What He Wants

by Tawny Taylor

  Wow. Just…wow.

  Dammit. Why? You’re such a sexy, intelligent, fascinating man. Why do you need this?

  “Can I get you something to drink before I take you home?” as he stepped to the side to let me pass.

  The shock, maybe the gaping, had given me a bad case of cotton mouth. “That would be nice, thanks.” I followed him to the open living-slash-kitchen space. He went to the refrigerator, no doubt top of the line. My gaze wandered around, taking in the expensive furnishings, gorgeous chandelier hanging over the dining table, artwork. By the time it had made its way back to Shane, he was looking at me expectantly. He’d asked me a question.

  “What was that?” I asked, my face warming. “I’m sorry.”

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  Something with a lot of alcohol. “I’ll take water. Thanks.”

  “I have some of this flavored water. How’s that?” He pulled a white and pink bottle from the refrigerator. I recognized the label immediately.

  “Perfect. My favorite.”

  “Mine too.” He filled a tall glass with ice then poured some of the faint pink-colored water to the top.

  I scurried over, accepted the glass with a smile and a thanks, and guzzled half of it in one long gulp.

  “Thirsty?” he asked, his voice bouncing with laughter.

  “A little.” I drained my glass, and he reached for it.

  “More?”

  “No thanks.” I suppressed a belch. Mistake, chugging that water. But I was nervous and uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop myself.

  At least it had been water. If it had been something stronger, I might have found myself chained to something in that torture chamber.

  A little quiver shot through me.

  He polished off his water and set the glass on the counter. “I guess we’ll head out now.”

  “Okay.” Somewhat relieved, somewhat not, I followed him to the door leading out to the elevator. He stepped aside, letting me exit first. As I was brushing close, I turned to face him. I couldn’t stop myself. My heart jerked in my chest, and before I could stop it, the word, “Why?” slipped out of my mouth.

  “Why, what? Why, that?” He jerked his head toward the dungeon.

  “Yes, why?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. It’s an expression of who I am, essentially.”

  “You’re…what? Sadistic?”

  “No. I don’t get any pleasure from causing others pain. I have a need to control, to dominate. It’s difficult for some people to understand the difference.”

  I thought about my mother, how she controlled me, my life, my every move. She was a wonderful woman, just like Shane had said. But she was also extremely controlling. “Actually, I can see it. I was raised by a woman who probably had the same drive.”

  “She did.”

  A chill swept up my spine.

  I didn’t want to ask how he knew that, or what he might be implying by that statement. I knew for a fact that there’d been no torture dungeon in our house. But I suppose she could have gone somewhere else to exercise those demons, out of my sight.

  Another shiver swept through my body.

  Standing close enough to touch, close enough to smell, he said, “I’m sorry if I said something you weren’t ready to hear.”

  “It’s okay.” I forced a smile, hoping it would ease his guilt. For some reason I looked deeply into his eyes. I don’t know what I saw there, shadows, sadness, loneliness, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Something dark. “I still think you’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”

  “And I think you’re one of the most amazing women.” He set his hand on my shoulder, and another buzz of electricity zapped through my body. “That will never change.”

  I felt myself leaning toward him, as if some kind of force was drawing me in. And the electricity was getting stronger with every inch I moved closer. I wanted him to kiss me. Despite the torture chamber. Despite the voice in my head, screaming, he’s not for you! Get out of here now!

  “Bristol.”

  “What?” I was so close now. Near enough to feel the heat radiating off his big, lean body. His mouth was still too far away, though. Much too far. No, too close. Much too close.

  I leaned in, drawn to him by that invisible current. Pulling me.

  Something like a low growl rumbled from him. “If you don’t leave now, you’re going to learn firsthand what happens in that room.”

  I heard him. But part of me didn’t care. The other part, the one that did, wasn’t being very vocal at the moment. “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. The minute the words came out, I regretted them. The way my heart was racing, that had to be a lie. I was afraid. Afraid of that room and what he might do to me in it.

  But also afraid that he might shove me out the door and say goodbye and not speak to me for another ten years.

  Stay? Go? What did I want?

  He cupped my cheek, ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Sure, maybe you aren’t afraid. But can you trust me?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  His head tipped, moved down, closing the distance between our mouths. “That’s not good enough. But dammit, I want you.”

  At the sound of torment in his voice, I threw my arms around his neck and crushed my body against his.

  He growled, hooked an arm around my waist and whirled around so I was flat against the wall and his body was holding me there.

  Oh. My. God.

  His mouth descended upon mine, his tongue shoved its way in, and within seconds, I was writhing against him while he kissed me into a coma.

  I felt him scoop me up into his arms. He was carrying me, walking, while our tongues mated and battled. I was losing the war, ready to surrender to him, to the fierce heat boiling in my veins, to the blinding need he’d sparked in my body. He broke the kiss, stared down at me with eyes full of male hunger. “I’m sorry, Bristol. I can’t let you go now. I can’t.”

  We kissed again, and again, as he carried me into the dungeon. At some point he set me on my feet, but I was too shaky to stand, and I wasn’t about to let him stop kissing me. I hung onto his neck, arms wrapped tightly, and lost myself in his aggressive, demanding, plundering kiss.

  I’d been kissed plenty of times, but never like that.

  Never like the man couldn’t get enough.

  Never like he was staking a claim.

  Never like he was conquering me.

  When the kiss ended—not my choice—I clung to him and fought to catch my breath.

  “Wow,” I murmured. My gaze started at his mouth but quickly moved to the closest piece of torture furniture. I felt myself backing up.

  “You’ve never been in a dungeon, correct?” he asked, hands sliding down my sides.

  “Never.”

  He blocked my exit with his hulking body, held me at the hips. “If I do something you don’t like, say, Red.”

  “Red?” I echoed, trying to wiggle my way free. I wasn’t ready for this. That kiss. It was the kiss’s fault I was in here. I didn’t belong here, no.

  He cut me off completely, cornering me against another wall, his body a giant obstacle I couldn’t push past. He caged my head between his hands, arms stretched out. His eyes were dark, hard. “You may beg me to stop, but I won’t. You may plead with me and cry, but I won’t stop. But if you say red, I will cease immediately.”

  “Red,” I muttered.

  His fingertip trailed down the side of my face, down my jaw, my throat to the center of my breastbone. I sucked in a deep breath and fought to regain my composure. But he was so big and so sexy and so intimidating, I couldn’t speak. “I promise I won’t be too hard on you this first time.” He closed his hands around my waist, forcing me deeper into the room.

  Ohmygod, what was happening? “On second thought—”

  He kissed me again. His tongue shoved its way into my mouth. It was a hard kiss, a feral one. I was swept up in pulsing waves of sensual heat, barely realizing I was being half-ca
rried, half-shoved as we traveled through his torture dungeon. My head was going blank. I tried to repeat the word red in my head. Would I remember it? What if things got too intense?

  Red, red, red.

  When the kiss had finally ended, I found myself standing next to the table in the center of the room. He reached under it, pulling out a step stool. The table wasn’t very tall, maybe typical counter height. He patted the table top. “Let’s get you up here.”

  Red, red, red.

  Why couldn’t I speak? Why couldn’t I move?

  He picked me up and plopped me down. My legs dangled over the edge.

  Red, red, red.

  He eased my knees apart and stepped closer, and I realized, when his hips wedged between my thighs that the table was the perfect height for him to have sex standing up. A flood of warmth pulsed to my core. He caught my wrists, pinning them behind my back and gathering them into one hand. Now there was a hard lump grinding against my crotch and I couldn’t use my hands.

  Mmmmm. I liked it.

  I didn’t want to like it.

  I didn’t want to be in this scary place.

  I licked my lips, and his gaze locked on my mouth. “What do you want?” I whispered.

  The corners of his lips curled. “You’ll soon find out.” With his free hand, he cupped my breast. The air whooshed out of my lungs, and my spine arched. That only pushed my boob into his hand harder. His lips parted slightly, and I stared at them, wishing I could taste them again.

  “Kiss me,” I whispered.

  “In this room, I’m the one who gives the commands.” He squeezed, and my head spun. “We need these clothes off.” He released my hands. “Undress.”

  With clumsy fingers, I started to undo the buttons of my blouse. But I stopped after only two. What was I doing?

  His brows furrowed.

  I said, with my heart beating so hard it physically hurt,“I…think I should go home.”

  He fisted my wrists, pulled them out away from my body. “You don’t want to leave. You know how I know that?”

  I was dizzy. I was scared. And, ohmygod, my body was on fire. I shook my head.

  “I can smell your need.” He dipped down a little, inhaling deeply. “And does it smell good. You’re wet.”

  My inner muscles clenched, and I felt the slickness of my damp panties. He was right. But that didn’t mean I was ready for this. “I…I…” Holding both my wrists in one hand, he eased back slightly, which allowed him to wedge a hand between our bodies. His fingertip grazed the sodden crotch of my panties, and my face heated.

  “Wet.” He curled that finger, working it inside at the leg band. My sex heated even more. When that first touch came, I whimpered. He eased his hand out, lifted it to his mouth and slipped his index finger between his lips. “Sweet. Delicious. I must have more.” Still holding my wrists behind my back, he unfastened my blouse buttons, and I watched his expression as more and more of my skin was exposed. The hard male hunger in his eyes grew and grew. By the time the garment had slid over my shoulders, I was squirming and my whole body was burning.

  Hot and cold.

  Tight. Very tight all over.

  And breathless.

  And scared.

  And aroused. Incredibly aroused.

  I was crazy. Had to be.

  I want to leave. I should leave. Right now. Say the word. Say it!

  Chapter 3Unaware of my inner conflict, Shane reached around my side and unzipped my skirt. With his bulk trapped between my legs, there was no way he’d get it off. Or my panties. That made me feel a little less panicked. He turned his attention to my breasts.

  “This has to go.” He hooked a finger under the little bow sewn between the cups of my bra. Then, he glided a flattened hand up my stomach, over my ribcage, and around my back. With a snap, my bra was unhooked. As the straps flopped down over my shoulders, the cups fell away, and my breasts bounced free. Embarrassed, I yanked on my hands. I wanted to catch the cups, hold them in place to cover myself. “Beautiful.” That free hand was on the move again. This time, it weighed each breast. Then it kneaded the soft flesh. I watched, torn, confused, overwhelmed. My body craved this man’s touch like none before. This was so new to me, this almost unbearable need. I was hot, shivering, tight all over. My panties were sodden. My head was spinning. My mouth was dry. “Good. Now let’s get rid of the rest.” Without releasing my wrists, he moved back enough to let me press my legs together. As he tugged my skirt over my hips, a thought would shot through my mind.

  I need to leave. Right now.

  As he pulled my panties down, I thought, This is wrong. Dangerous.

  And as I was finally left sitting on that table completely nude, I thought, If you don’t stop this now, you’re going to get hurt.

  But then he touched my face, looked at me with those dark, hungry eyes, and my heart started pounding harder, and my insides burned more, and I couldn’t think about anything but having him inside me, filling me, stroking away the ache between my legs.

  Before I realized it, he had me lying on my back, legs spread, wrists bound in leather cuffs and chained to the table so my hands were useless, tied over my head.

  I was trapped, not completely powerless, but almost. I couldn’t catch my breath. I wanted to be set free. And yet I didn’t. It was all happening so fast.

  My insides clenched as he fingered my slick folds, both in anticipation and fear. I’d seen internet porn, pictures of girls with smudged makeup, their mouths stuffed with gags, their bodies bound and clamped and paddled. Those images scared me, disturbed me. Did I really want to know if those things hurt as badly as the pictures led me to believe? I had a feeling if I didn’t put a stop to things now, I was going to find out soon.

  Red, red, red.

  That finger, the one teasing, tormenting me, delved deeper, finding my entry and piercing it roughly. I bucked, blood surging through my body.

  “You are so damn tight.” He added a second finger, and I cried out. My insides clenched around the invading digits, warmth gushing, easing his entry as they slid deeper, teasing the opening of my womb before gliding out. He pushed them in again, out, knuckles scraping against that place inside that made me quiver with need. I could feel the first tremors of an orgasm quake through my body, but I fought it, wanting this sweet torment to last much, much longer.

  He groaned as I clenched my inner muscles again. “I have to have you.”

  I heard the ziiip of his zipper, the slough of fabric. The crinkle of a condom wrapper. My fingers curled into fists. My legs shook as I waited. I’d had so few partners. And it had been such a long time since I’d enjoyed a climax that wasn’t produced from a battery operated device. I wanted this, God help me, I did. Wanted it more than I should.

  Within seconds, I felt him, pushing his way past my sodden tissues, entering me slowly, inch by glorious inch. I stretched to accommodate his girth. He was big, very thick. Almost too big for me. It burned, but it wasn’t entirely bad.

  He pushed my thighs wider apart, hands on the backs, pushing them out and up toward my shoulders so my spine was curled, hips lifted. The friction of his forward thrust nearly sent me over the brink. The added torture of his finger flicking lightly over my clit finished the job. A white hot blaze swept through my body, igniting every nerve, from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I convulsed around him so hard it almost hurt. I cried out his name as he surged forward and back, thrusting hard into me, driving toward his own release.

  My orgasm had barely faded when I felt his member swell as he climaxed. My body still vibrating from the effects of the first one, I tumbled into another orgasm. I jerked and writhed and screamed as he pounded mercilessly into me, driving every drop of come from his body.

  And then, he bent over me and laid his head on my chest. His semi-flaccid member remained buried deep inside me. Little twitches and tingles accompanied the warm afterglow of that mind-blowing experience. I’d never come like that.

  “You
are exquisite,” he said a few minutes later. He straightened, but only after giving me a sweet kiss on the chin. He grasped the base of his cock, holding the used condom in place and pulled out. My first instinct was to clamp my legs closed and look away.

  Yes, that had been the most intense sex of my life. But I was confused. I wanted to leave. Now.

  I needed to think.

  I just had kinky sex with Uncle Shane.

  “You’ll come back next weekend.” After he put his clothes all in order, he released me.

  “I’ll…I have to check my schedule.” I wasted no time reclaiming my clothing and getting myself zipped and buttoned back in. I had to get out of there. I was confused, hordes of emotions washing over me. Regret. Curiosity. Guilt. Anticipation.

  “Will you stay a little longer?” he asked, moving toward me as I scurried for the door. He caught my wrist, stopping me. “You’re in such a hurry all of a sudden. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I blinked at him, catching a worried look in his eyes. “I’m fine,” I repeated. “Really. It’s just a lot to absorb all at once.”

  He cupped my cheek with my free hand. “I understand. You call me when you’re ready.”

  “Will do.”

  He let me go.

  Out I went. I rode the elevator alone, climbed into his car and buckled myself in while he locked up and rode the elevator down to the parking lot. Safe in his car, I watched him as he ambled over to the vehicle. He was such a handsome man. And his body, that body was absolutely incredible. And to top it all off, he knew exactly how to touch me, to kiss me, to hold me. On so many levels, we seemed to click. With the exception of one.

  “What plans do you have for next weekend?” he asked as he steered the zoomy car out into traffic.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I see.”

  I made an attempt at small talk as he drove me home. I really did. But I failed. Thus, much of the drive was in silence. I let him kiss me goodbye in the car. Thankfully, it was just a small peck. Friendly but not overly intimate. Then I locked myself into my condo and had a good, long cry.

  *

  Three weeks later, that night with Shane still haunted me. He’d called me a few days later and left a message. He’d told me to return his call if I had an interest in seeing him again. I hadn’t called him back. Not because I didn’t want to see him again. I did. But because I didn’t want to want him so much.