Desire: Ten sizzling, romantic tales for Valentine’s Day!

by Opal Carew

  C’mon! For fuck’s sake, c’mon!

  Finally, I get the rope undone and jump inelegantly into the boat. It bobs unevenly beneath me and I come pretty damn close to toppling into the water but manage to stabilize the rocking by collapsing into the bottom. Using my feet, I push the boat away from the dock, fully expecting Rhys to be standing there, reaching for the rope as it trails across the bleached wood, pulling the boat…and me, back to him. Catching me.

  Immobilizing me. Having me the way he wants me…

  He’s not there. Not in person anyway, but his voice is with me.

  “Well done, Ms. Savage.”

  I scramble to the seat and manage to get the oars in the water, rowing so that I’m far enough away from the dock that Rhys can’t catch me. I search the shoreline for signs of him. There’s a shadow standing in the trees by the boat house only a few yards from where I was. How long has he been there? Could he have caught me if he wanted to? Is the man toying with me, purposefully drawing this out?

  I pull harder on the oars, positioning the boat in the middle of the lake. “I can stay here all day,” I shout.

  The shadow disappears just as Rhy’s voice fills my head. “I don’t thinks so.”

  “What do you mean.”

  “Look in the bottom.”

  There’s a puddle of water, wetting my shoes, seeming to grow. Shit!

  “Slow leak. With your weight, I calculate you have fifteen minutes to reach shore before the boat sinks.”

  My best bet is to row to the opposite side of the lake, wade out and run. Dammit! Who knew this fantasy would require so much physical exercise! I prefer to save my energy for the bedroom, not expend it all beforehand. But there’s an incredible thrill involved in all this adrenalin and exertion. It’s an unexpectedly exciting form of foreplay.

  “You know what I love about you?”

  It’s like he’s in the boat with me, his voice fills not only my head but my chest cavity, my abdomen and creates lovely vibrations down between my thighs.

  I grunt in response. Rowing is hard fucking work.

  “How responsive you are.”

  How is it that he never sounds out of breath? It’s not fair.

  “How wet your pussy gets when you’re aroused.”

  Dammit! His words have me throbbing against the wooden bench of the boat.

  “How eager you are to be fucked.”

  Oh God.

  “You want it now, don’t you? You’re aching for me, even as you run from me.”

  The opposite shore is coming up, my oars strike the sandy bottom of the pond and I coast in until the bottom of the boat hits land. Removing my shoes, I climb out and wade the few feet to shore where I put my shoes back on. Now what? This side of the lake is less forested. There’s less cover. At least that means that there are fewer places for Rhys to hide.

  “Give up now and I’ll give you what you want.”

  I try to get my bearings from the view I had from my window. I don’t reply until I devise a strategy. “I don’t thinks so.”

  He chuckles and the sound vibrates up and down my spine. “Good. I like having to work for it.”

  “Good. I like making you work for it.”

  I know exactly where I am. This is the south facing part of the estate, leading down into the vineyard. I hurry down the hill and duck beneath a thick vine, ending up in a neglected row. The vines are heavy with foliage, but I can still see all the way to the end. Moving swiftly, I make my way down the row as stealthily as possible, all senses on alert.

  What’s that?

  Was that movement from the row to my left?

  Oh God! One little snap of a branch, crackle of a leaf and my heart rate springs into hyper drive! It’s crazy.

  “What do you think of my vineyard, Tessa?”

  “A little neglected,” I say. Turning, I sprint back the way I came. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of a man standing at the end of the lane, not running, just watching.

  Adrenalin spikes through me like a thousand volt electric shock.

  I scramble up the bank at the end and glance back just in time to see him disappear to the right. I head five rows left and start down, moving swiftly between the vines. I find a gap in the foliage and duck inside, spotting a little furrow—an animal den, maybe?—and settle into the space to wait.

  “Where are you, Tessa?”

  Of course I don’t answer. All senses are primed, listening for sounds of him.

  “You can’t have gone far.”

  I wait, the seconds feeling like hours, hoping he’ll keep talking, alerting me to his presence. He doesn’t. I want to ask him where he is, but I don’t dare.

  Finally I move, carefully, cautiously, peeking my head out and surveying the lane. Up and down. Up and down. I push myself to my feet, dust myself off and tiptoe down the row. It takes forever, and though I’m moving slowly, the situation in my lungs makes me feel like I’m still running. Near the end I catch sight of the house and buildings and decide to head in that direction. I need to get out of the forest where Rhys clearly has the advantage; tracking me in his fatigues while I’m like a beacon in my flowing white dress. Plus, it would be nice to get out of the sun, to find a cool, dark place to rest after all of this fucking running.

  As I hurry forward I stumble, more than once, just like a victim in a horror movie. My feet feel like wooden pegs on the end of nebulous legs. My arms swing awkwardly at my sides. I trip because I can’t seem to negotiate the uneven ground, the signals firing inside my brain are all wonky and confused from exertion, panic, thrill…arousal.

  I make for the nearest building, heading for a door that looks like it might have been a service door at the back. True to his word, this door is unlocked and I slip inside, closing it softly behind me, hoping, probably unreasonably, that Rhys didn’t see me. Hoping, strangely, that he did and he’ll end this torture. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  Once my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I realize this was an industrial kitchen. Though the surfaces are dusty from disuse, boxes and crates line the wall and the counters. Is Rhys planning on reopening sometime in the near future? My heart rate slows as I run my hand along the top of a box labeled FRAGILE in bold letters. Rhys wasn’t just in Paris for fun, he was there for research, he clearly plans on running this vineyard. Does that mean he’s done with the military? The thought makes me realize how little I know about the man. How much I’d like to get to know him better. I open the lid on a box and pull out a wide bowl wine glass.

  The glass reminds me of Paris, of Rhys holding a wine glass in his big hand…

  There’s a noise from the next room. A whisper? A footstep? A door?

  Shit!

  I slip silently into an adjacent storage room, packed with more boxes, and crouch down, making sure my skirt is tucked around my legs, not visible from the door.

  The groan of unused hinges makes me gasp and I cover my mouth.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  I tiny little mewl squeezes out between my fingers at the sound of approaching boots on tile.

  “I can smell you, Tessa. Your skin is warm from exercise, making your perfume stronger.”

  I would not be good at special ops, or whatever the hell it is that Rhys Blackstone does for the military, because I keep choosing to hide in places where there is only one exit point. Not smart, Tessa.

  The minimal light is muted. Rhys must be standing near the door to the storage room blocking it. I shut my eyes, waiting.

  “Tessa?”

  The compulsion to answer is so strong.

  “I can smell your pussy.”

  Oh fuck.

  Chapter 4

  I wait. He makes me wait, the bastard. The torture, the pure agony of crouching behind the box, knees aching, lower legs shaking while I attempt—unsuccessfully—to regulate my breathing, it’s killing me. I can’t take one more second of it.

  Springing from my hiding place, I f
ly out of the storage room and away from the huge shadow that is Rhys—although right now he’s something else. He’s every nightmare and fantasy all rolled up in one gigantic, menacing, sexy demon. My throat is raw from prolonged panting, my palms are damp from fear. I squeal as I dodge a box, knowing he’s right behind me, knowing my running is pointless, knowing the end of the chase is near.

  Around the kitchen we go, me running while Rhys seems to float, like a specter, closing in on me without any effort at all.

  “Do you have any idea how hard I am for you?”

  I yelp in response.

  He makes a move for my arm, but I pull it away before his big hand can close about my wrist.

  “How long I’ve dreamed of this?”

  “Stop talking,” I say because his words are making it impossible to move, to think, to do. I try to change directions, to throw him off, but the soft soles of my shoes slide on the tile and I slip—you’ve got to be kidding me!—I’m out of time, out of luck. Rhys is there, catching me before I fall, holding me tight against his big, fucking body.

  “You’re more beautiful than I remember,” he whispers directly in my ear.

  He grinds his pelvis into me from behind and I feel his arousal through the cotton of my skirt. Rhys’s hands are not the only thing that is disproportionately large.

  I struggle within his grasp, not because I want to get away—not at all—and not because I think it’ll accomplish anything—he’s got me pinned too tight, the man is a wall of muscle—but because it is the thing to do.

  “You’re strong, Tessa. I like that.”

  “Let me go,” I say, struggling for all I’m worth because I can, and it won’t change things.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He presses me up against a wall and then wrenches my hands behind me. Something soft and silky is wound between my wrists, binding me.

  I’ll immobilize you.

  Oh my God.

  He tugs me away from the wall and directs me around the boxes toward the door to the adjoining room.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask, moving forward whether I want to or not. Although of course I want to. All that running? All that hiding? It was all for this. My skin, though still warm from exercise, is heating up all over again in anticipation of what Rhys has in store. The shuddering breath that ricochets up my windpipe is the result of prolonged anticipation.

  I’m more aroused right now than I can ever remember being.

  We pass through swinging doors, the ones with the squeaking hinges, and into the next room. It’s the tasting room. This space is not dusty, it’s been cleaned recently, empty shelves line the wall ready for products, the ceiling is high, constructed of thick, dark beams. There are wide windows that would fill the room with natural light, but shades are drawn leaving the space in relative darkness except for where sunlight peeks around the sides of the heavy blinds.

  Rhys marches me up to the tasting counter, a long, smoothly polished wooden bar, and bends me over, one big hand holding me down while the other one lifts my skirts. He caresses my backside…roughly. Grunting in satisfaction.

  “Soaked right through,” he says, pressing his fingers into the crotch of my panties.

  I squirm. Not to get away, oh no, to get closer. I need this, his hand, his body, the delicious friction, the attention. It’s heaven. Pure heaven.

  “Fuck you feel good.”

  “Harder,” I whisper.

  He grips me, squeezing pussy and panties in his big hand, twisting, cupping, stroking, slapping.

  Pinpricks of light explode behind my closed eyes as my hips gyrate up, then down…up, then down. A primal motion. A fucking motion.

  “Jesus, Tess.”

  He yanks my panties down and impales me with two, maybe three fingers. Good God, those big fingers fill me in a wonderful way. I cry out in pleasure as he twists inside of me, pulsing fiercely against my inner walls, withdrawing only to plunge deeper the next time.

  I’m ready. I’m so fucking ready. “Please,” I beg. “C’mon, Rhys. Fuck me.”

  He grunts as he fingers me some more. Harder. Faster. Like a marauder, taking what he wants, hammering my swollen flesh with wild abandon.

  I scream, my orgasm taking me by surprise. No warning. No slow build. Just a sudden explosion, hitting me, ripping me apart, stealing my breath and my ability to speak or stand.

  Rhys’s hand between my leg keeps me from sinking to the floor. His heavy breathing in my ear, reminds me to draw breath.

  “Fuck me,” He whispers into my hair. His hand continues to move between my legs, making slow circles, spreading the moisture across my labia and down my inner thighs. “When you come, you come hard.”

  “Mmm.”

  Slowly he withdraws his hand, using his body to hold me up instead. I vaguely feel his hands on my wrists, untying the bonds. Freeing me.

  Good. I want to see him. I want to touch him and taste him. This whole thing has been better than I ever could have imagined and there is no one I would rather have shared this fantasy with. But now that’s it’s done. I just want to be with Rhys. I want to get to know him better because I have a feeling he is the kind of man I’ll want to revisit again and again and again.

  But when I try to turn, Rhys increases the pressure of his body on top of mine. “I’m not done with you.” His voice is warm velvet in my ear as he leans over me, pinning me. The silk that was around my wrists is placed in front of my eyes and he ties it at the back of my head. Only once I’m blindfolded does he turn me around.

  “This is my tasting room,” he says. “I’m going to taste you.”

  I reach for him, for his chest, automatically undoing the buttons on his shirt. It’s when I slide my hands up his undershirt, itching to find the bare flesh of his neck that he catches my hands again. “That’s enough.” It’s a low growl, like touching him has turned him into a big, fucking predator.

  I shiver in response, never feeling more like prey. God, I can’t wait for him to gobble me up.

  He lifts me into a sitting position on the wooden bar. “No touching.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  “Yes sir.” I salute.

  His quiet chuckle is short lived. “Jesus, Tess,” he finally says, running a finger down the bodice of my dress. “You look like a fucking virgin from a fairy tale.”

  “Does that make you the big bad wolf?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Rhys?” I realize I’m sitting there without any sort of fight. All pretense of fleeing, gone. “Should I be struggling?”

  He slides his hands up my legs, pushing the skirt up as he goes. “It’s your fantasy, sweetheart.”

  I scooch my hips forward, welcoming his touch. “Are you saying you haven’t enjoyed yourself?”

  His hands still.“Oh, I’ve just begun to enjoy myself.” He wraps the material of my skirt around his fists. There is pressure around my hips as—with one resounding RI-IPPP!—Rhys rends the material in two The sound coupled with the cool air on my bare thighs causes delightful little contractions in my tummy. His hands are everywhere. Stroking my thighs, kneading my hips. He nudges my knees wide and strokes my sensitive flesh.

  “I like this,” he says, tugging gently on my clit ring.

  I sigh in response.

  “I bet it feels good when you’re fucked.”

  “I can’t remember,” I moan. “Let’s test it.”

  He makes another growl-like sound and the next thing I know, the bodice of my dress is torn in two. Pearl buttons scatter, plinking and dancing across the bar top and onto the tile floor, everything sounds extra-loud because of my inability to see.

  My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as I wait for Rhys’s next move. Will he kiss me? Taste me? Tease me? What?

  “You are so fucking beautiful.” There is pain in his voice, as though the fact he finds me attractive torments him.

  “Touch me,” I say, arching and moving
blindly toward him. Reaching for him.

  He captures my questing hands and places them on the bar top by my rump, holding them in place. “Don’t. Move.” His whisper is fierce. Harsh.

  Rhys releases me for a moment and there is a rustling sound and then another soft scarf is woven around one wrist, then the other, securing my hands—once again—behind my back. “I told you, no touching,” he says once he’s done.

  “Okay,” I whisper back.

  I can hear him breathing…deeply. Like the act of securing me was hard work. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t touch. What’s he doing? Is he staring at me? Does he like what he sees? Is this his way of continuing to torture me?

  It must be, because suddenly the distinct sound of retreating boots on tile tells me he is leaving.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Rhys?”

  Squealing hinges and the swish of a door, he’s gone back into the kitchen. I call his name again but there’s no answer. Instinctively, I test the strength of the bond tying my wrists. It’s not very tight and all it would take is a little twisting and tugging and I could slip free. When I hear the sound of the door again followed by slow, measured footfall, I stop pulling at the ties behind me and focus on the man approaching slowly in front of me.

  If only I could see him.

  “Damn.” His voice is deep. Dark. There is desire in that one word but there’s something else too. “Do you have any idea how good you look right now?”

  I yank one last time, partly for show—for Rhys—and partly to see if the silky knot will slip any more. It does, a couple more tugs and my hands will be free, but I don’t do anything about it. Yet.

  He nears and it is not only my sense of hearing that tells me he is standing directly in front of me, I can feel the heat radiating from him. I can smell him too. His cologne is more musk than spice. Woodsy. Pine and earth. All man.

  “Rhys?” His name floats out of my mouth on a sigh.

  He caresses my lips and I touch his finger with my tongue, hoping to convey my desire for a kiss.