Tease Me: A Stark International Security Novel

by J. Kenner

  I raise my hand as if offering him a taste, then draw back before he has a chance and lick my fingers. I keep my focus on Hunter and watch with satisfaction as the muscle in his cheek twitches. I look down, and I swear that his cock has gone even stiffer.

  “If you want a taste,” I say, “you’ll have to lick something other than my fingers.”

  “Kitten, you know you’re gunning for serious punishment, right?”

  I tilt my head and smile as I slide one hand over my ass cheek, pouting a little. “Well, after all, Hunter. Don’t you think I deserve it?”

  Chapter Three

  “Teasing me, Kitten?” There’s heat and humor in his eyes, but it’s his ruthless smile that sends shivers of anticipation coursing down my spine.

  He’s still seated, but now he rises. He zips his trousers, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the very impressive bulge. He notices, of course, and shakes his head. “You want it? Baby, you have to earn it.”

  “Oh.” The word is little more than breath. I’m so ridiculously turned on—from his voice, from his attitude, from my own anticipation—that I can barely think. We’re always good together, but it’s moments like this—when he takes complete charge—that I truly understand how good he is for me. I’ve always been wild, and God knows I’ve always done what the hell I wanted, when I wanted. With Ryan, I’m doing exactly what I want—and at the same time, it is total and complete surrender. And the only reason it works is because I trust him. With my body. With my life. With my heart.

  “Leave your clothes and follow me.”

  Without waiting to see if I’ve complied, he moves to the still-open glass doors, then steps over the threshold and back into the penthouse.

  “Bend over, Kitten,” he says with a nod to the sofa. His voice is firm, and his tone allows for no argument. It’s the kind of voice that makes me melt, and I eagerly do as he says, levering my body over the back of the couch, which hits me just high enough that my bare pussy rubs the plush upholstery in a way that sends sparks all the way down to my toes.

  “Hands on the cushions,” he orders.

  I do as he says, and he slides both hands between my thighs, urging my legs apart so that he can cup my very wet pussy before easing his hand back so that his fingers slide up the crack of my ass, sending shivers through me.

  “Maybe I’ll fuck you here, too,” he murmurs, and my entire body clenches with longing. “Pity we don’t have your collar.”

  “We do,” I whisper. “It’s in my purse.”

  Not long after we got together, I bolted, running more from my fear than from Ryan. He followed, thank God, and we ended up in Las Vegas. That’s where things truly shifted for us, and while we were there, Ryan bought me a beautiful choker made of hammered silver—a collar. It has a loop in the front for a charm—but it’s also for a leash.

  Every time I wear the choker, it makes me feel special. For years, it was the physical manifestation of one very basic reality—that I belong to him. And, yes, that he belongs to me, too. It’s been supplemented by our wedding rings, but not replaced. And though we’ve never been heavily into BDSM, we do play. But there’s nothing pretend about what the collar represents.

  Which is why I brought it with me to London. Because I’d wanted to hold on to that physical proof of what we are to each other as a talisman against my fears about Ryan’s distraction and the mysterious person from his past.

  Now, I’m even more glad I brought it. I hate that I’d doubted. That I’d been afraid. I want to make it up to him, and how better to do that than to submit utterly? To belong to him completely.

  I don’t turn around, but I hear him moving behind me. I’d left my purse on the table by the entrance, and I assume that’s where he is. Sure enough, a few moments later he returns, his fingers lightly grazing up my spine before he pushes my hair aside and fastens the collar around my neck.

  “You brought the leash, too,” he says.

  “Where you lead, I’ll always follow. I just thought you might need a reminder.”

  “I don’t,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “I know your heart, Jamie, just as I hope you know mine.”

  “I do. Truly.”

  “Good. Now stand up and turn around for me.”

  “I’m sorry I got nervous about you,” I say as I follow his instructions. “About us. But I’m not sorry I came.”

  “Neither am I,” he says, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “And even though I don’t need a reminder, I’m still going to use the leash. Do you know why?”

  “Because you like seeing me naked and bound?”

  He chuckles. “I definitely do, but it’s deeper than that, and you know it. It’s a gift, Kitten. You’re strong. Beautiful. Exceptional. And yet you surrender yourself to me. You’re not just giving me power, you’re giving me your trust, and every time I see you on your knees in front of me, I’m the one who’s humbled.”

  My heart squeezes, and tears prick my eyes. Slowly, I go down onto my knees, my head down as I draw in a breath, silently offering myself to him.

  He’s everything, this man. Friend, lover, husband, and I’m grateful that we found each other.

  Slowly, I look up at him. “The only reason I feel safe down here is because I trust you. Because you’ve earned it, and you continue to earn it every single day.”

  His throat moves as he swallows. “Jamie. I don’t know if I want to hold you close to my heart or fuck you senseless.”

  “Both, please. But do the fucking part first.”

  He takes a single step back, his eyes skimming over me. I can see the change coming over him. The subtle shift from husband to master. It’s sexy and delicious, and I have to fight the urge to slide my hands between my legs and feel how wonderfully wet I am.

  “Stand up, then lift your chin higher.”

  I comply, and he bends to tie one end of the red ribbon we use as a leash to the loop on the front of the collar. It hangs all the way to the floor, the smooth satin dancing lightly between my breasts and grazing over my abdomen as I breathe slowly in and out.

  Without a word, he moves behind me. He brushes my hair to the side, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. I shiver, my entire body hyperaware of his presence. His touch. My nipples are painfully tight, my clit swollen and throbbing. I bite my lower lip, fighting the urge to beg. But I can’t keep from whimpering with need.

  I’m sure he hears it, but he takes no pity on me. On the contrary, he torments me even more by taking the ribbon from between my breasts. His hand brushes my skin as his fingers run slowly down the ribbon’s length. He stops at my pussy, then presses his hand and the ribbon against my mons. With his hand still in place, he moves behind me.

  His lips brush the curve of my ear as he whispers, “Spread your legs for me.”

  I do, then close my eyes in defense against the onslaught of sensation as he reaches between my legs with his free hand to grasp the ribbon, his fingers grazing lightly over my clit as he does.

  He pulls the ribbon between my legs and I see stars as sparks of pleasure ricochet through my body.

  Without thinking, I reach up and pinch my nipples, my breath coming hard and fast as he threads the ribbon up my back, then gives it a tug so that it teases my clit and my perineum.

  I’m incredibly wet, and my hips move of their own accord, as if by wiggling I can increase the friction and make this wretched pleasure build to an explosion. Or perhaps I’ll somehow work the ribbon loose and free myself from such decadent torment.

  But no such luck. All I manage is to work myself into even more of a frenzy.

  “Hunter,” I beg. “Please.”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes the free end of the ribbon and ties it to the collar as well, the satin strip tight enough against my sex that there is no escaping the flurry of sensations that accost me with every tiny movement and every beat of my heart.

  He’s never tied me like this before, and damned if I don’t want more
. I want it to last forever. I want to come right now. Basically, I’m nothing but want and desire and need. So is Hunter. He’s moved to stand in front of me, admiring his handiwork, and the passion I see on his face both humbles and excites me.

  Mostly it excites me.

  So far, I’ve been fucked in the elevator, touched here, teased with the promise of more, and now bound so that my own breath—my own heartbeat—foments the most incredible type of torment. My sensitive skin feels as if I’ve been standing in a lightning storm, and all Ryan has to do is look at me and my body reacts, my pussy clenching tight against that damnable ribbon.

  I’m wired and aroused, and I swear if he doesn’t fuck me soon, I’ll go down to the room I booked for the day, find the vibrator I packed, and take care of this intense longing myself. Except, of course, whatever I can do alone will be a poor imitation of what I want Ryan to do.

  And so I simply beg.

  “Please, Hunter. Touch me, spank me, fuck me. I need you. I need—well, everything.”

  “You are my everything, Kitten,” he says. “And you forgot that, didn’t you?”

  I nod, then bite my lower lip as he twirls his finger, signaling for me to turn around. “You know what I want.”

  I do, and I move again to the sofa, once again bending over and putting my hands on the cushions. Again, the back of the couch rubs against my pussy, but now with the ribbon moving against my body, the sensation is even more intense.

  “Beautiful,” he murmurs as the first light smack lands on my ass. I close my eyes, sucking in air as the sting settles through me, the pressure of the couch and the friction of the ribbon meshing with the lingering pinpricks of pain that his palm has left on my rear.

  “You have the most perfectly formed ass, you know that? And I’m going to make sure you remember it’s mine,” he adds, rubbing away the initial burn before landing another smack. I cry out, reveling in the sting that shoots all the way down to my cunt, making me wet and wanting.

  As if reading my mind, Ryan tugs on the ribbon, and I gasp, then shamelessly writhe against it. Another smack and I cry out, but my hips move as I rub my clit on this satin leash. “You’re mine,” he says. “Don’t doubt me again.”

  “No,” I promise. “I won’t. I can’t. I just missed you.”

  Another spank, and I cry out, then cry out again as his fingers push aside the ribbon so that he can thrust deep inside me. “Baby, you’re so wet.”

  “I want you. I want more. Please, Hunter. I want you inside me.”

  What I want is for him to fill me. I want him to hold my tits as he thrusts inside me, so that I feel him front and back. So that we’re close enough that I feel as though I’ll melt into him.

  He moves to me, his tailored slacks brushing my still throbbing ass. His hands close over my breasts, his fingers tightening on my nipples. “Is this what you want?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He removes one hand, then slides it down, over my belly, then lower still to my mons. He slowly curves his palm over my pussy, holding me unmoving in his hand. Then he bends closer until his entire body makes contact with my back. “No,” he whispers, and I tremble beneath him.

  “But—”

  “No,” he repeats. “Tonight isn’t for you to ask. Tonight is for me to take what I want.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and I wiggle my hips, shamelessly trying to get the friction just right. “You’re mine, Kitten. Say it.”

  “I’m yours.”

  “To do with whatever I want. However I want.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I trust you.”

  “Do you? Jamie, do you trust me?”

  I frown, something in his tone cutting through the sensual haze filling my mind. But before I can say anything, he continues.

  “Do you trust me to take care of you? To make you explode? To fulfill your deepest fantasies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you trust that I would never hurt you?”

  “God, yes.”

  “And do you know—really know—how much I love you?”

  “I do. Truly.”

  “Are you sure, Kitten?”

  I hesitate, because hadn’t I come here because of exactly those kinds of doubts? But I never doubted that he loved me. Just that—I don’t even know what I thought, and now that I’m here in his arms, it doesn’t even matter.

  “Jamie?”

  “I’m sure,” I say. “I’ve never been as sure of anything as I am of you.”

  His hand on my pussy tightens almost imperceptibly, but it’s still enough to send a shiver running through me. “Then go to the bedroom,” he says, stepping back and breaking the connection between our bodies. “Eyes closed, Kitten. On your back. Arms stretched wide, legs spread. And baby, no peeking.”

  “Or you’ll punish me?” I twist around so that I can see him behind me, my voice flirty.

  He rakes his eyes over me, his gaze stern. “Oh, yeah. I’ll punish you by stopping.”

  I make a face, my eyes dipping to that telltale bulge in his pants. Punishing me would be punishing him, too. But I know he’d do it. In part to win, but mostly to keep me on edge and make the explosion next time that much sweeter.

  I, however, am greedy, and I don’t want to wait until next time.

  Which is why I do as he says and go to the bedroom. I sit first, then scoot back until my feet are on the mattress. Then I lie back and stretch my arms out, my fingertips almost reaching the sides of the king-size bed. I spread my legs so wide that my inner thighs burn. I’m still wearing the collar and the ribbon, and I close my eyes, biting my lower lip as I imagine Hunter’s view. Except for that thin strip of red, I’m fully exposed, completely vulnerable to my husband. My Hunter. And, yes, I love it.

  “No peeking,” he orders, as the mattress shifts with his weight. I nod, just a slight motion of my chin, then suck in air as I feel the quick lick of his tongue over my nipple followed by a cool stream of air that has me arching up, silently begging for more.

  He doesn’t disappoint—his fingertips trail gently over my belly, followed by the tip of his tongue and his lips as he kisses, licks, and tastes his way down, down, down, until I’m panting with anticipation and trying desperately to widen my legs, craving his hot mouth and busy tongue on my cunt.

  He kisses me lower and lower, then flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit. That, however, is only a tease. Because he moves quickly over my needy core to tease my inner thighs with the stubble on his usually clean-shaven jawline. It feels like heaven, and I rock my hips, wanting more, craving his breath on my center, his tongue, his heat.

  And then—oh, yes—his finger tugs the ribbon aside as his mouth closes over my clit. He starts slow, but soon he’s sucking the hard, swollen nub, making my core contract in a silent demand as I beg him to use his fingers, his cock. I just want to feel him inside of me.

  “Patience, Kitten,” he murmurs, releasing his intimate hold just enough that I’m teased by his breath as he speaks. “I’ve found a pretty pearl.” Another lick. “I’m a very lucky man.”

  “A mean man,” I counter. “Why don’t you make me a lucky girl and fuck me?”

  He laughs, then uses his palms to push my knees up, exposing me even more. His fingertip teases my ass as his tongue laves my perineum all the way up to my clit, sending electrical threads of longing coursing through me. I’m shaking, my body rocking and demanding with such intensity that he has to work hard to hold my legs in place. But I can’t help it. I’m over the edge. I’m past sanity. I need to be fucked. I need to let go.

  “Patience, Kitten. Do you really think I’d leave you unsatisfied?”

  “Please. God, Hunter, I can’t stand it.”

  “You can.”

  I shake my head. Then nod. Then shake it again, all the while murmuring please, please, please. I no longer know what city I’m in or if I’m even still tethered to Earth. But I do know that he’s right. I can stand it. Hunter knows my limits�
�he always has. With him, it’s always one hundred and ten percent—or more. And though I’m not entirely sure I can survive that more, I do trust my husband. And right now, I’m swimming on wave after wave of bliss, and I haven’t even come yet.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs, and as his thumb strokes slow circles on my clit, his mouth eases down my leg and then, God help me, he slips off my sandal and draws my big toe into his mouth. This is new, but oh, holy fuck, the sensation is incredible, and I lose myself in bliss as he sucks me down even further under a tidal wave of need and craving and desperation.

  “Like that?”

  “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”

  “Good. Because—”

  The sharp ba-ching of a text to his corporate phone interrupts, and he curses, then mutters an apology about a server test. I hear him slide to the edge of the bed, then snatch up the phone. Almost immediately, he curses again, hard and sharp, and I mentally do the same, because if there’s a crisis at work, he’ll have to go in. And that is not the way I want this evening to end.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I open my eyes, then shut them immediately before he catches me breaking that rule. But they were open long enough for me to see his face. Frustration, yes. But not just because of the interruption. Instead, I think I see fear.

  But that makes no sense. Ryan’s the type to be energized by work, no matter how big the challenge. I can’t ask, though, because I’m not supposed to be looking, and I try to appear innocent, desperately pretending that I saw nothing at all.

  Ping!

  This time it’s his personal phone, and as Hunter curses, I peek at him again. He crosses the room to the table where he’d left it, reads the text, then sucks in air before he tosses the phone back onto the table. For a moment, he stands perfectly still. And when he does start to turn, I close my eyes.

  A moment later, I open them, pretending it’s the first time. His expression is unreadable. A mask.