She gasped when he spun her to face him, her brown eyes going wide. He slipped the wineglass from between her fingers and set it down on the countertop. Then, with a twist of his hips, insinuated himself between her legs.
“David? What are—”
He cut her off with a presumptive kiss, sliding his lips over hers until she arched beneath him. She clutched at his biceps as he yanked open the belt of her robe and parted the ridiculous folds hiding her from him. Pulling back, he let out a ragged breath at the small frame which never failed both to fascinate and alarm him.
He’d been grateful he’d been half out of his mind with lust their first time together. Otherwise, he may have held back for fear of hurting her. A tragedy since he knew the tiny body bared before him housed an enormous hunger. Eyes on hers, he settled his palm over the rise of one lovely breast. With the other, he spanned the plane of her stomach, anchoring his pinky finger in the dip of her belly button while seeking the intimate bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs with his thumb.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her breath sweet in his mouth.
“Whetting your appetite.”
Her brows pinched with confusion, but he headed off any other questions with a slow circling of his thumb. Her legs clenched around his hips, her eyes glazing. David bent forward, meaning to give her one more kiss before putting his plan to distract into action. But the appeal of unguarded, pink nipples proved too great to resist. Lowering his head, he took a taut peak into his mouth.
Ephie gasped, winding her fingers through his hair, her grip tightening painfully as she arched beneath him. Without warning, David tumbled into the no-man’s-land between the seduction of her skin and the punishment of her hold. Thought suspended save the urgent need to feel her helpless shudder. And a guileless wonder at the foolish bastards who’d known her fierce surrender and, still, had let her go.
And there it was…the damn “8,” again. Clear as day. It stopped him cold. Lifting his head, he looked at her. Eyes closed, she mindlessly ground against his hand, unaware of the tectonic shift taking place inside him.
Gruffly, he grabbed her by the wrists, capturing her gasp of protest in his mouth as he pulled her hands from his head. Shoving the robe off her shoulders, he snatched her up in his arms and then strode across the room. He settled with her on the couch, kissing her until she softened against him.
Before she had time to react or object, he maneuvered her on to her belly, her arms bent behind her back, constrained in his uncompromising grip. He waited. Slowly, she turned her head, straining to see him over her shoulder. He gave her a little smile, lifting his free hand into her line of sight. He watched as understanding dawned in her eyes. She tensed and squeezed her eyes shut. Swallowing his chuckle, he lowered his arm, bringing his palm to rest on the peak of one perfect ivory cheek.
In a slow and steady figure eight, he caressed her bottom, taking short detours to explore the delicate skin in the small of her back and at the tops of her thighs. Little by little, she relaxed. Only then did David draw back his hand in earnest.
She gasped at the initial contact, her head and chest lifting off the couch. He pulled back on her wrists as he gave the opposite side the same treatment. She sucked in an unsteady breath, her back bowing as her hips pressed tight to his thigh. Holding her steady, he unleashed a triplet of moderate slaps on each glute before pausing.
As her grimace turned into smug gratification, David smiled. He allowed her to sink back down on the couch before extending his leg and hooking his toes beneath the X-stretcher of the coffee table. It took some effort to tug the heavy piece close enough to brace his foot on its edge, elevating his knee and Ephie’s bottom with it. The small change made it more difficult for her to move even while it gave him better access. Knowing she wouldn’t be going anywhere he didn’t send her, he let go of her wrists, smoothing his hand over her spine as he shifted his grip to curve the base of her neck. She bent her arms, bringing her fists to rest by her shoulders. As she pressed the knuckles of one hand to her lips, her body rose and fell on a single, shuddering sigh.
“Ready for some real heat, fireball?”
At her subtle nod, he delivered a succession of metered smacks which warmed his palm and turned her creamy ass a blushing rose.
“Oh, David. Oh!”
Her pelvis met his thigh with every strike, turning the cotton covering his leg from starlight silver to gunmetal gray in a smattering of nether kisses. David upped the ante, increasing the pace and force of each slap until her tender skin pulsed a fiery red. She writhed and squirmed, her toes digging into the couch cushions, hips tipping ever higher. Too enticing a target to ignore, he administered a single sobering smack to the juncture at the very top of her elevated thighs.
“Holy shit!”
Smiling at the unprecedented curse, he gave her a second for good measure. She froze, a strangled moan parting her lips. But then the tautness of pain gave way to an unwinding. Intrigued, he continued, only slightly surprised when, little more than half a dozen strikes later, there was a detonation.
David thrust two fingers inside Ephie, her hips bucking wildly with the force of her orgasm. Palliative waves of primitive energy broke over him. His head dropping back against the couch cushions, his eyes shuttering closed.
This, he insisted. This is all I have any right to. All I need. It’s enough. It has to be.
Chapter 18
EPHIE stood outside the rear entry of the Bennett estate, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of yesterday’s dress. Running her hands down the back of her skirt, she cringed. The drive home had been forty-five minutes of delicious torment, every stitch in the leather of her bucket seat a reminder of what David had done to her. No. Not to her…for her.
Closing her eyes, she swayed slightly in the winter wind as she remembered.
It had started with waiting. Crystalline moments of anticipation stripped of defense and freed from convention. She’d had no idea what to expect, her senses attuned to the slightest change in the atmosphere…an intake of breath…a shift in position…the resonant thump of her heart.
The initial burst of sound had been deafening in the chilled silence.
Her nerve endings had caught fire at the point of contact, an inferno of sensation flashing beneath her skin. Muscles contracting as one, the air had been forced from her lungs, making her mute even as every part of her had cried out for escape.
Almost immediately, the breathless sting had ebbed, a tingling warmth taking its place. It had bubbled high inside her—as if lifting her from the inside out—before overflowing her core and weighting her limbs. A splendid heaviness, it mocked the past and disavowed the future, allowing only for the possibility of the here and now. And then a second strike had jolted through her, followed in quick succession by a third and a fourth, waves of agony overlapping the bliss. She’d lost count soon after, cast adrift on relentless currents of pleasure and pain endlessly colliding and intermingling.
At some point, she’d become aware of a building, a swell of excitement slicing through the torrent. Energy made carnal. Her orgasm had been stunning, not only because of its origin, but because of what it had revealed about her and the arbitrary line she’d drawn between what was possible and what she’d thought only existed in fantasy.
Afterward, she’d collapsed in a daze, her entire being humming with provocation. She’d barely noticed when David had slipped away, reappearing a short time later sporting nothing more than a condom he’d gotten from goodness-knew-where. Giddily, she’d wondered if he hid them in various spots around the apartment like a chocoholic might do with candy bars—in an end table drawer, behind a couch cushion, taped beneath a corner of the coffee table.
Her giggle had died in her throat at the devilish grin which had twisted his lips. He’d fallen upon her, gruffly taking her by the shoulders and urging her onto her back. Ephie had been prepared for an onslaught, but after covering her nakedness with his
own, he’d braced himself on his elbows and taken her head between his hands. Pinned beneath his gaze, muscles spent, and bottom tingling, she’d understood the true meaning of being at another’s mercy. And she’d realized it was exactly what she’d been longing for from the first moment she’d cast David as the domineering leading man of her decadent daydreams.
Her orgasms, like the hours, had flowed one into the next. She had no idea what time it had been when they’d finally fallen away from each other, but had a vague sense the light in the room had changed from indigo to apricot. She’d woken aching and impossibly late.
Of course it would be the morning she had a pre-arranged conference call with Lillian’s administrative assistant to set the schedule for the week. With any luck, she’d be able to make it into her office, prepare for and take the call, and then slip away to the cottage to change without anyone being the wiser.
Forcing all thoughts of David, and her night of enlightenment, from her mind, Ephie squared her shoulders and entered the mudroom, carefully closing the door behind her.
“Ephie, is that you?”
She closed her eyes. Dang it! Forcing a smile, she stepped into the sunlit kitchen.
Two pairs of eyes—one green and one blue—focused on her. As if it weren’t bad enough her employer, Lillian Bennett, had lingered over the breakfast table. She wasn’t alone. Griffin Bennett lounged next to her.
“Good morning,” she offered from the doorway, her hands folded primly in front of her body.
“Good morning.” Lillian’s Italian accent made the common greeting, like everything she said, sound exotic. “Is everything all right?”
Ephie shifted uncomfortably, convinced the debauchery of the previous evening must show on her face.
“Yes, fine. Why do you ask?”
“Well, dear, it’s just that I don’t believe you’ve ever come in this late before.”
“I’m sorry, Lillian. I didn’t mean to worry you,” She gushed with relief. “I didn’t sleep well last night and—”
“Apparently,” Griffin drawled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Good for you.”
Ephie blushed and Lillian turned her head, giving Griffin a stern look.
“You are embarrassing her.”
“Sorry.” He lifted his hands in a brief surrender before returning his attention to Ephie. “You just caught me by surprise. You’re the last person I ever thought I’d see taking a walk of shame.”
“Walk of shame? What are you talking about, foolish man?”
He faced Lillian. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed she’s wearing the same thing she had on yesterday.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just pointing out our Ms. Jones appears to have gotten lucky last night.”
“Now you are being rude and vulgar.”
“No. I’m being observant and honest,” he fired back. “And impressed.”
He winked at Ephie.
Lillian shook her head before turning to Ephie. “Don’t mind him, he’s annoyed with me.”
“Oh?” she asked, grateful for the change in topic. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Doubtful,” Griffin grumbled as he picked up an oversize mug from the table. “Unless you can convince your boss holy matrimony is not the passion-killing path to financial ruin she continues to insist it is.”
“Amore mio, that is not what I said.”
“It was implied.”
Ephie looked longingly at Griffin as he drank and then glanced at the coffeepot. Empty. A dull throb began in the front of her skull. If she’d know what she’d be walking into, she would have hit the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through no matter how much later it would have made her.
For the better part of a year, Griffin had been waging a vigorous campaign. The objective: become Lillian Gustave Milton Bennett’s fourth and final husband. He’d tried romance, reason, even the occasional full-frontal tantrum. Nothing had worked. Judging by the rows of tiny numbers on the fan of papers spread in front of them, he’d attempted another tack, appealing to Lillian’s fiscal sensibilities. It seemed to have been equally unsuccessful.
“Sorry,” Ephie told him. “I’m afraid I’ve done everything I could in that department.”
“I’m beginning to think we both have.”
His tone remained light, but Ephie saw the hurt in his eyes when he glanced at Lillian before putting down his cup. Then he turned his attention to gathering together the wasted ammunition from his latest attempt to breach the fortress that was Lillian’s uncompromising view of marriage.
“If that’s all, then…”
“Of course, dear,” Lillian released her. “I just wanted to be sure you were well.”
“I am, truly.” Ephie nodded. “And, I promise, it won’t happen again.”
“Well, that would be a damn shame,” Griffin muttered.
At the parting shot, Ephie escaped to the sanctuary of her office.
Chapter 19
DAVID stepped from his car into the snap of the evening, surveying the crowded parking lot as he swung the door closed behind him. Not seeing what he’d hoped, he started forward, the lapels of his unbuttoned overcoat flapping against his chest as he surveyed the rows of vehicles.
An influx of consultations and full schedule of funerals had stolen an entire week, leaving him unnerved and on edge. Well accustomed to the nature of his work, David knew death did as it pleased. And sometimes it came in unforgiving waves. But his preoccupation with a certain petite brunette, and the persistent echo of her accusation, had turned seven days into an eternity.
The charge had been jealousy. Jealousy. A notion so preposterous it should have been easy to dismiss if not for one pesky, undeniable fact. On the few occasions Ephie had mentioned other men, he had had an inexplicably primeval response. But jealousy? Jealousy implied a desire to possess. It demanded commitment, required passion. Emotions David had disabused himself of long ago.
After five restless nights, his thoughts never straying far from the tempest of stunning honesty and disarming giggles who continued to disrupt his well-ordered life, an explanation had presented itself. The diminutive Epiphany Jones, with her vintage fashion sense and moral compass calibrated to the 1950s, had roused an innate sense of chivalry in him. It fit beautifully. His uncharacteristic reactions were nothing more than the provocation of a long dormant impulse by a woman whom he—quite reasonably—perceived as vulnerable.
Armed with a logical explanation, he’d gotten his first good night’s sleep in days. The next morning, he’d sent her a quick text. Meet me before class. Her eager response had come before he’d had time to slip his phone back into his pocket. When? Where? More proof of an altogether too naïve and trusting nature in desperate need of safeguarding, despite her assertions to the contrary. Was it any wonder he found other men’s motivations suspect?
A movement in his peripheral vision snagged his attention. A familiar bottom bobbed in the doorframe of a silver sedan. Drawing near, David saw Ephie bent at the waist, rummaging through an oversize tote bag on the floor of the car. The hem of her skirt rode up the backs of her legs as she moved, revealing an enticing strip of bare skin above the tops of her thigh-high cable-knit stockings.
Blinding need overtook him. Without thinking, David coiled an arm around her middle, spinning about and tumbling with her into the backseat. Her body collided with his as he reached to the side. Her soft grunt followed closely by the definitive thump of the car door.
Her head lolled as he settled her on his lap, and he pressed his face into the space where her neck met her shoulder, greedily inhaling before brushing his lips over the sweet-smelling skin. The cold interior muted her sigh, so David nipped at her. She gave a satisfying yelp and then gripped his wrists, her nails digging into the tender undersides.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you w
ant. Just don’t hurt me.”
David froze in the act of unbuttoning her coat.
“What did you say?”
She cleared her throat.
“I said, ‘I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.’” Her giggle had its usual effect, making it difficult for him to remember why in the hell he was wasting time talking. “At least not too much.”
He cupped her cheek, turning her head so she faced him.
“What are you doing?”
“Begging for mercy.”
“Why?” He peered at her closely. “What do you think is happening right now?”
She looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Well, I thought…I mean, when you grabbed me like that…”
“Yes? What did you think?”
“I thought we were role-playing.”
“Role-playing?”
“Yes.”
He let his hand fall away from her face.
“And exactly what role do you imagine I’m playing, here?”
Shadows shrouded her face, but he swore he felt her blush.
“Oh gosh, David. I’m so sorry. I…I…”
She’d misinterpreted his eagerness for pretense, believing he’d meant to fulfill another one of her damned fantasies. And why wouldn’t she? He’d made sure she’d known, at every opportunity, he had no interest in being anything more to her than the man eager and able to make her nastiest dreams come true. He’d tied her up. He’d spanked her. Her assumption was perfectly reasonable. But it opened a gaping hole in his gut and, for the first time in forever, David felt ashamed.
She continued to apologize, resting her hands on his shoulders and rising onto her knees. Instinctively, he steadied her by the hips as she straddled him. Her heat permeated the heavy wool of his pants, drawing a moan of satisfaction from him despite his troubling thoughts.
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