Ignited

by J. Kenner

  "I like that," Cole said, running a finger over my skin. "I like seeing you anticipating. Nervous. Excited."

  "I am," I said.

  "Too much for you?"

  "Not even close," I assured him, then almost melted in the long, slow burn of his smile.

  I thought he would say something else, but all he did was tell me to bend over his knee. I felt a little silly, but that soon faded under the sting of his palm against my bare ass. I cried out, then sucked in air through my teeth as a warm tingly sensation spread through me, helped along by the soothing circles he stroked with his hand.

  "I thought you would use a paddle or something."

  "And deny myself the pleasure of striking such beautiful flesh?" he asked, even as he landed another blow. Then another and then another. By the time he had given me eight solid smacks on the ass, I was so close I was certain that one more paddle would push me over the edge and send me tumbling into a chasm that I hadn't entered in over a decade.

  He stopped, though, leaving me turned on and bereft and confused.

  He chuckled, obviously reading my expression. "You like it," he said. It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded agreement anyway.

  "Here," he said, then drew me down to the floor and onto a soft, plush area rug. "I have to taste you."

  I expected him to have me lay down, then spread my legs. Instead, he was the one with his back on the floor. I straddled his face, spreading my legs so wide that the stretch almost hurt. Pain, he'd said, and he was right. But there was something about this position. About the pain in my inner thighs. About the angle with which his tongue flicked at my clit. About the way his left hand caressed my ass, soothing the still-stinging skin, and occasionally pressing me forward so that he could suck hard on my clit or fuck me deeply with his tongue.

  And there was the way he reached up, found my breast, and twisted my nipple in time with the way his tongue teased my sex.

  All in all he was a one-man symphony, giving pleasure with the licks and strokes. Giving pain with the twists to my nipples, the small spanks, and even the sharp nips of teeth against my overly sensitive clit.

  Like a symphony, the pain and the pleasure rose, dark and light, swirling and spinning. Building to a sensational climax.

  Unlike a symphony, I didn't know if we would ever reach those ultimate heights. After all, I never had before with a guy, and despite everything that had happened tonight--all the new sensations, and all these glorious new experiences--at the end of the day, an orgasm was still an orgasm, and I couldn't escape the memories and shame that were tied up with letting that sorry bastard take me there.

  But Cole wasn't him. And he never could be. Cole wasn't a sneak or a worm. Cole demanded what he wanted; he didn't steal it like a thief in the night.

  When Cole touched me, it didn't make me want to hide. Instead, it lifted me up.

  I thought of Cole. Of his mouth on my clit. Of his fingers on my nipple. Of the pleasure he was shooting through me.

  I thought of him and I flew a little bit higher and wondered if, really, this could be possible.

  And when I heard his voice--that demand-filled, no-nonsense voice--telling me to "come, come now, Catalina," I reached out with all my might, thrust my hand into the nearest star, and knew that it was a day for miracles.

  Because even as my mind tried to fathom this inconceivable truth--even as Cole cried out my name and urged me to go over now, now, now--my body shattered into a billion points of light that shimmered and burst and sparkled and shimmied. And then, finally, were still and satisfied.

  And, most of all, content.

  eleven

  Cole's arms were tight around me, my back pressed to his front, my ass nestled tight against him. I felt warm and safe and satisfied, but something wasn't quite right.

  It took me a moment to realize that I was hearing Cole's voice. Low and worried, telling me that it was okay, that I was fine.

  The concern in his voice confused me--until I realized that slow tears were rolling down my cheeks, and when I drew in a startled breath, I tasted salt water.

  "No," I whispered. He'd untied my hands, and now I shifted so that I could lift a hand and wipe away the tears. "No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine." I rolled over in his arms, saw the unease in his eyes, and wanted to cry for real. "They're not bad tears," I promised, then pressed my lips gently to his. "I feel wonderful. You're wonderful."

  His brow furrowed, as if he was debating whether or not to believe me, and the raw emotion I saw there was so sweet and genuine it made me smile. More than that, it made me laugh, then lean in and press a wet, salty kiss to his lips.

  "Thank you," I whispered.

  Now the concern just looked like confusion. "For what?"

  For caring. For being here. For everything.

  I didn't say any of that, though. Instead I just brushed another kiss over his lips, drew in a breath, and gathered the courage to tell him the one thing that I had never shared with another living soul.

  "I haven't--you know--with a guy in, well, never."

  That wasn't entirely accurate, but I wasn't ready to tell him the entire truth.

  "Slept with?"

  "Come," I said, as my cheeks burned. I focused on his shoulder. On the ink work on that stunning dragon wing. Because I damn sure couldn't meet his eyes. "You know. Climaxed. Had an orgasm." I lifted a shoulder as if this were no big deal and I wasn't utterly and completely mortified.

  But I still didn't look at him.

  "Tell me," he said, in a voice as gentle as a breeze.

  "I just did."

  "Tell me why not."

  I shrugged, then looked away so as not to let him see the lie on my face. "It's just the way I'm wired."

  He was silent for a moment, his huge hand gently stroking my hair. And despite the awkwardness, in that moment I felt cherished. And when he finally spoke, I felt desired. "Whatever men you've slept with have been missing out. You're beautiful when you come."

  "You're going to make me cry again." My smile was tremulous but completely genuine. "I think that may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

  He chuckled. "If that's the case, I'll have to do better. You deserve more romance than that."

  My chest tightened, and I grappled for words. I couldn't find them, though. No combination of sounds could adequately express what was in my heart. Because how could I tell him that he filled me up? That there was so much more to him than what I'd seen over the years.

  He was a mix of hard lines and angles, of soft colors and tenderness. He was like some of the art that hung in his gallery--a blend of so many elements that you're surprised you like it because it almost seems like too much. And yet it all makes up the whole, and if you took any part away, the entire image would fall apart.

  "You're staring," he said to me, his eyes narrow and mocking.

  I grinned, feeling foolishly giddy. "Maybe I like looking at you."

  "That makes two of us," he said. "Turn around."

  I did, and he pulled me close again, spooning against me as we lay on the thick, warm rug.

  He traced his finger over my bare hip, then along my waist. The sensation made me tremble, and I sighed as my body fired under his ministrations. Slowly, deliberately, he stroked the curve of my breast, then teased my nipples until both were tight and hard and begging to be touched.

  He didn't satisfy, though. Instead, he continued upward, finally tracing my bottom lip and then, ever so gently, urging my mouth open.

  I closed my eyes and drew him in, sucking hard, teasing his finger with my tongue even as the desire spilled through me, as if his finger were on the pulse of all my erogenous zones.

  I heard him moan, felt his cock twitch against my ass. "Someday," he said. "I'm taking you here, too."

  "Yes," I said, even as my body tightened and warmed at the thought. "Anything," I said. "Everything."

  "And just so we're clear," he added, his mouth so close to my ear that I
felt the tickle of his breath against me, "if I'm fucking you, you're not fucking anyone else. Do you understand?"

  "Of course," I said, and felt a small pang of pleasure at the realization that, at least for the moment, Cole August had claimed me as his own.

  "Good."

  I realized I was smiling so broadly my cheeks hurt. I rolled over to face him again, then pushed him onto his back.

  "Feeling playful?" he asked.

  "Hush," I said. "I have a plan."

  I straddled him, feeling decadent as I settled myself so that my sex rubbed against his crotch, his wiry pubic hair teasing and tickling in a way that was seriously designed to drive me crazy.

  And when I felt his cock twitch in obvious interest, a burst of feminine power shot through me, too.

  "Something on your mind, baby girl?"

  "I told you I could handle it," I said smugly. "Could handle you."

  "So you did." He slid his hand down so that his fingers were at my sex, then started to idly play with me. Since that seemed like an absolutely delicious plan, I shifted my hips to give him better access. Immediately, he stopped.

  I lifted a brow.

  "Go ahead," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  "Go ahead? You're the one who stopped."

  "My hand is still right there, all ready to be put to good use--unless you'd rather use your own?"

  I squinted, not entirely sure what he meant.

  He laughed, obviously amused by my confusion.

  "I want to watch you make yourself come," he said. "I want to watch the flush on your skin as you get yourself off. My hand. Your hand. Hell, you can use a vibrator if you have one tucked in your purse. . . ."

  "Cole!"

  "Now," he said, but his voice had turned sharp. There was no playfulness left. This was the voice of command. A voice that got what it wanted. "Get yourself off, baby. I told you, I want to watch."

  I shook my head, something tight twisting inside me. "No."

  He lifted a brow. "What did you say?"

  "Cole, please. I don't--it was so great earlier. But I'm not going to be able to, you know, and I don't want to totally destroy that memory."

  "You won't."

  "You don't understand the way I'm wired. I--"

  But he didn't let me finish. Instead he grabbed my sex, pinching the smooth, bare flesh around my clit and sending waves of both pain and pleasure coursing through me. "You won't destroy the memory," he said, "because you're going to come for me. And do you know why?"

  I shook my head, too distracted by the sting of that intimate pinch and the way my body was reacting to it--my nipples suddenly tight and needful, my sex clenching with a desperate desire to be fucked. I felt wanton and needy and on the verge. And oh, holy hell, what door had I opened when I had set my sights on Cole August?

  "Kat." He twisted a little, and electric sparks seemed to sizzle over me, a billion tiny snaps and pops. "Are you listening?"

  "You're making it really, really hard."

  If he was sympathetic, I didn't hear it in his voice. "Very hard, actually," he said with a chuckle. "But you're going to touch yourself now, and I'm going to watch. And, Katrina, you are going to come for me."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because I'm telling you to," he said in the kind of voice that brooks no argument. He shifted slightly, raising his knees as if to make a backrest for me. He was hard, his erection tucked in between my ass and his legs. "Lean back," he said, and when I complied I saw the tension in his face as my body rubbed provocatively against his cock.

  "Now spread your legs wider."

  I swallowed, thinking of the very intimate view that would provide him. "Cole . . ."

  "Argue again and I'll spank your ass." He propped himself up on his elbows. "Do it, baby. I want to see that beautiful cunt."

  I wanted to protest--wanted to clamp my thighs together in some sort of misguided attempt at modesty. I knew damn well I wasn't going to come like this--I was too self-conscious. Too aware.

  But at the same time, I heard his voice. Heard his desire. And there was something about the command in his voice that made me want to comply. He was turned on--that much was an absolute certainty. And there was both power and excitement in knowing that it was my body and my reactions to him that were pushing him toward that edge.

  "Legs," he repeated, and I kicked modesty to the curb and slowly pushed my knees as wide apart as they would go.

  "Oh, baby," he said. "I like you waxed. You're slick and wet and I can see just how turned on you are. Tell me."

  "Very turned on."

  "You're so wet, baby. Slip a finger inside your cunt and see how wet you are. No," he added, when I closed my eyes as I complied. "Eyes on me. There you go," he said, his own gaze dipping down to watch me slide my forefinger into my slick, wet heat.

  "Are you wet?"

  "You know I am."

  "I want to taste you," he said. "I want my mouth on you, my tongue inside you."

  "Yes," I murmured, starting to shift so that he could do just that.

  "No," he said. "Don't move."

  "Cole, please."

  "Put your finger on your lip, baby. I want you to see how good you taste."

  I hesitated, then did as he asked.

  "That's it. Suck your finger, Katrina. Hard. Pretend it's my cock in your mouth. No," he added, "don't close your eyes. That's it, baby. Dear god, that's hot."

  It was, too. I was looking right into his eyes as I drew my finger, slick and musky with my own desire, in and out of my mouth. It was naughty, erotic, deliciously sexy, and I sucked harder, never looking away from his face, as the heat between us built and built to such a frenzy I could practically see the atoms spinning in the overheated air.

  "Now touch yourself." His voice was raw, as if it was taking all his effort to remain in control. "Keep sucking, but use your other hand. Pinch your nipples--hard, god, yes, just like that," he said as I took my hard nipple between my fingers and pinched it tight.

  I sucked in air, overwhelmed by the maelstrom building inside me. Power and heat radiating through me. My breasts, my belly, my sex.

  "Oh, baby, you want to be fucked," he said, and I blushed, realizing that he could see the way my sex clenched and tightened in a desperate, driving need.

  "Go ahead," he said. "The finger in your mouth, slide it down, thrust it inside--no, two fingers--oh, holy hell, Kat, I swear you're going to be the death of me," he said as he watched me touch myself in time with his words.

  I never thought I could do something like this--could display both my body and my own arousal so intimately--but with Cole the fact of being on display made me more excited, not less. I wanted him to see the effect he had on me. I wanted the feeling to grow. And as he told me what to do--to fingerfuck myself, to tease my clit--I did as he directed, letting my vision go glassy and my body tense. Feeling the sensation build, the desire grow.

  Then, when it got to be too much--when just one tiny push would send me tumbling over the edge--I forced myself to focus on his face. On his eyes.

  And I watched the hot burn of desire reflected there as his words and my touch made me shatter into a million pieces.

  When my body quit shaking, I collapsed against him, breathing deep. "Do you want me to go down on you?" I asked, murmuring the question against his chest.

  "No," he whispered.

  "But you haven't--and I want you to--"

  He kissed the top of my head. "I'm content."

  "You're hard as steel," I said, because there was no ignoring his erection that tented his sweatpants and pressed insistently against my thigh.

  "I like it," he said. "You make me hard, Kat. I don't see any reason to change that just yet."

  Considering how guys talked about blue balls, his words surprised me. Then again, I wasn't a guy, but I could understand how delicious the sensation of simply being turned on could feel. Besides, at the moment all I wanted to do was lie there, my body against his, hi
s fingers lazily stroking my back.

  "I think I've died," I said after a moment. "I think this must be heaven."

  He trailed his fingers from my sex up over my breasts and to my lips. "Feels like heaven to me."

  He brushed my hair back from my face. "I'm three for three," he said, making me laugh. "I assume you won't doubt me again."

  "There's something magic about you, Cole August," I said. "But I guess I always knew that."

  "Did you?"

  "Sure," I said playfully as I stood up to stretch. I moved to the couch and curled up against the soft leather cushions. "Why do you think I picked you? Certainly not for your money or the fact that you can speak Italian. But give a girl a good orgasm . . ."

  "How did you know I speak Italian?" He'd stood and was heading toward the wet bar in the corner of the room.

  I frowned, trying to remember as he opened a small fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. "I'm not sure. Maybe Angie said something once. Or Jahn," I added, referring to her uncle, and the man who had been a mentor to all three of the knights.

  "Toss me my clothes, would you?" I added, after Cole brought over a bottle of Shiraz and two glasses. "Feel free not to bother with your shirt. I like the view."

  "As do I," he said, eyeing me thoroughly before retrieving my shorts and top for me. "But this way I get to enjoy watching you take it all off again."

  "I always knew you were clever." He grinned, then came over and poured us both some wine. He handed me a glass, then took a seat next to me.

  "How come you never talk about it? Italy, I mean."

  He swirled the wine in his glass as if considering the question. "I don't talk about a lot of things," he finally said.

  "No, I guess you don't. Why not?"

  "I like to look forward, not back. And that was just another time in my life that's over and done."

  "Bad?"

  "No. Good, actually." The way he said it made me think that the realization surprised him. As if there were far too few good periods lurking in his past.

  "I've always thought it would be exciting to live in another country. Italy's not on my list, but I have a fantasy of living in Paris for a year. I want to see all the seasons change on the Champs-Elysees."

  "And are you alone in this fantasy?"

  I took a long sip of my wine, my eyes on Cole. "No," I said simply.

  He leaned back on the couch, then patted his legs. I stretched out, my feet on his lap, a glass of wine in my hands. I glanced at the rug where he'd made me come, and couldn't help but think how quickly things had shifted from scorching hot to sweet.