Velvet, Leather & Lace: A Man's Gotta DoCalling the ShotsBaring It All

by Suzanne Forster

  Which meant this was about something else entirely. And while the drama he directed—stripping her naked…or, more specifically, having her strip naked for him—was affecting her sexually, intensely so, she understood his intention went far beyond that of titillation. Hers…or his. This was about baring far more than her body.

  Did it ever occur to you that you could count on someone?

  Only now was she beginning to realize what he was really asking of her.

  I thought we needed each other.

  She could feel his presence behind her as intensely as she felt her next breath. You want me stripped totally bare before you, she thought. Naked down to my soul. It was a feat no one had ever achieved with her. But then no one had ever been tempted to try. Until now. God help her.

  “All or nothing,” he said, his mouth directly behind her ear.

  She startled, unaware he’d moved in so closely.

  “We both win…or we both lose,” he went on, before finally moving in front of her. He held her gaze steadily. His was still unreadable. “Gather your cloak.”

  She was so caught up in the spell he was weaving that she did as he asked without thinking. An act that surprised them both. It was the first emotion she’d seen him reflect, other than palpable desire.

  As she straightened with the cloak in her arms, he shocked her by flicking out the crop and lightly caressing her bare nipples with the leather loop. “I like keeping you aroused. Do you like it when I do this?” He caressed both nipples again, then dipped the tip to trace a circle around her navel.

  The muscles between her thighs clenched so tightly it was almost painful. Yes, dammit, she liked it. But when she opened her mouth, the word that came out was, “No.” She’d stated the bald-faced lie evenly, not sure why she was irritated again. He was only giving her pleasure. Perhaps because he was so expertly toying with her…and there was seemingly nothing she could do about it. Except respond.

  His eyes flared at her response. “Why is it so hard, Samantha? To let someone else direct the course of your pleasure?”

  She opened her mouth, the denial automatic, but she stopped, closed her mouth again. He knew damn well how hard this was for her.

  His lips twitched again. “Go over by the fire. Make yourself comfortable.”

  She gathered the cloak in her arms, as if it would provide some kind of shield. But when he looked at her, it was as though he were seeing far past her bare, highly sensitized skin. The soft ermine trim that lined the edges of the cloak brushed against her skin as she walked over toward the fire, eliciting a soft moan as it tickled the highly aroused tips of her breasts. She glanced back to see if he’d noticed, only to find herself alone once again.

  “Marsh?” She hadn’t intended to call out. Much less with that thread of…what? Worry? Vulnerability? Maybe it was the fear that if he left her for too long, this cocoon he was weaving about them would dissolve, robbing her of what little chance she might have for succeeding in this quest to give herself willingly to him. All of herself. She shuddered then, unsure how much was in fear of what it would be like…and how much was in expectation of what it would feel like if she succeeded. A big if at the moment.

  He didn’t respond to her call, nor did he return after another full minute ticked by. She turned back to the fire, and wondered exactly what he expected to find when he returned. Her, splayed and waiting for him amidst that huge pile of ridiculously decadent pillows?

  She stepped closer, slid her heels off and waded into the sea of silk and leather. Just the feel of the slippery fabrics on the soles of her feet, both cool and warm, softly thick and whisper thin, brought her to another level of awareness. She moved closer to the fire, letting its warmth seep into her, praying it would relax the array of muscles that were so tight and twitchy. Hoping that with a moment’s relaxation would come a chance to regroup, think, analyze…plan.

  God, she was doing it again. Plotting to take control. But dammit, she couldn’t help it.

  “Are you comfortable standing?”

  Startled by his return, she turned to find him bearing a covered tray. She shivered a little at what might lie beneath that swath of cloth. And it wasn’t a shiver of fear. Far from it, in fact.

  He gestured with his chin. “Sit. Relax.”

  She wasn’t sure which was stronger: the urge to laugh at the suggestion that she could relax under the circumstances…or scream with the frustration of being held so long on the edge. Just do me and get it over with, she wanted to shout. The twitch of his lips was enough to keep her silent. Fuming, but silent. Smug bastard.

  She turned abruptly and scanned the pillows and spreads arrayed at her feet, deciding which way would best torture him. Anticipation, hell. If he was determined to play her out, then play her he would, she decided. She could hold out longer than he could. By the time she finally allowed him—yes, allowed him—to bring her off, he’d be begging to join her. If he hadn’t already gone over the edge himself.

  She swung the cloak in front of her, silk side out, and let it fall atop a nest of pillows, then knelt on it, her back to him. Oh, they’d both win all right. Well aware the firelight was burnishing her skin like molten copper, she shook her hair so it brushed the center of her back, then looked at him over her shoulder. She’d expected to see naked hunger in his eyes. At the very least.

  Her mouth dropped open at what she did find. He wasn’t even looking at her. In fact, his back was to her as he placed the tray at the edge of the sea of silk, popping four short legs from each corner, so it sat just above the pile, within easy reach. “Lie back,” he told her, still not paying the least bit of attention to her.

  Tempted to snap something at him, she bit the comment off. He was pushing back a corner of the cloth, and despite her growing frustration, she couldn’t deny she wanted to know what lay beneath it. To get a heads-up on what he had in store for her. So she could thwart it, she thought waspishly. Then immediately decided that would only be denying herself. No, she wanted to see what was on that tray…so she could figure out how to best use it to her own advantage. To their own advantage. When it was over, he wouldn’t be complaining. Of that she would make very sure.

  He glanced up just then, caught her staring. With nothing more than a look, he made it clear he understood exactly the direction her thoughts had taken once again.

  With what she hoped was an insouciant mien, not a care in the world, she reached forward until she was on her hands and knees, facing away from him, then slowly moved down until her elbows rested on the silk, before swiftly rolling to her back, knees together and slanted to one side. She held his gaze with a half smile of her own. No way had that little show left him unaffected. Hell, it hadn’t left her unaffected.

  And yet, blast the man, he let nothing show. Except for that damnable ghost of a smile. As if she’d once again been predictable. She silently snarled, wanting to pound her fists into the silk. He was being insufferable. Much as you are with him when you call the shots, her little voice supplied.

  She had to force herself not to slump in defeat. It was just all so damn confusing. She wanted to give him what he wanted. She knew he wasn’t asking for more of her than she had of him countless times. Only she also understood this was about so much more than who was on top.

  He came to stand over her, still fully dressed, the worn toes of his black leather riding boots mere inches away from her hip. “You make everything so difficult on yourself.” He said it softly, sincerely, without any smugness or pity. “Not everything has to be a contest, something to win. Not every interaction has to end in conquest or defeat.”

  “Did I say—”

  He flicked the ever-present riding crop up and she fell instantly silent, even though it came nowhere near her. She wasn’t sure which made her angrier, that he already had her conditioned to it…or that the reaction he’d conditioned her to feel was a hot, pulsing pleasure.

  “Lie back,” he said softly.

  She held his gaze, wanti
ng like hell not to be predictable this time. Wishing like hell that meant anything other than doing as he asked without comment or complaint. Slowly, she let her elbows slide across the silk, until the softness caressed the entire length of her spine. He continued to stare at her for long, silent moments. She wanted to close her eyes, relax and simply feel, let her mind drift to what was to come, to where she could let this be all about sex.

  And not about him wanting her emotionally vulnerable to him.

  But his direct gaze wouldn’t allow her even that simple retreat. Those dark eyes of his all but challenged her to continue the direct, intimate contact between them. Even as his focus finally shifted, drifting down over her body, she kept her eyes on him. His riding breeches did fit him like a second skin. Most often he wore jeans around the barn. On only one other occasion had she seen him dressed in English riding gear. He’d been astride a huge buckskin mare, taking jumps in a ring out behind the main barn. She’d been transfixed, watching him control such power, with little more than the pressure of his thighs. And she knew exactly how powerful those thighs were.

  She skimmed her gaze along the tight curve of his hamstrings, over the snug cup of his buttocks. She wished he would turn, even a fraction of an inch, toward her. Then she’d have a clear indication of just how much she was affecting him. And given Marshall’s very generous proportions, the clinging fit of the pants would hide nothing. She rubbed her thighs together. Just the image of what he’d look like if she were to peel those pants down his thighs, how thick and hard—

  She bit back a small moan when he shifted and gave her the view she wanted. Dear God, she silently breathed. He was definitely not unaffected by this little game. She grew wetter yet, and was unable to pull her gaze away.

  He turned and lowered himself to his knees in front of the tray.

  “Close your eyes,” he asked quietly.

  Damn him for knowing how hard it was for her to give up every tiny shred of control. Moments ago she’d wanted to drift away. Now, she could barely stand the idea of losing even the small edge that open eyes gave her.

  He glanced over his shoulder, the low glow of the embers casting his face in contrasts of red-gold and shadow. His cheekbones and jaw stood out in sharp relief…his lips looked both chiseled and somehow softer in the golden light. “Trust me. Let me take you.”

  “You’ve taken me before.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve given yourself to me. Parts of yourself. An entirely different thing. And I’ve let you, reveled in it even. But it’s no longer enough for me, Samantha. I want all of you.” He turned, rose to his knees over her, his hand and whatever was in it hidden from view. “Let me have you now. However I want.”

  She trembled. “You want more from me than I can give.”

  “I don’t think so. You still have the power here, Samantha. The power to deny me…or to give me what I desire.”

  “You desire more than I want to give.”

  “Want to give? Really? Or can give? Because I think you do want. You just don’t know how to go about doing it.”

  “So sure of yourself,” she said, striving to sound unaffected. Knowing she was far from it. Also knowing he was right. Again.

  “Not true,” he said, his tone not changing. “In fact, I’ve never been so unsure of myself.” He flicked his wrist and the soft edge of a peacock feather flicked down along her thighs, the silky fronded ends brushed between her legs.

  She sucked in a breath, her back arching convulsively, as a spasm of pleasure speared into her. Her breath came in little pants. “You could have fooled me.”

  His lips twitched then, but he sobered quickly. “I know you want more, because you always want more. In everything you do. And I’m betting everything that you’re only still here right now because you want more with me, too. But this is one arena where you’ve never been persuaded to give what it takes to get what you so badly need.”

  “What I need?” Dammit, why did she keep pushing him? “So you say.”

  He flicked the frond between her legs again. She moaned instantly.

  “So I know.”

  She struggled to get her quivering legs under control. “Sexual need isn’t what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, but it’s what you understand. So we’ll start there.”

  “And from this, you can persuade me to need more, to want more, of you?”

  He flicked the feather again. Then again. “That is what I plan to find out.”

  Back. Forth. Stroke after feather-light stroke. She didn’t even try to avoid them. A series of soft groans were ripped from her, the pleasure almost painful the way it made her clench so tightly with need.

  Her body thrummed, ached for release. It took considerable will to focus on talking, when what she wanted to do was grab him and demand he finish what he’d so thoroughly started. “You think this proves you own some part of me?” she said, her voice rough and shaky. “That you control me?”

  “I want us both to own something of the other. And yes, a part of me needs to know I can take control of this power we have between us, if I wish to. You know already that you have that power over me.”

  “You’re not talking about sex.”

  “No.”

  That one quietly spoken word stunned her into silence. He was all but telling her she had laid claim to more than his body. His heart? And that he wanted as much in return from her.

  She began to tremble, this time in fear. Fear, because he was right. If she didn’t want him, all of him, she’d have hiked down the mountain naked to get away from here. She did want more from him than this. It was something she’d been fighting against for some time now.

  She grew more terrified still as she was forced to accept that he was also right in knowing she might not be capable of breaching her own defenses to let him inside that part of her that no one had ever touched.

  But he was willing to try. Willing to risk what they did have to find out if there could be more. She’d never thought herself a coward, but she realized he was the brave one here, not her.

  She had to decide if she trusted him enough to follow his lead. Let him control her body…in hopes that she would be too defenseless then to keep him from sneaking into her heart.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARSH SAW THE PLAY of emotions flicker across her face. The one he most easily recognized was fear. Because he felt it so keenly himself.

  He leaned down then, needing her to know she wasn’t alone in this. He brushed his lips next to her ear. “The need I have to give myself completely over to you scares the living hell out of me, too.”

  She jerked her gaze to him, obviously stunned by his quietly offered confession. “Marsh.” She reached for him then, but he moved away, shook his head once.

  It cost him dearly, but he had to keep things on track. “Keep your hands by your head,” he said, his voice strained.

  She scowled in frustration. “Why not tie me up then? Just do what you will?”

  “Because that’s the easy way out. For both of us. We both know I can pleasure you. I don’t want you to have no say. I don’t want to rob you of anything, or take anything from you. I want you to willingly hand me control. Like I do with you.” He leaned over her again, brushed his lips along her jaw, pausing beside her ear. “I want you to all but demand me to take it. To take you. Because you want me to. Because you need me to.”

  She held his gaze, turbulent emotions clearly ablaze in her bright blue eyes. But she said nothing. Gave nothing.

  His entire body vibrated with need as he shifted away from her, turning back to his tray. “Close your eyes,” he instructed again, his tone less congenial. Patience, man, patience, he schooled himself. He routinely took weeks, months, to bring a new charge around to his way of thinking. This shouldn’t be so difficult for him. But it was. Because the stakes were higher than they’d ever been in his life.

  “Marsh,” she said from behind him, her voice taut, yet gentle, “I know you give
yourself to me. I want you to know…I don’t take that for granted.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. Nor did the tension lessen one iota; in fact, it all but crackled in the air between them. “I give part of myself to you,” Marsh said after a long moment. “Every time we’re together. I would give you more, if you’d ask. If I didn’t think it would threaten you.”

  “Is it so bad?” she asked quietly. “What we have now?”

  He turned then, sat back in the pile of silk, arms resting on bended knees. He twirled a small paintbrush in his hands. Her gaze flicked between his face…and that twirling little brush.

  “It’s more than I hoped for,” he said, rolling the brush to his fingertips, then back. “Much, much more. And maybe for that reason alone, it’s not enough.”

  She did look at him then, and spoke honestly. “What if I can’t give more? You aren’t willing to accept what I can give?”

  He held her gaze for a long time, then slowly shook his head.

  Shocked, he watched tears spring to her eyes. He steeled himself against reaching for her, pulling her to him and telling her he’d take whatever she had to give and just forget this stupid idea he’d had to push her for more. He didn’t want to make her cry. He wanted to give her pleasure, to make her want more. To make her want him. All of him.

  But if he capitulated now, it would end between them. He’d forever altered their relationship by putting his heart on the line.

  She blinked several times to keep her tears at bay. “Why not?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

  “I’ve let you call the shots, because that’s what keeps you in my life. I haven’t shared more of myself than I know you can accept. Too much and you’ll bolt. I thought I could live with that. But I can’t. In fact, I don’t want to hold anything back from you any longer,” he told her, moving the brush up…then down his long fingers, then up again. “And I don’t think I can accept the fact that you would hold anything back from me.”