. Flambé had found herself on the floor of her room when she’d been so carefully dressing for her meeting with Sevastyan. She’d been thinking of him, fantasizing, and the next thing she knew, she was burning up, her blood so hot, pounding with need so intense she was on the floor on her hands and knees sobbing, hips bucking out of control. Nothing had helped. Toys had made the sensation worse. It had taken what seemed like forever for the terrible sensation to ease enough for her to even text an apology to him. She knew he wasn’t a man to be very forgiving.

  Now that she’d met him, she realized she should have taken into consideration what kind of person she was. Who she was. Wild sex was what she totally needed, but not with a man like Sevastyan. Sevastyan was the kind of man who could own a woman with his brand of sex. She should have been paying more attention to how many of those
women came back night after night in the hopes of being Sevastyan’s choice for the night, even though they had permanent partners.

  Sex was a powerful weapon if it was used that way—and it could be wielded as a weapon. Sevastyan clearly was adept at using sex for whatever the reason. She was in so much trouble. “It’s not your fault, Flamme,” she whispered aloud, and rubbed the swelling on her head for the hundredth time. “You were trying to protect us.”

  The last thing she expected was for his leopard to claim hers. She paced restlessly again. Her leopard was in her first life cycle. Mistakes were made. She knew that. This had to be a mistake because no way in hell was Flambé going to be claimed by a shifter. She’d be trapped by Sevastyan.

  “What do you want, Flambé? What are you doing here? You think things through. Plan things carefully. Since the first time you laid eyes on that man, you’ve been out of control. You have to pull back and figure this out, because if you don’t, it will be too late and you’ll never get out of this mess.”

  She had always talked aloud when she planned anything. She was an only child and most often alone. She lived in the studio because her father took in so many strangers, so her “room” had been the studio to “give her privacy,” even as a child. Which really meant give her father many rooms in the house for his women.

  She had talked aloud to hear sound. She played music, filling the room with the soothing rhythms so she didn’t feel so lonely. Talking to herself in times of stress had become a habit. She was used to small spaces and they comforted her.

  “You like him. That was unexpected. You didn’t think in terms of liking him. It was supposed to be all about sex.” She crossed to the large bed and stared down at it. She hadn’t gotten on it so the blankets had remained untouched. There wasn’t so much as a wrinkle on the comforter. “He didn’t want you upstairs in his personal space and that’s good.” She looked around the room, a long slow sweep through her leopard’s eyes. “This is a nice room that any guest would be happy to be in. He’s treating you so politely. Perfect manners.”