by Heidi Rice
‘I want to suck that sweet pussy until you pass out, torture those tender nipples with my teeth.’ His fingers rose to pluck at the sensitive tips, and sensation shimmered down to her sex. ‘And fuck you so hard and so long, you’ll still feel me in your pussy in a week’s time.’
‘I see,’ she said, trying for nonchalance, but getting breathless instead as excitement and trepidation rippled across her skin.
His thumb brushed over her mound, gentle but possessive, and she lurched in his lap. ‘Easy, sweetheart,’ he murmured against her hair, nipping her earlobe as his large hand cupped her sex. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you. So now you need to tell me why you freaked out so we can fix it.’
She shook her head, her mind already dazed by the endorphin rush, at the promise of what was to come. She couldn’t tell him about the emotional connection she felt with him. He’d think she was bonkers, or worse delusional. Especially as now that emotional connection felt so much stronger. And yet that much more hopeless—because now she knew his past made it impossible for him to trust in emotional intimacy.
And what would be the point of telling him about her parents? About how she’d denied her sex drive, all her darkest, deepest fantasies for so long, because of some stupid belief that being a sexual being would make her like them? Because that boat had already sailed over the horizon and far, far away. And it wasn’t coming back, even if she wanted it to, and she was pretty sure she didn’t.
But if their relationship could be only about sex, why not enjoy it, at least for the rest of the night?
She threaded her fingers through his hair, separated the silky strands, her pulse leaping in her throat. And she plunged in where she suspected no woman had ever dared to tread. ‘Honestly?’
He nodded, giving her the permission she hadn’t expected.
‘I think what freaked me out was knowing you had all the power. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed it, but afterwards it made me feel exposed. Like I wasn’t myself anymore.’ She drew in a breath and held it. ‘I want to have some of the power, too.’
She watched his face carefully, prepared for resistance, or even irritation—especially now she knew where his desire for control came from—but instead his lips curved up on one side. And she could have sworn she saw a spark of admiration in those pale blue eyes. ‘What are you getting at? You want to spank me?’
She could hear the amusement in his voice, but refused to rise to the bait. ‘No, I’m not quite as kinky as you are.’ She smiled back, enjoying the frankness of the discussion. When had she ever been able to do exactly what she wanted during sex? To demand whatever fantasy came into her head without feeling guilty about it? ‘But maybe some light bondage wouldn’t go amiss.’
He hadn’t even let her kiss him. What she wouldn’t do to have that big body, that magnificent cock completely at her mercy. Power surged through her. She could explore his body the way he’d explored hers. It was like having a tiger by the tail, and then getting the chance to pet him.
She’d always thought of herself as a confident woman, but she’d never been confident enough to take the initiative during sex—because she’d always been so bloody terrified of being as much of a sybarite as her parents. Of being controlled by her sexual desires. And the end result had been a sex life so bland, so boring, it wasn’t even vanilla. Vanilla was a subtle but smooth and seductive taste. Her sex life had no taste at all.
Connor McCoy could never be Mr Right, but he was certainly Mr Right Out There. She’d broken down barriers she hadn’t intended to tonight, but why not embrace her new freedom now? He’d opened up to her, told her about himself, and because of that she trusted him. Her breath hitched as she waited for his response.
‘You want to tie me up, huh?’ He huffed out an incredulous laugh. Still confident, still in total command.
‘I can give you a safeword if you’d prefer,’ she offered.
‘You little…’ His eyebrows rose a fraction, and then he chuckled. ‘Damn, I’ve created a fucking monster.’
‘What’s the matter, Connor, running scared?’
He pinched her chin, angled her head, his gaze roaming over her face. Her breathing caught as she saw the challenge in his eyes. The knife-edge of tension lingered, her heart contracting painfully as his lips hovered so close to hers, and she had a sudden yearning to have him kiss her.
‘Sure, why don’t you give it your best shot,’ he murmured, the words mocking, even as his nostrils flared.
Her breath gushed out, the tension releasing in a rush and pounding into her core as he let go of her chin.
His palm folded around her waist, jerking her closer still, her body as boneless as a rag doll. ‘But after that, you’re mine for the rest of the night.’ His hand cupped her breast, squeezing the tender tip between his fingers. ‘Agreed?’
She nodded, her tongue too numb to respond, her heart hammering in her throat.
* * *
It was only as she leant over his beautiful body, securing one wrist to the bedpost with the tie of her robe, the outline of his erection already prominent in the boxer briefs, that it occurred to her the desire to challenge him, to provoke him, might not just be about indulging all those dark sexual fantasies she’d never known she had.
What if she didn’t just want to pet the tiger, but wanted to tame him, too?
8) Tie Up Any Loose Ends: And be sure to keep your best man on a short leash.
Way to go, McCoy, how the fuck did you get into this position?
Connor tugged on his wrist, his arm anchored above his head, and gulped down the tickle of panic when it didn’t give an inch. ‘That’s pretty damn secure. Were you a marine in a former life?’
Shit, he’d figured she’d do some girly knot, which he could get out of no problem.
‘A girl scout, actually.’ She gave a nervous laugh, straddling him as she leant forward to secure his other wrist. The inside of her thigh brushed his hip and her breasts swayed enticingly in front of his face, where the robe fell open without its belt, the large rosy tips beckoning him.
But then his knuckles bumped against the bedpost as she circled his wrist with the belt, and a thin trickle of sweat slid down his temple. Damn, he would have appreciated the view a lot more if she hadn’t been busy trussing him up like a chicken.
She shifted down the bed, pausing for a moment to look at the erection straining against his boxers. The blood in his groin heated and pounded harder, until he could feel his heartbeat in the tip of his cock. But instead of taking off his shorts, and relieving the pressure, like he’d hoped, she scrambled off the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, when she opened his suitcase and began rummaging through his stuff.
She flicked a look over her shoulder. ‘Looking for something to tie your ankles.’
He raised his knees.
No fucking way.
His mind screamed, the panic clawing at his chest, his neck muscles straining as he lifted his head to watch her. ‘That’s gonna be uncomfortable,’ he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm.
She turned with a couple of his neckties clutched in her fist, a quizzical little frown bisecting her brow.
‘And those are silk—you’ll ruin them,’ he added, not giving a shit about the neckties. He could buy twenty more tomorrow if he wanted to. He hadn’t killed himself turning The Red House into one of Manhattan’s most exclusive nightspots so he could be precious about his wardrobe. But he didn’t think he could stand to have his ankles tied down, too.
No woman had ever done that…Because it reminded him too much of…
He erased the thought, his erection wilting at the visceral blast of memory.
The biting pain slashing across his buttocks, the salty sweat trickling into the burning welts. His mother’s screams and the grunts of her pimp as he wielded the belt. The humiliation as scalding as the pain while he gritted his teeth to stop the whimpers.
‘Okay,’ she said, worrying her lip again. ‘But wi
ll you promise to lie still?’ Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively and his cock perked up again, the grim memory receding at the eagerness on her face. ‘So I can have my wicked way with you?’
‘Sure.’ He dropped his head back on the bed, the screaming tension in his shoulder blades releasing. ‘I’m all yours.’
He didn’t know how the hell he’d agreed to this. Or why he’d spilled his guts about his past when she’d asked. Of course, he hadn’t told her the whole truth. But he’d told her enough. He guessed hearing her bawling her eyes out in the bathroom, and then seeing her face, all red and puffy from her tears, had rattled him more than he’d thought.
But he was regretting trusting her big time now.
The bed dipped as she crawled back onto it. She knelt at his hip, her teeth catching on that full bottom lip as she studied him.
His flesh rose and lengthened under her inquisitive gaze, stretching the soft cotton of his shorts. He didn’t know what the hell she planned to do to him, but at least he wasn’t coming out in a cold sweat.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling the lapels of the robe together so he couldn’t see those magnificent breasts.
He bit down on the desire to tell her to take it off. He wasn’t in charge. Or not yet. Although he had every intention of turning the tables on her. With or without the use of his hands.
Mossy-green eyes met his and she sighed. ‘Are you comfortable?’ she asked. He heard the tiny hesitation before her gaze darted back to his lap, and realised she was as unsure about this as he was.
This had to be the first time she’d ever tied a guy up. Good to know.
‘Not exactly.’ He shot a telling glance at his crotch. ‘My balls ache like a son-of-a-bitch.’
It wasn’t exactly a lie—they did hurt—but it was the sweet, tortuous ache that he’d trained himself over the years to deny—so he could prolong the pleasure.
Problem was, with Sabrina, all his training had been shot to hell already, and the thought of prolonging the pleasure was the furthest thing from his mind. All he was aiming for tonight was to get through this without making an ass of himself.
‘Whatever you plan on doing to me, you need to do it soon, or I’m liable to die of the suspense.’ He nodded at the robe, trying to put as much conciliation into his tone as possible, given that he was staked out and entirely at her mercy. ‘If you want to ensure I die happy, though, you should lose the robe.’
* * *
Sabrina heard the edge in his voice, and folded her arms around her midriff. Maybe this hadn’t been such a smart idea after all.
She chewed her bottom lip and gazed at his big body, dusted with dark hair, all that mouth-watering muscle and sinew, bulging and flexing as he strained against the restraints. Even with his arms bound, he looked like more than she could handle.
She sucked in a deep breath, blew it out again.
‘How about it, Sabrina? I think the robe has to go.’
Her eyes narrowed, hearing the thinly disguised steel behind the request. ‘I think you should shut up, actually.’ Maybe she was way out of her depth, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. ‘Or I may have to gag you.’
His dark brows rose up his forehead, and his fingers fisted, but after one quick tug on the ties, he controlled himself. And she congratulated herself on her superlative knot-tying ability. Never doubt the bondage techniques of a member of the Wellesley Park Girl Guide troop.
‘You are so gonna pay for this later,’ he muttered, the threat thick with innuendo.
‘Perhaps.’ She swung her leg over his hips to straddle him. The hair on his legs brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, making her shiver. ‘But right now, I’m the one calling the shots.’
She ran her palms up the smooth, tanned skin on his thighs, swirled her fingernails in the fine hair, felt his flanks bunch under the delicate torture.
‘So you need to shut up and take this like a man, or I’m going to have to gag you and blindfold you as well as bind you to the bed.’
He swore softly, but didn’t say another word, his whole body quivering as she explored him. The planes and angles, so deliciously hard, so potently male. She traced the lean, packed muscles on his abdomen. Counted the clearly defined slabs. Combed her fingers through the tufts of hair that sprouted around the flat brown nipples. Traced the straining sinews on his biceps, the roped sinews above his hip bones, the ripped muscles of his six-pack.
She heard the low, guttural moan as she bent forward at last, letting the robe fall open to reveal her swollen breasts to his gaze, and then cut off his line of sight to press her lips to his collarbone.
His back arched, the solid ridge of his penis—still confined in his boxers—rubbing against her leg.
She lifted up, stopping the contact, even though her pelvic muscles dissolved, melting at the memory of how good it had felt to impale herself on that enormous shaft.
‘That’s cheating, Connor. You promised to lie still. Remember.’
‘Fuck still,’ he growled, his voice gruff with frustration. ‘There’s a limit to how much teasing I can take.’
She tapped a fingernail to his chest, watched his pectoral muscles tense and met the dark gleam in his eyes, full of the dangerous threat of retribution.
But instead of making her wary, or nervous, that dominant glare only made her feel more bold, more powerful and more determined.
‘And you’re not even close to being there yet,’ she whispered, determined to control her own needs for as long as it took to make him admit his.
‘Come on, Sabrina.’ His tone became acquiescent. She smiled. It might only be a hairline crack in that indomitable facade, but it was big enough. ‘Untie me, damn it. You’ve had your fun—it’s my turn now.’
‘Not gonna happen, McCoy,’ she shot back, rejoicing when his brows slashed down in an annoyed frown. ‘We haven’t even gotten to the main event yet.’
‘Which is?’ he asked, his expression wary.
‘You’ll see.’
So saying, she dropped her head and swirled her tongue across his flat copper nipple, tugging at it with her teeth.
‘Oh, shit.’
She worked her way down his torso—licking and sucking, nipping and biting—to a chorus of swearing, each pained exclamation becoming more husky, more raw than the last.
She ran her nose through the trail of hair below his navel, drew in the delicious scent of him—salt, sweat and the tangy musk of sex. He squirmed under her, and the bulbous purple head of his penis thrust over the waistband of his boxers, the clear liquid at its tip glistening in the dim lighting.
She touched her tongue to the slit, and he lurched off the bed like a wild animal, forcing her to spring back before she got knocked onto the floor.
He stared down at her, his face contorted with something between pleasure and pain, his eyes heavy-lidded with need. Awareness pounded in her sex, the moisture leaking down trembling thighs. The connection she’d sensed arching between them…She was seeing him for the first time, without the shield, without the cocky dominance, the surly charm. This was Connor, raw, animalistic, exposed, vulnerable. The man behind the player’s mask.
He’d put himself in her hands, had trusted her when she sensed he trusted very few. And she wanted to show him he hadn’t made a mistake. Maybe this was just about sex, but for this one moment in time it felt like more.
‘Sorry,’ he rasped, the words pained, tortured, as he dropped back onto the bed, the breath gushing out on a sigh of defeat.
‘Don’t be,’ she whispered, then slid her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and watched his penis leap free.
Even though she’d seen him, admired him once before, the sight of that long column of thrusting flesh—ready for her—had the breath clogging her lungs, squeezing her chest.
‘I’m not going to last long.’ His voice broke on the words, as if the admission had been wrenched from some deep, dark place inside.
‘You don’t
have to,’ she replied, then licked the shaft from base to tip.
The low groan, the staggered pants of his breathing, spurred on the gentle, probing exploration. She circled her fingers round the base, pressed her thumb against the pounding vein, and caressed, while she braced her knees and leant over him, to take as much of the broad head into her mouth as she could, her tongue still lapping at the thick shaft.
His unique aroma, rich, musty, male, filled her senses as his hips lifted off the bed. She opened her throat, to take more, to give more.
‘Don’t stop,’ he murmured, the words part demand, part plea. ‘Please. I can’t…’
The hoarse cry issued from his lips as his cock swelled even more, and then the hot gush of semen hit the back of her throat. She swallowed, still sucking, loving the taste of him, the thick ropes of his orgasm and the broken cries of his surrender.
* * *
‘Thanks.’ Connor’s voice sounded raw, different to his own ears, his body still shuddering from the force of his climax.
What had just happened? She’d broken through his biggest taboo. The one thing he never let a woman do to him during sex—mostly because he couldn’t maintain an erection thanks to the memories. But this time the memories—of his mother giving her client head, while he’d lain in bed trying not to hear, trying not to look—hadn’t come. The sight of Sabrina’s lips on his cock hadn’t repulsed him—it had seduced him. The feel of her tongue, tentative and untutored, then eager and excited, had heated his blood, made him want to thrust into her mouth.
And then, when he’d come like a fountain, she’d swallowed every drop.
He yanked against the bonds on his wrists.
She lifted her face from his crotch, her eyes full of an emotion he didn’t understand—didn’t want to understand—but was very much afraid he would remember for the rest of his life.
‘Untie me.’
She nodded, moving up the bed to release his wrists. Taking each one in her hand, she rubbed the reddened skin. ‘I’m sorry, Connor, I tied you too tight.’
He shook his head. He’d hardly even noticed the bonds once she’d started trailing her tongue, her lips, over every part of him. ‘No, you didn’t.’
