The muscles in his arm played under his sleeve of tattoos as Reece tried to wriggle her ankle to freedom. “Let go!”
“Do you really want me to? I’m not hurting anything,” he said quietly. Reece looked up at Scarlet and she smiled back reassuringly.
“It’s only your ankle, beautiful. We aren’t Puritans. If you don’t like it tell him. I don’t mind his hand being there if you don’t.”
Reece gave a one-shouldered shrug and relaxed back onto Scarlet’s lap. She drew her fingertip from Reece’s chin, down her neck then wrapped it lightly around the base of her throat. The girl shuddered and squirmed almost imperceptibly. She loved this.
What if he went further? Scarlet envisioned him sliding Reece’s skirt up her thighs to run his finger along the lace border of the blue panties that Scarlet had bought her a few weeks ago. Reece loved being touched. If there were two of them touching her, instead of just one, it would blow Reece’s mind. The screaming orgasm she imagined they could give her had Scarlet ready for almost anything. Being horny made her way too open-minded some days.
She stroked along Reece’s throat as Malachi drew little circles along her anklebone and foot. Reece sighed contentedly and her body went limp. She looked relaxed, but Scarlet could tell otherwise. Her breathing was unsteady and the bump of her nipples stood out clearly on her shirt.
Scarlet slid her arm under Reece’s shoulders and pulled her up for a kiss. Reece grabbed onto her and their tongues met. Her hand went to the hem of Reece’s dress. The garment had crept partway up her thighs and Scarlet let her work-roughened fingers slide along just under the edge before snaking upwards. A moment later, Reece gasped and slapped her hand away.
“What?”
Reece’s face was flushed and her eyes motioned to Malachi.
“He’s seen you come before, baby. I don’t think he minds.”
“Not at all. Feel free to forget I’m here.”
Scarlet almost snorted. As if Reece could forget. As if she could, herself.
“Malachi, this isn’t what we talked about.” She squirmed in their grips and Scarlet watched in fascination as Malachi’s good-natured features sharpened. Something about this had just thrown his Dom switch. He looked sexy mean, not that she was into guys…much.
She didn’t talk about it often, but Scarlet had gone through two crushes on guys in her entire life. One was an A-list actor who was hotter than any man had a right to be. The other was a guy she’d hung out with for years in high school. They had friend-zoned each other early on, but she’d loved his brain so much that his gender had become inconsequential. Mal actually reminded her of him, except that Mal was both funnier and had more of an edge to him – like there was something dangerous lurking behind the dazzling smiles and sexy tattoos. It was a miracle he was single.
No, it was easier to pass for a lesbian, rather than explaining she was bi but wasn’t attracted to ninety-nine point nine percent of men. Her experience with guys showed her that if they thought they had even a small chance of bedding her, they’d mess up a perfectly good friendship. Except for her buddy Caleb, who’d never looked at her that way after the first week or so.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t throw Reece under the bus. She knew Reece liked him, and the idea of watching Reece and Malachi together was fucking hot.
Rough Surrender
From Lyrical Press
At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly. The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn’t have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor’s prayers.
Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all.
WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage.
One master, one woman who craves surrender, and a sky that will challenge them both
“That’s better. Relax, darling. You’re meant to enjoy this.” His hands moved, untangling and unrolling the last lengths of her hair, drifting lower, following the contours of her upper back to her waist and circling her there, pausing for a moment before leisurely curving across the mounds of her bottom.
What she was allowing this man to do stunned her.
“You have lovely hair, Faith, a beautiful body. I could touch you like this all night.” Leonhardt kissed her neck, tickling her with small nibbles. “I’m taking your dress off now. Your answer, my dear?”
An answer? He wanted speech when her throat had seized up? “Yes. Sir.”
The wall behind the chaise lounge was cream…the lounge was timber and blue and her legs shook. Already.
From the sound, he’d knelt then his hands encompassed her ankles and ran a little way up beneath the dress. Cool air caressed her body as he took the garment up. “Raise your arms, Faith.”
She did so. The dress pooled on the lounge where he tossed it. She’d never stood before a man in her underwear before—in corset, drawers and stockings—and this was a man who knew how to control her with mere words. The longing to know what he meant to do made her breath come harsh to her ears. Her lips parted.
“I like a woman who obeys my commands.” He rested his hands on her shoulders.
Before she could stop herself a small noise escaped her lips.
“Do you have a question?” His hands moved on her muscles, massaging and spreading a delicious warmth that pooled in her breasts and groin.
“Yes. Uh, sir.”
“Ask then.”
“I don’t obey.” She let her head slowly drop forward as he continued the massage, and his body moved in to mold against her back. A hard length pressed along the crevice of her bottom. “I don’t. Not normally. Just you. And here. Uh. That’s all, so nice.”
He laughed a little, softly, near her ear. “I could tell you liked it, sweetheart. Obeying me here and now is all I want.” He stepped away, keeping a single finger in the center of her back. “I’m going to take off the rest of your clothes, Faith and bind you.”
Oh my God.
“Now is when you should say, no, my dear. Then I’ll go.”
She licked her lips. Say, no? And miss what her body craved? He’d done what he had at the workshop—made her throb exquisitely in all her private places. She said nothing, wanting, needing, to see what else he could do.
“You want me to stay then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” This time she heard roughness in his voice. “Good.”
He drew off her shoes, her drawers, her hose and corset until she waited there naked with the air caressing her skin. The man in her room was still clothed…and she was naked. Her heart thudded, fast and anxious.
“Put your wrists together, behind your back.” His voice softened as he moved away. Something knocked, then came muted noises. Mr. Meisner returned and stopped there, just behind her, within reach, where she couldn’t see, waiting.
She sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and did as he ordered—put her arms at her back. He wrapped some sort of rope around her wrists, tightened the bindings until she could do no more than twist her hands one against the other.
“The curtain cords,” he murmured. “Being an engineer, I like to use chains and metal when I can, but this will do, for your first time. How does that feel, Faith?” He set his hands on her hips. His skin on her naked skin. She shuddered, feeling wetness seep between her legs. “Turn around and look at me. Now.”
Of a sudden, seeing him looking at her was scarier than staring at the wall and knowing he did things to her behind her back. She bowed her head, felt her hands again—roped t
ogether. The position made her breasts jut out and as she looked, her nipples puckered and poked out like fat buttons.
“Faith. Turn and face me.”
“Yes, sir.” She shuffled around and his hands stayed on her, sliding at her hips, just above there, where she ached. His big brown eyes were on her and she couldn’t help but look up into them and be caught, the sensation turning topsy-turvy, messing with every thought in her head. Mr. Meisner had her in his hands.
“There, love. I do believe you like this.” His eyes crinkled and his mouth moved in the most heartwarming smile she’d yet observed. “You don’t need to answer that. I can see. In this.” He put both hands on her breasts, cupping them then brushing each thumb once across her nipples.
“Oh.” She swayed and found her eyes half closing.
“And this.” Deliberately, while his gaze still locked with hers, he let one hand leave her breast, trail down her stomach, across the triangle of hair…
No. He wouldn’t. She tugged at the ropes around her wrists but nothing gave. Her helplessness fed into the heaviness curling tight and low in her stomach. The nub of flesh inches from his fingers peaked and hardened. She tensed then arched into his hold, and still he watched.
His hand slid between her legs and paused there. “You’ve no hair on your lips down here, Faith.” His eyebrows rose a smidgeon.
He wanted her to speak? Just being there, still, his finger confused her, kept her thoughts centered on the minute details of what he did. “I…I remove it. A friend in Paris showed me. For cleanliness and all…um.” Her explanation trailed away, swallowed by the sensations bubbling up.
“Hmm, I like the result.” His gentle baritone hum…the spot his finger touched…her nakedness and the power this man had over her, and, oh, the way he watched, it all roiled deliciously around inside her.
She gulped then held her breath as…his finger followed the line of her slit, where wetness collected, and slow as a tongue licking the edge of an ice cream, nudged aside her lips, and dipped inside her. There. Oh. Yes. A coil of simmering energy seemed to squeeze down into the tightest ball, and quiver to be released. His thumb found her nub and pressed down firmly. Over and over and over.
Her heart stopped. The room shattered. Her breath came out in a choking squeak from her gaping mouth. Nothing existed except the storm of pleasure bursting upward from where he probed and pressed. Unable to stop herself, she jerked and moaned through each wave of the storm until her body was wrung dry of the very last shudder.
When the room centered and she raised her eyelids, Mr. Meisner held her in his arms, snuggled to his chest. He rubbed her back, just like he had on the boat. “There you go, sweetheart. Lord. Never seen any woman orgasm that easily. You do like this. Do you understand? You like being tied up.”
www.CariSilverwood.net
www.facebook.com/cari.silverwood
Make me Yours Evermore Page 27
