But Catherine wasn’t there.
She’d certainly been there. The maître d’ had been given exhaustive instructions—and he showed Max a checklist to prove it. Place cards were precisely placed. Flowers, music, lighting had been adjusted to her specifications. The wines had been tasted. Everything was perfect.
But no Catherine.
She didn’t show. Not once.
And Max was going to wring her damned neck!
* * *
He’d have to find her first, he realised, when his frantic knocking on her cabin door elicited no response.
He headed back to his cabin. If he was going to lose his marbles he’d do it in privacy, with a copy of Passion Flower in one hand and his phone in the other, with Catherine’s number on constant redial.
He was so focused on his plan, the muted glow of lights didn’t register straight away as he entered his cabin and reached for the light switch.
And then...
‘Don’t.’
TWELVE
Cathy.
He turned into the room. Saw candles set around the room. Soft. Romantic.
One chair in the middle of the space.
He swallowed. Hard.
Music started. Sultry, oozing.
And then she was there. Framed by the doors that opened onto the deck. Dressed in white. Gauzy swathes of white.
Her face was covered, and yet not covered, by a sheer veil. He could make out her hair, dark and heavy and loose. His fingers twitched with the need to touch it.
‘You read it?’ she asked, just audible above the sensual flow of the music.
He nodded, mute.
She smiled. ‘Then you know what to do. Sit.’ One hand, imperious, emerged from the white.
Max sat like the slave he was. Her slave. He’d do anything for her.
She posed in the doorway. A heartbeat. Two. Then she came swaying sinuously towards him, in time with the beat.
Max’s heart was hammering. She was a step away, just one, when she removed the veil covering her face and dropped it onto his lap.
She’d darkened her eyelids. Smudgy. Mysterious. Beautiful. She leaned in close and he couldn’t stop himself—he reached to touch that swinging hair.
With a low, throaty laugh, Catherine stepped out of reach. ‘Can’t be trusted, can you?’
She snatched the white veil off his lap.
‘Don’t put it back on, Cathy. I want to see your face,’ Max said.
‘Oh, I’m not putting it back on. All these veils are coming off. Every last one of them.’ She leaned close again and the waft of her perfume made him moan. ‘But if I can’t trust you not to touch...’
She moved behind him, caught his hands, looped them together with the white silk. And then she swirled in front of him again. Removed one more swathe of white, dropped it on the floor at his feet.
Five veils to go.
She went swirling away, sinuous as a snake.
Max could make out the shape of her body beneath the veils. See the shape and jut of her nipples. The hazy dark triangle at the juncture of her thighs. If just that vague darkness had him groaning with need how was he going to last? He wasn’t. Not going to last. Not. He’d be coming like a schoolboy before she got the last veil off.
And then she was back, beside his chair, so close. She undid his shirt buttons, spread the shirt open. She slid her palms over his pectoral muscles. A little hesitant, tentative, at first—then growing bolder as he sat tied, panting. Her fingers swept across his nipples, stilled. Then she smiled, hands moving down his ribs. She leaned in close, licked one nipple, sucked it into her mouth.
Max jumped—and the chair jumped with him. ‘Untie me.’
One more lick, and then she stood. Said, ‘No.’ Dropped a veil at his feet.
Four to go.
And away she went, dancing towards the deck.
She stopped there, turned. Started sliding her way back to him. He couldn’t even blink. Didn’t want to miss a split-second. Because he knew what she was going to do next...
Then she was there, turning her back to him, backing up to him. Swaying, swaying, swaying those hips as she did it. Lowering, lowering, hovering just above his lap. He could feel the heat of her, smell the muskiness of her arousal. She went just low enough to wriggle an amateur lap dance—sexier than anything he’d experienced in his misspent young adulthood in gentlemen’s clubs. He could just make out the flesh beneath the white, from below her gorgeous hair down to her backside. Could see the shape of the vivid tattoo he was so wild to know. The scent, the warmth, the sight of her, caused his hips to rise of their own volition, trying to connect with her.
‘No,’ she said, and danced away.
‘Untie me, Cathy.’
‘No.’
One more veil dropped.
Three to go.
And now he could clearly make out her nipples. She couldn’t have missed the pinging direction of his gaze.
Next moment she was taking her breasts in her hands, pinching the nipples through the veil. ‘Do you want me?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Dying.’
She smiled and came back to him. Reached for the buttons of his pants. One, two, three, four. Spread the fly, ran her hands over the length of him.
The chair jumped again, with him on it.
‘I’m going to take you in my mouth soon,’ she said. ‘But first...’ She reached inside his underwear and a groan of almost anguished pleasure was ripped out of his throat.
‘Untie me,’ he demanded. ‘I have to touch you, Cathy.’
Instead, hands still fondling him, Catherine leaned in and kissed him. Hard and soft. Slanting, eager. Kissing, then retreating. Licking. Retreating. Whenever her mouth connected with his Max ground his lips onto hers, tongue thrusting, lashing. Hot, eager, desperate.
Then—gone. She was gone again. And Max sat rigid, so ready for her he thought he might actually cry.
One more veil was tossed to the floor.
Two left.
And now he could see her clearly through the fabric. Every lush curve. Every shadow. The dash of dark hair he was dying for. Nipples pink and perfect.
Oooohhh, God help him. She was coming back.
Before he could mentally prepare she was in front of him, kneeling at his feet, tugging his pants and underwear down to his ankles. But it wasn’t much of a relief to have his erection springing out when he couldn’t do anything with it.
All he could do was watch as she leaned forward, took him in her mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head and his teeth clenched as his hips bucked once, twice, three times.
‘Cathy,’ he said, ‘I swear I am going to come.’
She glanced up at him. Wicked. Teasing. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I want to be inside you when I do.’
She laughed—that throaty, taunting sound—got to her feet and danced away.
‘Two left, Max.’
‘Rip them off. Now, for God’s sake.’
With one whooshing move the second to last veil was gone—and her breasts were bare. He stared. Big, round, high, creamy. The generous areolae seemed swollen. Her nipples were pink and tight, and he wanted them in his mouth more than he wanted to breathe. Was his tongue lolling? Very likely. But he didn’t have the sanity required to shove it back inside his mouth.
She came back to him. Yanked his shirt off his shoulders as far as she could with the impediment of the chair and his bound wrists. He could only sit there, salivating.
And then she was rubbing her breasts over his chest. He could feel the satin of her skin, the sharp peaks. He was going out of his mind.
‘Aren’t you going to watch?’ she asked.
‘If I open my
eyelids my eyeballs are going to explode. That’s what the pressure is like inside my head.’
Another warm slide of her breasts and then—nothing. He felt, heard her step back. He was damned sure it still wasn’t safe to open his eyes.
‘Don’t you want to see the last veil drop?’ she teased.
And his eyelids, disobeying him as though they were governed by some other being than their owner, popped open. It seemed the answer was yes.
The veil dropped.
And Max leapt in the chair like a deranged person.
She was so damned hot. The pale skin, the dark, lush hair. The tattoo—so bold, fiery, beautiful, sexy. So...her.
‘Do you want me?’
‘Yes,’ he rasped.
‘If you stop this time I’m going to kill you,’ she said.
‘If I stop I’ll kill myself. Untie me, Cathy.’
‘Not yet. I think I need to take one experience first.’
Max groaned, but was hardly in a position to argue.
The music had stopped. He wouldn’t have heard it, anyway—his heart was banging like a timpani drum.
Then, very, very slowly, she glided over to him, adjusting her body with each step—front, side, back, side, front, arms up, down, out—letting him see every part of her body.
Finally, she was in front of him. She smiled, turned her back again, and her bottom was there—just there. If only his goddamned hands were free! She spread her legs, bent forward. And he could see the last hidden part of her: the hot, moist core. He whimpered like a baby—just couldn’t help himself—and then with one sliding step backwards, one dip of her body, she snuggled onto his lap.
He let go with one moaning, keening cry of utter, delicious relief as her hands found him, as she moved to take him inside her. He thrust hard, blindly, and when she gasped and threw back her head he almost ripped his hands off, straining against the white silk that bound him.
And then incredibly, unbelievably, she was up again, and he was panting so hard he thought he might actually faint.
‘Cut me loose,’ Max ground out. ‘No. Wait. While I still have a shred of sanity go into the bathroom. Get a condom. Get ready to put it on me, Cathy—you’ll have approximately five seconds before I fall on you like a madman.’
With a seductive little laugh she left him, steaming.
* * *
Catherine ran like a bullet to the bathroom, found the condoms, grabbed a handful, raced back to him.
Never mind Max falling on her like a madman—she wanted to fall on him. She was feral with need. Wanted to jam herself on him, sink her nails and teeth into him.
He had let her tie him up. He had let her be the one to control everything. He had given it all back to her—everything she’d lost. And now she wanted to take and take and take from him, until he couldn’t think past the sight, the touch, the smell, the taste of her. This was what possession felt like. Like madness. She wanted to own him.
She moved behind him, dropped the condoms so she could work at the knots—but he’d struggled so hard against his bonds the knots were too tight.
‘I need scissors,’ she almost wailed.
‘Bathroom,’ he said, and she was off again, flying over the floor.
And then she was back, all but hacking the knots apart, and Max was free.
She grabbed the condoms from the floor and hurried around to the front of the chair, expecting him to surge up and grab her. For one moment it looked as though that was exactly what he would do—shirt half-on, pants around his ankles. He looked desperate enough to tackle her to the floor.
But as Catherine watched he closed his eyes and drew a deep, deep breath. Another. One more.
When he opened his eyes he looked grim and determined. He bent to remove his shoes. Then he kicked off his pants. His shirt came next.
‘Works better if we’re both naked,’ he said as he stood.
And Catherine, drooling at the sight of his unfolding frame, had to agree.
He was magnificent. Long limbs. Lean muscle. Huge, straining erection. Holding himself so still and tense, as though scared to take a step.
And then he took that step. Just one. Stopped. His hands had fisted by his sides. The veins in his neck were standing out.
‘So, Cathy,’ he said, and his voice was unbelievably husky, ‘can I touch you now?’
Catherine stared at him.
She could hear his breathing—harsh and laboured. See the fine trembling that was consuming him. Almost feel his heart pounding. He wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. And yet...he’d stopped.
He swallowed, waiting for her answer. Closed his eyes, gave his head a tiny shake. As if he was harnessing everything inside him, getting it under control.
‘Can I touch you now?’
Five little words.
And she was tumbling, drowning, surging. In love.
Tears sprang to Catherine’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, and closed the space between them, winding her arms around his waist, holding on tightly despite the condoms clutched in one fist, her face against his chest. ‘Yes, you can touch.’ She slanted a look up at him, smiling tearily. ‘And I can touch you, Max.’
As he looked down into her face, into her eyes, she could see he understood. As he always did. He took her face between his shaking hands and lowered his head to put his mouth on hers. Her heart was swelling, opening, breaking as his lips nudged hers, urging her to open her mouth over his, waiting for her to push his lips apart, to sweep her tongue inside. She explored his mouth with her tongue, pushing, thrusting, licking into him, exulting in her possession of this strong and wonderful man who was making it clear he was hers to do with as she wanted.
And she was going to take him, by God!
She grabbed his buttocks, yanking him in, squirming against him to try and get closer, closer. And then his hands were simply everywhere. Her back, her hips, her bottom, her hair. As though he wanted to touch every part of her all at once.
And then, when her legs opened as though she needed him between them then, right then, he pulled back.
‘Bed,’ he said. ‘Now.’
The next moment he was dragging her into the bedroom. He fell with her onto the bed, clutching her to his chest. Kissed her this time. Long and savage. Broke free, breathing hard.
‘Condom,’ he said. ‘Give it to me. I’ll be faster.’
‘I want to do it,’ Catherine said.
Max rolled onto his back, covering his face with his hands. ‘Hurry, Cathy. At this rate I am going to last about twenty seconds.’
She ripped open the package, purred as she rolled the condom onto him. ‘Twenty seconds is okay—for the first time.’
‘We’re down to ten seconds,’ he said, and without further ado he flipped their positions and pushed inside her.
One, two, three, four strokes and he was coming, coming, coming—straining and ferocious.
He collapsed on top of her, his face buried against her neck, breathing hard still. ‘Sorry, but you did say ten seconds would be okay for the first time,’ he said, and then he started laughing.
‘I agreed to twenty,’ Catherine said—and then she started laughing too. ‘Impatient,’ she gasped out, ‘as usual. And n-now you owe me ten seconds.’
Laughing. She laughed, laughed, laughed. So hard she snorted and her eyes streamed.
Max eased onto his elbows, looked down into her face. And the last piece of the puzzle clicked in his head. This last piece. Catherine-the-Great. With her glowing eyes and her passion-swollen mouth. Vibrant and furious and kind and fiery and smart and funny and brave and...everything. Laughing. She was laughing. At last. Completely undone before him.
And she was his.
He was in love with her.
‘I can
do better than ten seconds,’ he said around the sudden lump in his throat, and started moving purposefully down her body, leading with his mouth.
He reached her breasts, hovered there, looked up at her.
‘One good thing about getting the edge taken off so fast is that now I get to play for a long, long time.’
And with that he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked.
Catherine groaned. ‘Oh, God, Max.’
‘Oh, God, is right,’ he said, but this time he didn’t look up, barely moved his mouth from her.
Max closed a hand gently around each breast, pressing them together so his tongue could move uninterrupted from one to the other and back, again and again, until Catherine was as weak and trembling as he’d been with his pathetic four-stroke effort. She was grabbing handfuls of his hair so hard it would have hurt if he hadn’t been mindless with the erotic knowledge that her pebbled nipples were in his mouth.
She moved restlessly, whimpering, and he looked up at her, saw her licking her bottom lip. He wanted to lick that lip, too. He moved up her body, put his mouth on hers, slid his tongue inside her mouth—in, out, in, out, in, out. The same rhythm as her hips, which were thrusting against him.
‘I’m ready for round two, Cathy,’ he whispered to her, and she squirmed beneath him, opening her legs in wanton invitation.
‘Me, too,’ she said, all breathy and gorgeous.
Another long, drugging kiss. And then he said, ‘But it’s your turn,’ and quickly rolled so that she was on top. ‘Your turn to take me.’
She started to raise herself over him but he stopped her halfway, leaning up for another licking kiss of her mouth, one last sucking kiss for each nipple.
She wrenched a condom from where she’d scattered them on the bed. As she tried to slide it onto him he squeezed her breasts, pinched her nipples, concentrating his intense focus there, wringing gasps and moans from her.
And then he looked down as she prepared to sheath him inside her and his hips jerked with need. But still he said, ‘Wait—I want to touch you there first.’
Both his hands moved down, fingers easing into the slippery wetness.
Turning the Good Girl Bad Page 16
