by Roz Lee
"I trust you." Three simple words were like a defibrillator, jolting his heart back to life. Relief, hope and flames of lust shot through his arteries as his heart leapt into overdrive. She was going to stay. But that wasn't enough. He had to know she understood what she was agreeing to. He had to hear her say it.
"Say it, Bree. Say you're mine tonight. Surrender."
Her fingers went lax, and her hand slipped from his. She turned to face him, her body only inches away. He could smell her intoxicating scent, something floral and completely at odds with her kick-ass persona, mixed with her arousal. He fought the urge to pull her to him, to reach between her legs and feel her wet heat. Instead, he stood as immobile as the granite mound beside them, and waited. He counted her breaths, willed his body to accept them as his own since his lungs had ceased to function. Then, a miracle happened.
Tension seeped from her body. She tipped her head back, and her eyes met his. Her eyelids dropped like the final curtain, as the two sweetest words he'd ever heard escaped her lips. "I surrender."
Drew pulled her against him. Everything soft about her molded to everything hard about him, her body making good on the promise of her words. Her lips opened under his, yielding to his demands, and he took his first breath in what seemed like forever, straight from her lungs.
Her body went lax against his, so trusting in her complete surrender. He backed her to the stone edifice, his lips never leaving hers. When he had both her wrists shackled, he stood back. He'd never seen anything so erotic, so enticing in his life as Bree Stanton draped like a goddess over the unyielding surface of Andromeda's Rock. Vulnerability showed in the way her head tilted to one side, exposing the long column of her neck, and in her open palms and parted lips. She'd yet to open her eyes, and he was grateful for the privacy, taking the moment before he demanded her full attention to compose himself. His hands shook with the need to touch her, and he had to admit, some trepidation. What if he failed her? What if she hated what he would force upon her? No. He couldn't force her to accept pleasure. She'd taken the first step, surrendering to him, but every step from here on out had to be with her consent as well. It was the only way his honor would let him proceed.
"Open your eyes."
Her lashes fluttered as her sight adjusted to the overhead spotlight.
"I've changed my mind." Something, panic maybe, anger perhaps, flared in her eyes and he hurried to correct her misconception. "No, not about giving you pleasure," he assured. "I've changed my mind about forcing you to accept it. You'll need a safe word. Tell me what it is, and if you say it, or even think it, I'll stop and release you. It's the only way I'll continue."
"Drew…."
"Just tell me your safe word. That's all I want to hear."
"It's pink. I hate pink."
He smiled. "Pink it is, then." Relieved he'd found the courage to do the right thing, he stepped closer. "I want to see all of you, and I want you to see everything I do to you. You're not to close your eyes again unless I tell you to. You aren't allowed to hide from the pleasure, or the person giving it to you. Tell me you understand."
"I understand."
He nodded. "Okay then." He reached for the Velcro closure on her turquoise crew sarong. The hook and loop fabric parted with a sound that mirrored the tear in his gut as her body was revealed to him, one inch at a time. He slipped the fabric from underneath her and tossed it into the shadowed depths of the restaurant.
"Jesus Christ almighty." His plan was rapidly spiraling out of control. He'd seen her naked before. He'd touched all that ivory skin. But having her displayed like this, knowing she'd allowed him to do this to her, shook him to his core. "Give me a second here, or this will turn into my pleasure, and not much of yours." Fucking Christ, even his voice sounded shaky.
"You're beautiful," he breathed. "No, that's not right. I don't know a word that fits. Magnificent maybe, or exquisite. Yeah, that works, exquisite. Something with a bunch of exotic letters in it. Nothing ordinary."
He was rambling, he realized. Better to shut his mouth before something ridiculous came out, like ‘please’. Please let me have you. Please take me inside you. Please don't ever leave me.
"It would pleasure me to see you, too."
Her words jerked him out of his lust-fogged stupor. He'd forgotten he'd told her to keep her eyes open. She'd been watching him all this time. How much had his face given away? Too much, he feared.
His hands shook as he pulled the short hook and loop closure open on his wrap and let the fabric fall to the floor. He flinched as his erection sprang free.
"You must be in pain," she said.
He couldn't remember being this hard before, and his balls felt like they were clenched in a red-hot vise. "I've been in worse," he lied. "This isn't about me. It's about you." He forced his feet to move, closing the distance between them. "Forget about me." He went to his knees before her. He took one of her delicately boned feet in his hands and pressed his thumbs to her arch. "I'm going to show you how much pleasure your body is capable of."
Chapter Four
She was going to die. Drew Whitcomb wrapped her foot in his strong hands, and a warmth and lassitude she'd never experienced before shot through her body all the way to the tips of her ears. The added blood flow there made it difficult to hear what he was saying. Something about kinds of pleasure and the fine line between pleasure and pain.
"Sometimes pain can be pleasurable. Like the time you bit me on the shoulder." He raised her foot to his mouth and his teeth scraped against the thick pad on the ball of her foot. Every nerve ending in her body tingled. "I won't hurt you, I promise. But if you like something"—his teeth nipped at her instep and liquid heat traveled straight to her pussy—"just say, 'more'."
A sound passed her lips, but she couldn't be sure what it was. A plea for more? It must have been, because his teeth sank into her arch, followed immediately by his tongue, soothing the bite.
"Oh, God." That one she heard. How was she going to survive this? He'd only touched one of her feet, for heaven's sake, and she was already out of her mind with need.
"You taste good." He returned her foot to the floor and picked up the other one.
Lust and anticipation made her groan. Drew lavished the same attention on that foot as he had on the other. By the time he returned her foot to the floor, her lungs burned from exertion, her mouth was dry, and her pussy so swollen she was close to begging him to touch her there.
Instead of putting her out of her misery, he came to his feet and turned away. "Don't move. I'll be right back.”
Bree watched in disbelief as he disappeared into the darkened restaurant, leaving her racked with need, pulsing for release. She wasn't going to survive this. No way in hell.
He returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of water and a glass. He filled the glass and held it to her lips. "Drink. It's important to stay hydrated when you're on a mission. Your brain cells need water."
She drank. Ice-cold water spilled from the corners of her mouth to run down her chin and neck, and lower.
When she pulled her head back, Drew drained the glass, set it aside and turned his attention to the water spilling down her torso. His cold tongue followed the tiny river, lapping it up like a man who'd found an oasis in the desert. The trail brought him to his knees. His hands cradled her hips, holding her steady for his exploration. He found the deep well of her navel and drank from it.
Oh. Dear. God. His tongue speared her, swirling, seeking. His lips formed a seal around her navel and gentle suction melted her core. Lower. Go lower. She thrust her hips forward, silently begging him to put his mouth and tongue where she most wanted it, where he'd find the moisture he sought, but he shook his head at her distress and abandoned that part of her anatomy altogether.
She kicked out in frustration, but he grabbed her ankles and gently returned them to the floor.
"Uh-uh," he scolded. "All in due time." Then he moved to her hands.
Her body felt like
butter melting in the sun, slowly dripping into a puddle as Drew systematically covered every inch of her body, except the one part that needed him most. His lips, tongue and teeth kissed, sucked, licked and tasted, taking love bites in places Bree had no idea were erogenous zones. She learned that more was her favorite four-letter word. All she had to do was breathe it and Drew complied. He gave her more. More of things, of feelings she never knew existed. Because he commanded her to watch, she saw the tight control he held over his own needs. His erection hadn't waned in all the time he'd been driving her out of her mind. What kind of man could put his need aside just to prove a point? And oh, what a point he'd made.
His hands found her breasts, teasing just enough to have her nipples hard and aching for more. Then he focused entirely on them, and she caught a glimpse of heaven. He pressed his hips against hers. The course hair of his legs and groin rasped against her smooth skin. He bent his head and lavished attention on one breast, and then the other. "There are no words," he whispered.
Truer words were never spoken. She had no words for what he did to her body, her soul.
His hot breath wafted over her moist nipple, tightening every muscle in her body. His hands smoothed over her body, soothing as much as his words. "Relax, darlin'. I'll give you what you want, what you need, soon."
Please.
He pressed his body full against hers, enveloping her in heat. Every shaky breath brought his scent deep inside her. Her fingers flexed, wanting to touch him the way he touched her, but the restraints prevented any such contact. "I know you're hurting," he crooned against her neck. "I know where you're hurting." His hands slipped around her waist where his fingers unerringly found the dimples at the small of her back.
She shuddered. "You're killing me…."
"Drew…."
His hands slid lower, molding to her like a latex coating. He squeezed with both hands, lifting her up and hard against his cock. Drew swallowed her gasp as his fingers opened her, probing her tight hole, then sliding between her wet folds. His touch almost sent her over the edge, but as if he read her mind and her body, he pulled back.
She whimpered at the loss of body contact. "Please," she begged.
"Soon." His hands rested at her waist, slipping over her hips and down the outside of her legs as he went to his knees. His long fingers closed around her ankle, lifting her foot to rest on his shoulder, exposing her to his gaze. "I've never…."
Bree looked down at the top of his head, and as if he sensed her gaze, his eyes met hers.
"Damn woman, I've got to taste you." His eyes asked permission, and she couldn't deny him, couldn't deny how badly she wanted his mouth on her.
She pulled against her restraints and thrust her hips forward in blatant invitation. A plea formed on her tongue, but before she could get it out, Drew nipped the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. The plea turned to a whimper of pure need.
If he hadn't had his hands on her, grounding her, she would have sworn she was in heaven. His lips caressed, his teeth scraped, his tongue soothed the tender skin of her inner thigh, all the way up to her open, swollen, aching pussy. She wanted to touch him, to wrap her hands around his face and pull him to her where she most needed him. Damn him for taking that away from her. He'd pay for it, just as soon as she could walk and talk again. And if he kept this up much longer, that was going to be a very long time from now.
His tongue teased along the crease between her leg and her hip, taking his sweet time getting to the point.
She cocked her hips again, offering, begging. And then he flicked his tongue over her clit. A strangled sound filled the still air, followed by a distinctively male chuckle. Then he fixed his mouth over her and she went off like a skyrocket on the Fourth of July.
Drew called himself all kinds of an idiot. He'd teased her too long, brought her to the brink and held her off too many times, so all he'd gotten was a sweet sample of her delights before she came. Not that he was sorry. No, how could he be sorry with Bree's orgasm clenching his tongue, bathing his face in her sweet juices? The only problem was, he couldn't see her face from his vantage point. That would have to be corrected.
As difficult as it was to leave her, he pulled away, placing a soft kiss on her mound before he rose to his feet. He freed her wrists and she sank against him like a wilted flower, allowing him to ease her to the floor. Grabbing a condom from a bowl on a nearby table, he thanked the owners of the Lothario for their foresight as he rolled it down his length. Bree lay limp, flushed, and sated. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, her nipples were hard nubs, and the wild curls between her legs glistened in the arc of light spilling across her body from the overhead spotlight. His goddess. The possessiveness the thought implied should have scared the shit out of him, but as his gaze roamed over her, replete from his attentions, his heart clenched. She'd given him her complete trust. Placed her body and her inner self in his hands. He nudged her legs apart, settling between them as he braced himself on outstretched arms above her.
"Bree." He waited.
A smile formed on her lips. Then she opened her eyes and her smile reflected in their radiant depths.
"You aren't done yet." He slid into her on one solid, deliberate thrust. Her head lolled to one side, and her hips rose up to meet him. "Look at me," he commanded. She turned those luminous eyes of hers on him and he froze, embedded deep inside her. "No touching. Clasp your hands above your head and relax. Let me do all the work."
He was going to take it slow, even if it killed him. And it just might. He'd never been so hard in his life, or so desperate for release. It would take a surgeon to find his balls right now. They were drawn up tight inside him like lumps of hot coal shoved up his ass. His spine tingled, sending urgent signals to fire his load. It took every ounce of his SEAL training to focus past the pain and need to give Bree the pleasure he'd promised her. So what if he wasn't ever the same afterwards? At least this time, she wasn't going to leave any marks on his body.
He clenched his jaw and kept up the slow, rocking thrusts. She followed instructions well. Her arms formed an O above her head, her hands lay loosely clasped together over the fan of her flaming hair. He glanced down her body to the point of connection. A fine sheen covered her creamy skin. Her soft belly jiggled with each of his thrusts as she accepted him into her body. That's when Andromeda's Rock hit him square on the head.
He wasn't giving her a gift. She was giving him one. That's when he knew he'd been a fool. She was going to leave a mark on him, but this one was indelibly stamped on his heart.
"More." Bree’s lips formed the word, but she couldn't be sure there had been a voice behind it. She couldn't take any more, but at the same time, she never wanted this to end. Who knew? Who knew a person could die of pleasure? And be happy about it?
"God, Woman…." The growled words preceded Drew's hard body falling against hers, mashing her beneath a wall of solid muscle and heat. So much heat. His hands slipped beneath her, cradling her ass and tilting her to a better angle to receive his thrusts. Thrusts that had been agonizingly slow, making her scream inside when he pulled out, and filling something she'd never known was empty when he buried to the hilt again. They came faster and harder now. He'd heard her, or read her mind. She didn't care which, as her body began that familiar spiral toward heaven, or hell, depending on how you viewed it. It was heaven so long as she didn't think too hard about who was taking her there. She willed the thought away, knowing all too soon she'd come crashing back to the hell of reality.
Heaven glistened brighter than it ever had. Drew anchored her to earth, stretched full length over her. His strong arms bracketed her face as he reached above her head to take her hands in his. She clung to him as the powerful orgasm roared through her, and just when the last tremor subsided, he flexed his hips and buried his cock hard against her womb. The walls of her pussy had never been more sensitive. She felt every involuntary thrust, every pulse, every hot spurt. She grinned at the unintelligible grun
ts and groans next to her ear that told her Drew wasn't any less affected than she.
As good as his skin felt against hers, she needed to breathe. "Drew…."
"Huh?"
"Air. I need—
He released her hands and rolled to the floor beside her. The chilled air raised goose bumps on her damp skin. Drew reached out and pulled her to him so she lay half-sprawled across his chest. His warm, heaving chest.
"Body heat… conserve…." She recognized the training mantra. Survival mode. Do whatever it takes to survive, because dead is final. She had her own survival mantra. Stay the hell away from Drew Whitcomb. She couldn't let him see how much his touch affected her, how deeply he'd gotten under her skin. She had her plans, plans that didn't include staying on this ship, or staying anywhere for any length of time. Drew was an anchor, and if she clung to him, he'd drag her down to the bottom of the ocean, and she'd drown in her own dreams.
Her body still hummed with the drugging effect of good sex. She pushed up and away from the one place her body wanted to be right now. Only a fool fell under the oxytocin spell, and she'd fallen harder than most. Hormones made you stupid. Trusting, and stupid.
"Where ya goin', darlin'?"
"Do you know you drop half of every word when you're under the influence?" Bree squinted into the darkness, looking for her wrap. Drew rolled to his side. She jerked when one finger brushed her ankle. She had to get out of here before he touched her again.
"Influence?"
She caught a glimpse of something blue and headed in that direction. "Oxytocin," she explained. "The cuddle hormone." She picked up her sarong and fastened it around her, wishing it were made of something impenetrable, like kryptonite. The thin silk wasn't any kind of barrier against Drew's potent touch. All he had to do was brush against her and her pituitary gland shifted into high gear. Making her stupid.
He'd risen to his full height, still magnificently naked and semi-aroused now that he'd removed the condom. Maybe there was more than oxytocin at work here. She had to concentrate to keep her feet from moving toward him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. "It's the hormone that makes us trusting, makes us want to cuddle."
