Once Upon a Power Play

by Jennifer Bonds

  Before she could overthink it, he took the decision out of her hands.

  His lips descended upon hers, gentle at first, but growing hungry and desperate when she stretched up on her toes and kissed him back. Opening herself to him, she took the kiss deeper, tangling her fingers in his damp hair and pulling him closer. It was hot and cold and hard and soft all at once. Everything she’d expected and nothing she’d imagined. Unable to process the conflicting feelings, her brain shorted out from sensory overload. He snaked his arms around her back, gripping her ass and pulling her body flush to him as her tongue mated with his, caressing and massaging in response to his dominating thrusts. She was vaguely aware that he’d lifted her from her feet and the realization sent white-hot need tearing through her. The groan that rolled from his lips confirmed that he also craved more. Sucking his lower lip, she teased him mercilessly, enjoying the taste of spearmint on his breath.

  When they finally broke apart, she was breathless, gasping at the icy cold air that filled her lungs but did nothing to mitigate the scorching hot lust burning up her skin. “I’m Chloe, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chloe.” He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You should know I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I first saw you.”

  For the second time that evening, she found herself speechless. That kiss? It had been seductive, and sweet, and mind-blowing. And jackass or not, she kind of wanted another one. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly kissed. Probably never. The guys she normally dated were a little lacking in the passion department. She’d never kissed a man with facial hair before and she was surprised to discover she didn’t hate it. There was something very masculine about the way it scratched her face, no doubt leaving her lips red and swollen.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Everything about him was masculine. It wasn’t just his size. It was his protective nature. He was a throwback to another age. With a little encouragement, he’d probably throw her over his shoulder, tote her upstairs, and screw her eight ways to Sunday. She just had to say the word.

  Too bad she’d sworn off men just an hour ago. She was over them. Completely. Totally. Over them. On the other hand, she didn’t feel like being alone tonight. What harm could come from one little drink? Or one more kiss, for that matter? They’d been through hell. They deserved it, didn’t they? The words were on her lips before she could stop them. “Come up for a drink?”

  He followed her up to her apartment, quiet as a mouse. A really big, hulking mouse who oozed testosterone.

  Once inside, she shrugged off her coat and headed straight to the kitchen. After that little firestorm, she needed a drink more than ever.

  “So, why are you dressed up anyway?” he asked, looking totally at home in her tiny apartment and making the space seem even tighter than usual. “Going to a party?”

  “Hardly.” She pulled a bottle of Jose and a shaker from the cabinet. “I was supposed to be on a date tonight, but the douche canoe blew me off via text. Thus the margaritas. Lime?”

  Their fingers brushed as he handed over the fruit, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in her belly. “A text?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Afraid not. I don’t know about you, but I plan to get lit up like a Christmas tree,” she said, refusing to feel bad about it. “And then I’m swearing off men indefinitely.”

  “That’s a shame.” He devoured her with his eyes, his gaze lingering on her curves, appreciating all the parts she’d wished to change a thousand times over. Another wave of arousal crashed through her. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a fool.”

  Maybe she’d been too hasty in swearing off men, because Ryan the Jerk was looking pretty damn fine. And judging by the dampness in her panties, her body wholeheartedly agreed.

  Ryan watched while Chloe quickly and efficiently mixed their drinks. His gaze travelled the small apartment, taking in the cozy, lived in feel of the place. Despite the chill creeping through the ancient living room window, it actually felt warm, like a real home. The walls were covered with pictures, the floor littered with shoes. It suited her larger than life personality. It was also the complete opposite of his sterile apartment, which his ex-girlfriend had decorated to mirror a Pottery Barn centerfold. Half the time, he felt guilty sitting on his own damn couch, like he was going to ruin the place just by living in it.

  Dumping all thoughts of his ex, he stepped up to the bar where Chloe was slicing the lime like a pro. She was perfectly at ease in the kitchen, something he hadn’t expected. After all, she was more Kim Kardashian than Martha Stewart. “You’re pretty good with a knife.”

  She raised her brow and laughed. “I can’t cook worth a damn, but I make a mean drink. It put me through school. You name it, I can mix it.”

  “Really? What self-respecting bartender uses a pre-made mixer?” he asked, even though he could picture it clearly. With her attitude, she’d be a great bartender, not taking shit from any of the drunk guys who were sure to spend all night hitting on her and ogling those perfect breasts. Or that ass. It wasn’t exactly a leap to imagine her rolling around in his sheets with that little pinup body. She might look prim and proper with her fancy dress and upturned nose, but he’d wager there was a very naughty girl under that refined exterior. With a mouth like hers? He’d bet his salary on it.

  “The store was out of lime juice.” She dipped two glasses in salt and poured their drinks, finishing both with a slice of fruit. “And limes.”

  Totally oblivious to the impact the gesture was having on him, she licked the excess salt from her fingertips. Like it or not, she had his undivided attention now, his cock coming to life, his balls tightening at the sight of her laving the tiny crystals from her fingers.

  What kind of asshole would dump a girl like this over text message? Probably one of those slick metrosexual types that were so predominant in the city. That would be about right. One of those self-important pricks with a cashmere scarf and his initials embroidered on his shirt sleeves. Was that the kind of guy she usually went for? Most likely, judging by her cocktail dress and elaborately styled hair. Then again, did it matter? Neither of them was looking for anything long term, but what was to stop them from having one night? Right here, right now.

  Fuck it. He was overthinking the situation. Despite the many names she’d called him, it was pretty damn clear she was physically attracted to him. Maybe they could pound out their mutual frustration in the bedroom. Only he had no intention of taking her to bed.

  Stepping around the bar, he joined her in the kitchen, purposefully crowding her in the tiny space. Hand shaking, she reached for her drink. He captured her wrist, surprised again by how small she was next to him. When she looked up, the fire in her eyes said it all. The urge to make her forget about her shitty day overwhelmed every other thought in his brain. This woman needed a man to worship her and he could be that man for one night. Hell, with those curves, it would be his pleasure.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. You didn’t really invite me up here for drinks.”

  “Oh, really?” she challenged, tilting her nose in the air and slipping back into the sarcasm she wore like second skin. “Because no woman can possibly resist Eau de Lumberjack?”

  “If the flannel shirt fits.” Ryan grinned and rubbed his thumb across the tender flesh on the underside of her wrist. Her protests weren’t fooling him. Like a stick of dynamite, she was burning hot under all that bravado. “After all, you did try to climb me like a tree downstairs.”

  “You’re an ass,” she breathed, her body shifting almost imperceptibly closer. He skimmed his free hand over her collarbone, finding her skin soft and supple, just as he’d imagined. A nervous laugh rolled off her lips. “Fine. You’re such an expert on women. Why don’t you tell me what it is you think I want?”

  “Right now?” Ryan studied her, deciding to play it straight. His next words would either drive her wild with lust or get him thrown out on his ass. Onl
y one way to find out what kind of woman Chloe really was under all that prim and proper polish. “Right now you want me to fuck you so dirty the only thing you will be able to think of—the only thing you will care about—will be your next orgasm. The first of many I’m going to give you tonight.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat, breasts rising and falling with the action. Those coffee-colored eyes of hers grew even darker, curiosity and hunger churning in their depths as she silently contemplated him. Unable to bear Chloe’s silence, and needing another taste of her sweet skin, he licked the sensitive flesh of her neck. The sigh that followed confirmed her arousal. He placed a delicate kiss in the same spot. “Am I right princess?”

  Chloe nodded, unable or more likely unwilling to voice her consent.

  Not good enough. When she broke apart with pleasure, it would be because she asked for it. Wanted it. Needed it. Just like he needed her underneath him, screaming his name.

  Ryan shifted, pinning her to the counter and pressing his hips against her, letting her feel the length of his erection on her belly. The woman had him so fucking hard he was going to lose his mind. “I need to hear you say it.”

  “I want you to fuck me dirty. Right here on the counter.” A mischievous grin lit up her face. “And Ryan? I want it so dirty I forget everything, even my own name.”

  “The only name you’ll have on your lips is mine,” he growled, determined to make good on the promise. “That little gold dress of yours is driving me fucking crazy. I need to tear it off and find out what’s underneath.”

  With a flick of the wrist, she reached back and unzipped the dress. The slow drag of the zipper was torture. She was toying with him. He knew it right down to his aching balls, which were so tight he’d probably lose it as soon as he got inside her.

  When the dress finally fell to the floor, pooling around her feet, he wanted to thank the dumbass who’d dumped her tonight. Holy fuck. The sight before him was better than any pinup fantasy he’d ever indulged. Under the dress she wore a lacy black slip with a garter belt that connected to lace topped stockings. It was sexiest damn thing he’d seen in ages. “What are you waiting for, Lumberjack Boy?”

  “Is that a challenge?” He seized her hips and boosted her onto the counter, making them more evenly matched in height and giving him an unobstructed view of her full breasts. Reaching around, he pulled the clip from her hair, freeing a mass of unruly curls. He tugged on one, watching with interest as it sprang back when released. “Trust me on this, princess. You’ll enjoy it a hell of a lot more if I take my time. And I plan to take all night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Promises, promises.”

  Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look him in the eye. “I always keep my promises.” If she knew nothing else about him, she’d know that much by the time they were through. He ran his hands down the outside of her thighs, enjoying the silky feel of her stockings sliding under his fingers. Her sharp intake of breath suggested that despite her eye-rolling sarcasm, she wanted this as badly as he did. When he reached her knees, he reversed, palms traveling up her inner thighs, spreading her legs for him. She was fully exposed except for the small scrap of black satin that shielded her body.

  Drawing on years of discipline, he stopped short of his final destination, pausing to massage the bare skin between her slip and stockings. She held her breath while he kneaded the soft flesh, no doubt waiting for him to move on to her panties. But he’d meant what he said. He had no intention of rushing, even if he did have the mother of all hard-ons. With the storm raging outside, they had all night to explore one another, and as much as he wanted her, the foreplay would only intensify their mutual pleasure.

  He grabbed a piece of ice from the tray she’d been using to make margaritas. “We’re going to play a game,” he said, holding the ice cube up for inspection.

  “With ice?” She furrowed her brow, not looking the least bit interested. “It’s freezing!”

  “Trust me.” Turning her wrist over, he rubbed the ice cube over the thin skin on the underside. She shivered on contact, her entire body trembling from the chill. Goose bumps ran up her arm. Bringing her wrist to his mouth, he licked the wet spot, sucking hard on the tender skin. She gasped at the heat of his lips, a sharp contrast to the ice. “Everywhere this ice cube goes, my mouth follows.”

  Her dark eyes were ripe with desire as she contemplated the rules. Finally, she nodded, accepting his terms. “I like this game already.”

  “I thought you would.” A smiled tugged at his lips. There were a lot of games he could teach a woman with her adventurous spirit. “Now be a good girl and hold out your arm.”

  She did as instructed, a look of anticipation on her face as she watched him, waiting to see what he’d do next. Her bottom wriggled against the counter. He wanted to touch her, see if she was wet, but once he plunged into her, he’d lose what little control he had. Instead he moved the ice cube up her inner arm, following it with a trail of kisses that left them both breathless.

  Next, he started behind her ear, dragging the ice cube down her neck and pausing at the hollow between her breasts.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” she said, whimpering in anticipation. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a deep breath. The hot flesh brushed his cheek, tempting him.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.” Like he could stop if he wanted to. Returning to her ear, he sucked the lobe into his mouth and bit down. Her cry of pain melted into a sigh of pleasure when his tongue darted out, massaging the sting away. Then he nibbled his way back to the sweet mounds demanding his attention. The way her breasts strained against the restrictive lace? It was fucking torture. Ryan licked his lips and brought his gaze to her face. Chloe’s wild eyes locked with his, communicating her unspoken need. “Show me.”

  For once, she didn’t argue, just unhooked her stockings and pulled the slip over her head, freeing her breasts as he’d commanded. And holy mother they were perfect—full and heavy, the rosy peaks puckered and ready. She arched her back, offering herself to him. Tracing lazy circles around her left breast, he slowly made his way to the hardened nipple. The ice cube grazed the sensitive bud, and she rose up once again. Ryan dropped his mouth to the cool flesh, his teeth closing over the perfect little mound. Then he bit her. Harder this time. She yelped in response, twisting her fingers in his hair. Asserting control, she forced him to take her deeper. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, following the same path he’d used for the ice. The resulting moan urged him on.

  “On your back,” he ordered, placing a hand on her belly and forcing her to lie down on the breakfast bar. Putting the ice cube aside, he grabbed the thin strings of her bikini underwear and started to pull them down before changing his mind. Lowering himself between her thighs, he blew a hot breath against her panties. Then he licked them, giving her one long, torturously slow drag of his tongue up the center of the already damp fabric. She squirmed on her back, pushing her hips off the counter.

  “Take them off. For the love of God, I’m begging you.”

  “That’s not begging, princess.” He raised an eyebrow, looking right into her frustrated eyes. “If you were begging, you’d have said please.”

  She glared at him. “Please take my fucking panties off.”

  He grinned in spite of himself as he pulled her panties down, leaving her stockings in place. Those were staying on. He wanted all that silk wrapped around him when he buried himself in that sweet pussy. Pushing her thighs wide, he gave himself an unobstructed view of her. She was so fucking wet. A tortured groan escaped his lips. He’d made a promise. No rushing.

  He ran the ice cube up her thigh. It was hard to tell if the resulting shudder was from arousal or the return of the cold as it wet her stocking. Dropping to his knees, he settled between her legs, blowing a hot breath on her clit. Giving her no time to prepare for the change in temperature, he put the ice cube against the small nub, and rotated it. She gave a sharp hiss, legs clenching around his head as she bucke
d off the counter. His mouth followed immediately. Sucking hard at the tiny pleasure center, he worked her with his tongue.

  “Ohh! That feels…” The words trailed off on a sob. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, seeking purchase as her hips leaped skyward. “Oh, wow. That feels so freaking good. Do it again. Please,” she begged breathlessly. “I need it, Ryan. I’m dying here.”

  Repeating the move, he used his tongue to apply more pressure. Determined to push her over the edge, he thrust his fingers inside her, moving them in unison with her writhing hips. It didn’t take long. She was primed and ready. Her muscles tightened around him. She screamed his name, coming apart noisily as the orgasm rocked her tiny body.

  When he climbed to his feet, Chloe met him with a lazy grin, pushing herself into an upright position. She grabbed the hem of his thermal shirt and yanked it up over his head, taking the flannel shirt with it.

  “That’s better.” She bit her lip, eyes traveling over the muscles of his chest and arms. Her gaze lingered on the newly acquired phoenix tattoo that covered his left shoulder, snaking down his arm to create a sleeve. Then she moved on, her fingers fluttering over his bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Make that much better.”

  Reaching for his belt, she unfastened the buckle with nimble fingers, shoving his pants and boxer briefs down, releasing his throbbing dick. She took him in hand, stroking his shaft and rubbing her thumb across the head, using the pearly bead she found there for lubrication. Unable to control himself, he pumped his hips into her hand, nearly reaching orgasm with two quick strokes.

  Sweet Jesus. He needed to be inside this woman—now. Pulling her in for a kiss, he coaxed her forward with a tug of the hips. Answering his unspoken command, she pressed her breasts against him and scooted to the edge of the counter. His cock found her slick center immediately, the head pushing against her, seeking entry.