Make Me

by BETH KERY

  Like submit to the temptation of her pink, sexy mouth, fragrant hair, and soft skin.

  His body hardened of its own accord at the piercing memory, making him frown. He’d wanted her so badly when he was a kid. He’d been so naïve, he hadn’t even understood how he’d wanted her. How was it possible, that the unfulfilled desire of a thirteen-year-old boy could have such an effect on him now? It was as if Harper had reanimated that hungry child inside him. It was unbearable. Unacceptable. And yet . . . that hunger continued, gnawing at him like a dull ache.

  “Jacob?”

  The surprised call tore him out of his brooding. Elizabeth walked down the stone path that led to the dock.

  “I assumed you were up in your suite,” she said, sounding startled. He turned back to face the lake, distractedly listening to her footsteps approach. “I was just making sure that everything was cleared. All of the guests are gone. That is if . . . Did Harper McFadden go?”

  “She’s gone.”

  He sensed her hesitation, and realized belatedly he’d been sharp. He knew Elizabeth had seen him leave the terrace with Harper. She’d assumed Harper had accompanied him upstairs. Another spike of irritation went through him. Despite his self-lecture about how Harper’s departure was for the best, he was still annoyed that she’d rejected him.

  How contrary could he be?

  “Well, I thought the night went well, anyway,” Elizabeth said briskly, determined to ignore his brusqueness: just one of her many good qualities. “It was nice that you were able to attend for a bit. Stewart Overton called earlier. He wanted to confirm your meeting. He’s taking a chopper in from Travis,” she said, referring to Travis Air Force Base.

  “Any news from Alex on ResourceSoft?”

  “Everything is going smoothly with that, apparently. Fingers crossed, anyway. Regina Morrow just called, as well.”

  His head swung around. “Did she sound all right?”

  “I think so. I mean . . . better than she has on other occasions, anyway.”

  Jacob nodded slowly, aware of Elizabeth’s delicacy on the subject of Regina Morrow. Elizabeth and Regina had formed a friendship of sorts over the years. He told Elizabeth almost everything. As his primary assistant, Elizabeth saw to many details in regard to Regina’s upkeep and care. But there were a few cards he held close to his chest, like the one relating to the nature of his and Regina’s complicated relationship.

  “It’s late. I’ll call her in the morning,” Jacob said.

  “I put a few faxes on your desk that came from Jenny, if you’d like to take a look at them before bed,” she said. Jenny Caravallo was his secretary in San Francisco. Elizabeth knew he often took work to bed.

  “It’ll wait until morning. I’m taking a swim,” he said, turning abruptly.

  “Oh.” She sounded surprised, and Jacob understood why. He didn’t make a habit of taking midnight swims. “Do you need anything?”

  “Nothing that some cold water and exercise won’t cure. Make sure you don’t activate the terrace security system. I’ll do it when I go inside. Tell Tim to go. I’ll call at the guard station when I go in for the night,” he said, referring to Tim Stanton, a security employee who usually took nighttime watch at the rear of the property. He paused next to Elizabeth and met her stare. “I want complete privacy.”

  She blinked at his quiet adamancy.

  “Of course. Whatever you need, Jacob.”

  “I’m sorry for being so brusque earlier. I have a lot on my mind. Thanks for staying late tonight. Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”

  “I have too much to do, you know that,” she said with a smile.

  “Then don’t come in until noon. Relax a little.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “I insist. You work way too hard. Good night, Elizabeth,” he said before he walked off the dock.

  • • •

  Harper was feeling restless.

  Or maybe reckless was the right term.

  After tossing and turning for an hour plus, obsessively reliving Latimer’s kiss, and growing hotter and pricklier by the minute, she finally got out of bed. She hurried into yoga pants, tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt. She twisted her hair into a sloppy bun. Not allowing herself to think of any motive past a soothing midnight walk to calm her nerves, she headed toward the lake.

  In addition to a three-quarter full moon, the ground lights of several restaurants and private homes lit the beach. After several minutes of brisk walking, a distressing thought occurred to her. Her press pass was in the purse she’d left behind at Latimer’s, along with her driver’s license and credit cards. She needed the press pass, at the very least, for the mayor’s press conference in South Lake Tahoe in the morning.

  Maybe she could contact Elizabeth in the early morning, in order to retrieve it? But no, Elizabeth had never actually supplied her with any contact information.

  She recognized the modern mansion to the right of her. It was Cyril Atwater’s home. That meant the next property down the beach was . . .

  Latimer’s.

  A moment later, she slowed as she neared the perimeter of the Latimer compound. The huge, multileveled terrace of the mansion was sparsely lit and largely occluded from the shore by several tall pines.

  Her purse would likely still be up there. She’d left it tucked in the corner of the couch, and it wasn’t large. There was a good chance no one had noticed it during the post-party cleanup, especially since Latimer and she had been the only ones utilizing the upper level of the terrace. It was only yards away from her reach.

  Couldn’t she just pop up the stairs and get it?

  That was her logic for tentatively approaching the first set of stone steps that led from the beach and dock to the pool level. Her rationalization was the sole thing on which she’d let herself focus. Her return had nothing to do with her regret for walking away from Latimer . . . with her irrational lust for a man she’d just met.

  No. It was all about her press pass.

  Her heart began to thump in her ears as she rose up the steps. She suspected an alarm might go off at any moment. A dozen guards might rush her. As much emphasis as Latimer put on security, surely there were motion detectors out here at the very least, if not video surveillance. She wasn’t scared, though. Not precisely. She was tingling with something that felt like anticipation.

  A splashing, trickling sound entered her awareness. She paused on the stone terrace, her breath stuck in her lungs.

  The pale blue pool glimmered to the left of her, dimly illuminated by several perimeter lights. There was enough light for her to see that the trickling sound wasn’t coming from the pool, however. The surface of the water was as smooth as blue glass.

  A low, harsh groan cut through the hushed night. Harper jumped, air hissing out of her lungs. The sound had come from behind a cedar enclosure just to the left of her. The wall of the enclosure didn’t reach all the way to the stone terrace. Beneath it, she could make out a gray mist and water splashing around a pair of muscular calves. As she watched, the solitary man parted his legs several inches, planting his feet. Another tense groan vibrated the still air.

  She didn’t tell herself to move. She was drawn irrevocably. Irrationally. Her heart now drumming furiously in her ears, she rounded the wall. It was a shower enclosure, a place to remove the sand after being on the beach.

  Latimer was turned in profile to her, completely unaware of her presence. Steam from the running shower curled around long, muscular legs. Moonlight gleamed on the stretch of his wet, naked back and round buttocks. Water streamed down his shoulders and ridged abdomen. His muscles were pulled so tight, she had the random impression he was about to break from the strain. He stood with one hand bracing himself on the cedar wall, his head bowed forward, eyes clamped tight, his body coiled as tight as a spring.

  His other han
d fisted his cock.

  He was furiously erect, his sex as long, hard, and intimidating-looking as the rest of him. He jacked himself with a forcefulness that both shocked and aroused her. Whatever rode him in those tense seconds, whatever desire commanded him, it was a savage, ruthless thing . . . and it pained him.

  The realization must have made her make a sound of distress, because his head jerked around. His pumping arm froze. In a split second, his entire focus was yanked entirely from his single-minded search for release, and fastened onto her.

  For a lung-burning few seconds, neither of them spoke. Harper wondered numbly if the air itself could catch flame.

  “I’m so sorry. I forgot my purse.”

  Her lame words had no substance. They seemed to be incinerated to mist in an instant in the silent storm that hovered between them.

  Slowly, he released his erection and removed his hand from the wall. He straightened and turned toward her. He stood tall. The moon, stars, and the pool lights dimly illuminated a good portion of his body. She could easily make out his cock springing out from between hard, strong-looking thighs.

  “You forget a lot of things. Or maybe you just want to forget.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you mean I forgot my purse on purpose?”

  “No.”

  He took a step toward her. She became aware that her body was vibrating subtly, as if dual forces were doing battle inside her.

  What the hell are you doing? Move. Get the hell out of here.

  But his virility, his power, and his sheer beauty choked her. It chained her to the spot.

  “I mean just what I said.” He tilted his head slightly, and she saw the moonlight glint in his eyes. “I mean that you want to forget so many things. I can help you forget, Harper. You can help me forget some things, too. Maybe that’s why you came back.”

  He held out his hand, beckoning her to him.

  five

  Instead of dipping into the pool after he left Elizabeth on the dock, Jacob walked out onto the beach, naked. He needed something to help him exorcise his brain of Harper, and a tepid pool wouldn’t do the trick. The alpine lake was frigid, as usual. The round rocks interspersed with sand hurt his feet as he waded into the water. He was glad. It kept his focus from settling on anything but his discomfort.

  He swam out far past the dock, his brain gratifyingly shocked into numbness by the cold water. By the time he surfaced beneath a midnight dome of stars, he’d warmed from the exercise, however.

  He was once again subject to the unruliness of his mind and body.

  He treaded water as the memory of Harper’s body pressed against him, of her sweet, responsive mouth, swamped his consciousness. Again, he experienced that wild need to possess her . . . sink into her scent, drive into her body fast and furious. Just the thought of penetrating her—of even taking her in a simple missionary position—of her mouth beneath his, of his cock high and hard inside her . . .

  It made him uncontrollably aroused. He stiffened with the vigor of a teenage boy.

  It surprised him, because the simple fact was, he hardly ever bothered with simple, traditional sex anymore. Maybe he was depraved. He’d never really thought about it before, because his partners were in total agreement with his desire. He required a healthy dose of kink to stimulate him, nowadays. It was one of the downfalls of wealth. Women were willing to give him almost anything he wanted sexually.

  At that moment, treading water beneath a spectacular midnight sky, he longed for something different, though. He wished he could again touch a woman like it was the first time, with the wondrous lust of a teenage boy.

  He wished it wasn’t just Harper McFadden that inspired that longing in him.

  Besides . . . it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of doing some grittier things to her as well: tying her up, pleasuring her. . . maybe taking her places she’d never been before, watching her as ecstasy tightened her beautiful face and she surrendered to him.

  He couldn’t do those things to Harper, though, as much as the idea tore through him and left stinging hunger in its wake. Not with his past, he couldn’t. Not with Harper’s. If others considered his sexual preferences sick, he could tolerate that. He never hurt a woman, and had enough experience to know that his partners were very well satisfied.

  But exposing his sexual bent to Harper would also expose his vulnerability. With others, his preference for sexual domination had no history. No basis. It just was: an in-the-moment heat, a consensual hunger with no roots.

  It’d be different with Harper. It’d be messy. It wouldn’t be just a release of sexual tension, pleasure, and good-bye.

  Would it?

  The recalled sensation of how her breasts had felt crushed against him, the nipples defined and hard, rushed into his consciousness and tugged at his cock. She was larger than she had been when she was a girl, of course. To him, her breasts were perfect: large enough to make a man want to lose himself in them for hours, yet high and firm enough to accentuate her elegant, slender figure.

  He plunged face-first into the cold water. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy or simple to have her. But God, it’d be so fucking good. Besides, why was he so worried about his effect on her, his demands on her sexually? What had she done to deserve so much consideration on his part? She’d left him.

  More importantly, she’d forgotten him.

  A few minutes later, he gave up the fight. He submitted to his hunger, even if only in the safety of his mind. He stood beneath the hot spray of the poolside shower, his cock in his hand, his eyes clamped shut.

  In his fantasy, they were in the forest, not another human being for tens of miles in any direction. There was no one to interfere, no one that had the power to stop them, to threaten their lives.

  To separate them.

  There was only Harper and him, and their need.

  She looked up at him from where she lay on her back on a blanket, her blue-green eyes wide with anxiety, but also heat. And trust.

  She was bound with rope, the black silk, twined strands a jolting erotic contrast to her pale, naked skin. He’d restrained her like he wanted her, so that her beauty was fully exposed to him. Nothing hidden. Nothing denied. Her feet were raised off the blanket, her knees bent in the direction of her chest, her legs spread wide. He’d restrained her so that her calves pressed tight against the back of her thighs. Her wrists had been bound to the outside of her thighs, displaying his strong, elegant rope work. He’d opened her to him completely.

  The hair covering her sex was a dark copper, a few of the curls dampened from her arousal. The color of it was such a striking, erotic contrast to her white thighs. The vision of it drove him mad. He knelt and dipped his thumb into her cleft, rubbing her clit in a tight circle. She was wet and warm. He heard her whimpering in pleasure, but couldn’t pull his gaze off the sight of her pussy.

  Enthralled, he drew closer and fisted his heavy erection. He rubbed the swollen crown between her sex lips, wetting himself with her. This time, her groan made him look up at her face. She slicked the tip of her tongue along the seam of lips that were as lush and pink as her glossy, fully exposed sex.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Fill me up.”

  Unbearably aroused, his fantasy flashed forward to driving into the soft, tight clasp of her body and staring down at her as her cheeks flushed red and her lips formed his name.

  “Is it enough for you?” he snarled. He was on fire, enraptured by the jolt of her firm breasts as he thrust into her furiously, entranced by her eyes. “Is my cock enough for your little pussy?”

  “Yes. It’s more than enough . . . it’s so good,” she managed, because in the fantasy, he took her harder. Faster, and her bound body rocked beneath him. She was his.

  His for the taking. His to liberate . . . when he was ready.

  In reality, his body flexed
and strained as he jacked his cock with savage abandon. God, he needed this after seeing her tonight. Smelling her. Tasting her. As always, she was so close, and yet so far from him.

  But not in his fantasy.

  “You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please.”

  “Yes,” she moaned feverishly.

  “I’m going to come. I can’t stop it.” He grimaced, deep in the grip of the graphic fantasy. “I’m going to come on your beautiful pussy and then rub myself on you until you’re shaking right along with me.” Because of course, in his fantasy, there was no condom to separate them. Not even that thin barrier was allowed between Harper and him in the fires of his mind. “Would you like that, Harper?”

  “Yes,” she moaned. But instead of sounding crazed and on the verge of climax, her acquiescence came out like a distressed whimper.

  It stopped him dead in his tracks, ripping him out of his lurid fantasy.

  His head jerked to the side. He saw the unmistakable, real-life form of Harper McFadden standing there, her body rimmed with moonlight. It’d been her whimper. Shit. He was held so fast in the grip of arousal that, for a moment, he wondered if his lust had somehow bidden her to him. The thought faded completely when he made out how pale and tense her face looked in the dim light . . . how stiff her posture was. Her gaze flickered downward over his body, and he became hyperaware of his throbbing cock squeezed tightly in his hand.

  “I’m so sorry. I forgot my purse.”

  He hardly registered her words. Instead, he heard the tremor in her voice. He knew what it meant. It was Harper, after all. They’d always been connected. Perhaps his out-of-control lust hadn’t called her here, but it did affect her now. Slowly, he released his erection and removed his hand from the wall. He turned away from the warmth of the shower toward her.