Imminent Conquest

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  Nicole spluttered. “Of course you do!” She realised how silly that sounded. She wouldn't hurt a minuscule ant, let alone actually kill a man. What had happened to the Carmichael family that their son had been forced to commit murder? The years peeled away as she remembered the pleasant and jovial James Carmichael, Senior. He was the kind of father she wished she would have had.

  A small growl from deep within his throat made her look into his eyes. Unfathomable pain lurked behind the sapphire blue. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wasn't about to lose control of his thin temper, was he?

  "Now is a time for relaxation,” he said, touching her cheek with a featherlight touch.

  Maybe if she allowed him to do what he wanted this once, he would realise she didn't want anything to do with him. Then he would leave her alone so they could go on with their separate lives. Maybe, this once, she could get him out of her fevered mind, convince herself that he had been important in her life, but that was no longer the case. She snorted. Would it be enough this one time, to suck his cock and savour his body?

  The fight went out of her. Why resist such overwhelming sexiness? Lethargically, she wanted more of this man. More than, she suspected, he was willing to give. She sighed inwardly. It was either wanting him or trying to find futile methods of clocking him and living with the guilt that she had hurt someone. The bedside lamp might reach far enough, she thought idly. But she had loved him once. How could she hurt him? Why couldn't she think straight?

  He circled her bound wrists with a large hand. “Do you want to be free to touch me?"

  "Yes,” came from between clenched teeth.

  The emotions she had buried over the years returned with a vengeance, along with despair, bitterness, guilt and regret for the irretrievable years. The love she had felt for him, the fun they had had together, and how she had trusted him with every part of her being. He would never have harmed her. Not ever. But she wasn't sure any more. He was a different man, more in control, less willing to give that power up.

  As promised, he untied her hands. With a shaky intake of breath, she watched him warily.

  "Can we start over? From the very beginning?” Gently, he freed her wrists.

  How could she do that? She had spent the time he was in prison trying to forget him, which was as impossible to achieve as someone trying to overcome their fear of heights. “There's no way to regain what we once had,” she whispered, boldly meeting his eyes.

  He crooked his finger and lifted her chin. Determination set his features into rigid lines. “Maybe we can make a fresh start, knowing what we know?” he pleaded, reminding her of the old James, the man who was confident and strong but at the same time sensitive to her needs. They had planned to marry as soon as she turned twenty. She had meant to spend the rest of her life with him. She pursed her lips, trying to look away from the daunting past. That kind of thinking only led to heartache and recriminations.

  His answer was to simply incline his head, as if accepting the inevitable. But the tender moment vanished as he jerked her off the bed. He was no longer the man she had once known. He had changed. And it wasn't for the better. He was more mercurial in his moods.

  He spun her around and seated himself on the bed as he drove her to her knees between his thighs. Nicole's breath caught in her throat when she caught sight of his erection straining against the ridge of his dark pants. Lust smouldered deep within her belly. Could she let herself want him just this one time?

  "You know what I want."

  Just this once, she would satisfy her need to be a part of James Carmichael. No, he preferred the name Michael Karlisi, she reminded herself. Then she could forget about him, live her life in despair that she couldn't change what the past had wrought in her life. Just this once, she repeated. Just this once.

  "Unbuckle my belt,” he commanded.

  Hesitantly, she reached for the metal buckle. Her fingers were damp from sweat and trembling. Her hand brushed against his hard shaft, but she yanked her fingers away as if she had been burned. She choked back a small cry. She had to stop herself, before she allowed herself to feel pity for him and regret for her actions.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “You're touching me like you're some virgin.” Catching her hair and gently twisting the strands around his palm, he drew her face close to his. “But you're not. I made sure of that, didn't I?"

  "You take too much credit,” she spat out.

  He indicated his belt with a little nod. “Go on."

  She wet her lips in mind-boggling anticipation. She watched the small buttons on his shirt as she groped for the belt, once again touching his clothed penis. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her breasts ached with longing. Her nipples were painfully hard nubs, jutting from the softness of her breasts.

  "You're even more beautiful now than ten years ago."

  She struggled with her need for him, a need so sharp it took her breath away.

  He clasped her hands and brought her knuckles together against his flat waist. “I can see you struggling in your head. You love me. You love me not."

  Her thoughts faded into the past when they had lain on a blanket in a meadow and he had impulsively plucked a single daisy for her. She had picked the petals and with a twinkle of mischievousness in her eyes, said, “He loves me, he loves me not.” She'd plucked all the petals and when she had finished, he had taken the brown stamen from her hands and given her a deep kiss.

  "I don't love you,” she insisted in the present, hating the fact that she enjoyed having her fingers against the manly planes of his body. If she wasn't careful, she would be able to emotionally transport herself back in time, erase the murder, and fall in love with Michael all over again.

  "Look me in the face and say that."

  She didn't hesitate. “I hate you,” she said, trying to convince herself that her words were true.

  His blue eyes glittered with a glassy sheen. “I don't believe that any more than you do."

  "I hate you,” she repeated.

  He moved his head from side to side. “But not enough to not make love to me."

  "You're forcing me to."

  "Am I?” He played with her left nipple, twisting, pulling it into an extended peak, arousing her even more than she already was.

  She tried to pull her hands free.

  "Your breasts are larger now, the areolas are darker, browner too. So beautiful.” His hand strayed to her right shoulder. A moment passed as she swallowed, willed him to vanish, willed the old James to come to her rescue. Foolish, foolish wishes, she inwardly taunted herself. The old James was gone, replaced by a new man who called himself Michael, although Devil would have suited him better.

  Cold air drafted over her skin but did nothing to put out the fire burning in her pussy.

  He chuckled. “What kind of game are you playing in your pretty head?"

  She bit back a groan of pleasure as he circled her nipple. Need swept through her, pooling in the pit of her stomach and trickling down between her legs. Of their own accord, her hands reached up to his collar where she deftly unfastened the tiny button. Her yearning was stronger than her self-control.

  "I love you,” he whispered, bending down to touch his tongue to her nipple.

  She groaned as he sucked on the beaded point and drew it between his teeth. His blond hair was sun-streaked and so soft. She couldn't stop herself from raking her fingers through the fine hairs along his nape. “You can't do this.” Her voice quivered.

  He sat up straight. “Stop me then."

  How could she? She was far too gone with needing him. Two gleaming buttons on his waistband caught her eye, causing her to sigh. Michael had always worn tailored suits. His shoulders and his trim waist wouldn't allow him to wear anything but. Licking her lower lip, she unbuttoned the tiny fasteners and unzipped his fly. She held her breath as the tip of his cock sprang free from the elastic waistband of his stark white briefs. Unable to help herself, she bent over and, with the tip of her
tongue, licked the drop of glistening pre-cum from the mushroom-tipped cap.

  Above her head, she heard a hiss. She would make passionate love to this man who had been her lover, and, she had thought, her soulmate. Lowering his briefs and trousers out of the way, she stared at the fleshy shaft before her. Using the soft flat of her tongue on the underside of his cock, she licked from the base slowly up to the tip, paying extra attention to the sensitive spot where the head flared out. The long, sensuous strokes reminded her of licking an ice cream cone but this was much more pleasurable. She swirled her tongue around the corona making his hips jerk with anticipation. For a brief moment, indecision washed over her. She shouldn't be allowing herself, much less him, this pleasure—yet she knew she was too far along to stop.

  Wrapping her lips around his cock, she took him as deep as she could, the head brushing the back of her throat. Moving her lips up and down his erection, she could feel his heightened arousal. The salty sweetness of his pre-cum was just as she remembered. It gave her a small measure of satisfaction and pleasure realising she could still seduce him. She hefted the weight of his balls in one petite hand while using the other to circle his shaft at the base. The throbbing in his cock told her he was close to climax. She wanted to feel his hot seed bathe the back of her throat, to taste him as she had in happier times. Would it be as she remembered?

  His breathing was ragged and laboured. She knew what he liked, knew that he wouldn't be able to take much more. Soon he would release himself into her mouth. The very idea sent a wave of desire coursing through her body. Her pussy seemed to ripple in time with the throbbing shaft in her mouth. The tightening in his balls warned her just how close he was.

  Suddenly, Michael lurched to his feet, upsetting her but catching her hair in a tight hold. Open-mouthed, she glared at him. “What are you doing?” Unable to handle the suspense and the extreme arousal at one time, she couldn't decide whether to attempt to make a run to safety.

  His voice was gravelly. “You've gone too far."

  Before she could make up her mind, she was lying on her back, with her hands bound to the headboard again.

  "So you don't want me? How much longer can you delude yourself?"

  She turned, desperate to get away from his exultant expression. Why hadn't she seen this was just a way to trick her? But into what? Her protests were useless against the onslaught of his surge for vengeance.

  "Remember that I own you,” he said softly, zipping his trousers.

  "You bastard,” she choked out.

  "It isn't nice to play with my feelings,” he taunted.

  "You're the one playing with feelings.” Nicole bit into her upper lip, cutting off her cry of anguish. Why was he teasing her?

  The bedside clock ticked slowly, the only other sound in the room.

  "I want you to enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Just like you used to. Before you got it into your head to send me to prison."

  She tried twisting free, but her wrist bonds didn't budge even a quarter of an inch.

  "I'm not playing with you. I'm trying to show you what you've become."

  Her eyes spit blind fury as she focused her gaze on him. “What I've become?” she shouted. “Shouldn't you be talking about what you've become?"

  Apparently, he decided to ignore her. “I haven't heard you laugh even once this evening."

  "What is there to laugh about when I'm tied up? When the only thing you can think of is revenge?"

  "I can't seek revenge for seven years of imprisonment. There is no way to erase that. But you've changed."

  "This isn't about me,” she muttered, trying to hold on to what little was left of her dignity, which was difficult to do in her naked and bound state. She wouldn't let him play with her, and make her believe a lie. “This is all a game to you, isn't it? It always has been."

  "Life's a game,” he responded cynically.

  "Huh. Isn't that every man's dream to have a helpless, nude woman at his beck and call?” And she had allowed him to play his games with her. Her mind shrieked in protest. When would he leave her alone?

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Seems to me, you liked it too.” He trailed a lazy finger over the swell of her breast, over the pebbled ridge of her nipple, and down over the flat of her stomach.

  His light touch aroused her in a way she hadn't felt since the last time they had made love. But he no longer mattered. He was part of her long distant past. He knelt over her thighs. Once again, his stiff rod nestled between her sweat-covered thighs.

  "Why don't you open your legs for me? Open them wide?"

  She clamped her legs tightly together. Her honeyed cream ran down onto the comforter. She would die if he parted her legs. Her muscles tightened in her vagina as she squeezed her legs. She was so close to release. If he touched her clit, she would immediately come.

  "Remember the night we came back from Jack's party?” His eyes narrowed with desire. A grin broke out across his lips. “You begged me to play with my new toy. Do you remember?"

  The memories of the pleasurable torture he had inflicted on her after his friend's party came rushing back.

  "I had a present for you and I asked if you wanted to open it."

  She remembered the gaily wrapped package in metallic red foil.

  "You ripped it apart so eagerly, like a kid, I thought. I was happy to see you content. What did you find inside?"

  Nicole didn't answer. Instead, she worried her lower lip.

  "There were several thick velvet ribbons. You asked me, ‘What are they for?’ You laughed when you thought they were meant to go into your hair but then you said they were far too long to hold up a ponytail."

  Still she said nothing. His words were making her hotter, more fevered.

  "I told you to strip off your clothes. You pouted and told me to take them off.” He gave a little sigh.

  Nicole turned her head and watched his face. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the past.

  "I took everything off. Your soft pink sweater. Your lacy bra. Your skirt. Your next-to-nothing panties. Then I told you to lie down on the bed."

  Much like he had done earlier this evening. She shivered although the room was quite warm.

  "I strapped your wrists to the headboard, one on each side of your head. Then I snapped a cuff around each knee and inserted a chrome bar to spread your legs wide apart. I saw everything, sweetheart. How beautifully wide open you were to my eyes. Your clit begging for my touch."

  She couldn't help but think she was in the same situation now. But her life was dark, without the light of his love surrounding her.

  "The bar clicked into place twice around each knee. Then I took a longer strap, tied it around each knee and tied them next to your hands on the headboard. That neatly pulled your knees in against your stomach and left your slit wide open to my view.

  "You protested. ‘This isn't very comfortable,’ you said but I think you were enjoying yourself. You were so exposed in that position. I could have done anything I wanted and you would have loved every minute."

  He still hadn't focused on her face. Nicole shifted but that didn't bring him away from his memory.

  "I knelt between your legs and watched your face. I thought you were a temptress."

  She remembered how he had stroked a finger along her mound and up her inner thigh, tickling her into awareness. Her words had been, “Don't do that."

  "You didn't want me torturing you like that. You begged me to thrust my cock in your cunt, to come inside you."

  He had run his finger down her thigh, across her mound, and along her moist skin, separating the folds of her labia. Although now his fingers were nowhere near her clit, she felt wetter than she had before.

  "You liked your present,” he finished bluntly, resting his full attention on her in the here and now.

  She realised his fingers lay possessively across her mound. “Don't,” she whispered. If only he knew how much she had loved him back then. He might not have committed murder.

>   "We can have the same thing again.” Idly, Michael inched his finger down the top of her thigh. His fingers were warm against her bare skin. “You'll be able to travel anywhere in the world with me when we marry. Eat in the best restaurants, or sleep on my yacht."

  Nicole's eyes widened at the mention of a yacht, but as soon as he said the word, his finger dropped to where her legs were tightly joined together.

  "You owe me,” he said, edging her legs slightly apart with one powerful hand. “While I was in prison, I learned ways to pleasure a woman senseless, to do things to her body that would drive her over the boundary and make her scream and want more."

  "How would you learn that in a place filled with men?"

  He took one of the pillows from beside her and thrust the lace-edged softness under her hips, lifting her thighs high into the air. Did he have some way to spread her thighs apart, and keep them apart, so he could examine her hardened clit and slip his cock into her vagina? A whimper broke the silence. The idea fed her burning desire. Any moment, she would embarrass herself and come to a breath-halting climax.

  When she glanced at his expression, his eyes met hers. His smile was broad. “Have you been to the gynaecologist lately, sweetheart?"

  She hadn't been. Not since before they had been together a decade ago. She hadn't had much of a love life to speak of. Hard work in earning her secretarial certificate, then learning the ropes for a large firm, had eaten up her time. Brad was the first man she had attempted a relationship with since Michael had been locked away in prison. She was thirty now. She needed a man in her life, not only for emotional support, but also for the sex. Not that she was getting much nookie from Brad.

  Michael continued. “I can make you beg for me without ever touching your body."

  Her eyes watered with unshed tears. She was too proud to admit he was turning her on in a bad way right about now.

  "I don't have to touch you with my hands or my cock,” he went on.

  She felt brazenly wanton. Even though she had erased the memory of the feel of his hands and his rigid shaft in her body, that hadn't stopped her from yearning for the muscular man he had once been for her. As the years went by, the memories had become vague and the experience of being burned from the inside out nearly forgotten. But Michael was once again raising her body's awareness. She moaned, attempting to free her hands.