Suddenly, his coordination breaks and the thrusts become choppier, more sporadic, just before he cries out, “Ugh, ugh, Carew!”
His essence pours into me, so scalding that I feel as if I’m burning up. An untapped wildness within me actually welcomes it. He’s far surpassed what I ever imagined a lover could be.
We both gasp for breath. His wet head hangs forward against my left shoulder. The closeness is bliss. Thick moments pass with only the sound of water from the shower hitting the stone floor as he holds me tightly against his heated torso.
His head lifts and the look on his face is dead serious. “I knew that you would be this irresistible, princeza, but just so you know, I’m keeping you here until I find out exactly what you were up to in Zagreb. You’re all mine.”
Still dazed from the outstanding orgasm I blink twice and try to read his expression. It’s stern, mystifying. He’s not kidding. The tides have turned and I know that I am bound to him by some unfathomable tie.
Chapter Eight
Hurt Me Good
After slowly lowering me down, he leaves me alone in the shower. I know that we both wanted it desperately, even if I’m too stubborn to admit it aloud. It’s the stark truth. Our sexual encounter was beyond comparison, leaving me shaken. We are two polar opposites that attract each other at every turn. I try to compose myself as the water pours over my body, but it is not easy. I have to steady myself against the glass. I’m still dazed from the unforgettable sex.
My thoughts turn to his last comment. Maybe he found what I took from Juric’s computer, and in the wrong hands—namely his—it would be prime blackmail material. Only a professional would understand those diagrams, but he’s smart enough to know that it’s stolen material.
What if he’s already called his boss? What if he just wanted a piece of ass before he hands me over? Fear begins to roll through me like a tornado.
A bold voice from the opposite side of the steamed glass cuts into my thoughts. “Turn the water off and come out now. You’ve been in there for thirty minutes.”
I reach for the silver handle, but I’m reluctant to turn it off. Having to face him is not high on my list of priorities.
“A towel, please.” I hold my hand out, waiting expectantly. Nothing.
“Fine!” I snap and step out to see him holding one open for me as his scorching eyes drink in my nudity.
They take their time traveling over my body, as if he’s savoring a rare cognac. Let him look his fill, I’m still not fessing up to anything. I wish I could cross my arms in defiance but I don’t want to bump my tender wrist. I stand two feet away from him, dripping all over the wood floor. The room is toasty. He seems to keep a constant fire going up here and I have to admit his home is quite pleasant.
I reach out to grab the towel, but he takes a quick step back, shaking his head in open disapproval.
“No, princeza. Come to me and you may have it.”
What? He can’t speak to me like that! And why does he have to look so unbelievably gorgeous this morning? The dawn light is beginning to filter in, highlighting his unique looks. A white, fitted polo shirt stretches across his upper body, showing off his biceps. Sexy, dark washed jeans sit perfectly on his hips. My eyes travel down to his bare feet and up to meet his serious eyes.
“I’m not yours to train, big guy. Do what you want but I won’t ever submit to you!” I yell the last part and lean in, trying hard to convey whatever shred of power I have left.
One side of his mouth quirks up, as if he’s stifling a laugh. “If you willingly come to me, I will give you clothes.”
I narrow my eyes and weigh my choices. Stand here naked and drip for however long, or take the two steps toward him. I remain motionless for a minute before reluctantly taking the few steps into his arms and the soft, waiting towel.
His finger lifts my chin. “See, was that so hard? You give me what I want and you will receive the same. Fair enough, right?”
I huff. I loathe being this helpless, feeling vulnerable around him. He takes his time gently toweling off my body, stopping to lift my left arm, the one with the gash.
He removes the wet bandage and says softly, “It is healing nicely.”
I pull away, my irritability at a boiling point. “And why should you give a fuck? You’re the one that caused my accident.”
Cool eyes narrow in keen observation. “That is not an acceptable response, princeza.” He points a sure, steady finger at the bed. “Now lean across the mattress. You’re going to be punished for that naughty mouth of yours, woman.”
I scoff and rake my gaze over him in arrogance. “I sure as hell don’t think so!”
Damn, how can he be so calm when my blood is racing like a fighter jet?
“It seems we are deadlocked, Carew. I really don’t like repeating myself.”
His accent is so sexy and rumbly that it unnerves me. I hit him with my very best ‘die now’ stare.
Viper quick, he strikes, his strong hand reaching out for my wrist. Before I know it, I’m dragged across the space toward the bed, writhing and yelling, “Let me go!”
Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t give a flip what I think. He shoves me down onto the plush mattress, my feet still planted on the floor. A large foot works its way between mine and wedges my bare legs open to their maximum width. The humiliation of being spread out like this is nearly overwhelming.
“I hate you! Get the fuck off of me!”
He takes his time leaning into me, my back to his front. Once his heat is soaking into me, subduing me, he whispers all too calmly, “You don’t hate me, princeza. You hate giving up your beloved control. The only person you have to admit this to is yourself, sweetheart. Now take your punishment for your disrespect.”
“Go to hell, you jerk.” The last word catches in my throat as he withdraws his warmth. A hard swat lands forcefully on my tender behind. A huge hand between my small shoulder blades pins me down against the white duvet. I struggle wildly, legs kicking out in a futile attempt to get away from his relentless spanking. The blows are methodical and cover every inch of my rear and sensitive thighs.
“Stop! Please, oh God, stop!”
“Not until you apologize for being rude.”
He keeps up the punishment as I try hard not to show how he is affecting me. Just his hands on me, even in this odd manner, have my pussy pulsing and longing for that perfect cock of his.
Oh no. Please, please don’t let him feel between my legs.
I was hoping he might be tired, but no such luck. In actuality he seems to be just getting warmed up.
Reluctantly, I plead, “I-I’m sorry. Stop now.”
My cry was faint, but I know that he heard me because the spanking ceases and only our closely mingled, raspy breathing remains.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my earlier fear becomes reality. A lone finger slowly reaches down between my parted legs. A feather-light touch swipes the center of my dewy lips.
I suck in a strangled breath and hear him whisper, “So wet, princeza. Mmm ….”
There is nothing I can do, save bury my face in the soft bedding and groan in shame. I can feel my face heat up from the appalling truth.
Thankfully he inflicts only the one knowing touch before his hands and body are gone.
“Stand up.”
I wish he would just leave! I can hardly bear to face him after I was so turned on by his spanking. Reluctantly I push up onto my good hand and stand, brushing my pale, damp locks away from my eyes. He crosses the room and crouches down in front of the large, open wardrobe.
He reaches in and pulls out a pink and black bag. When he stands, I take two shaky steps backward because his shaft is so huge and erect that the straining outline is visible though his jeans.
Ignoring my look of trepidation he says, “These are for you. You will wear these and nothing else while you are here, Carew. Do not argue. You must know by now how strict I am. When you are dressed, come downstairs to me.”
; He sets the elegant, pale-pink bag on the center of the high bed. Across the side, in beautiful black script, it reads, “Agent Provocateur.” Seriously? He’s joking, right? He must be. Does he really think that I will allow him to dress me up like some kinky sex fantasy for his pleasure? He must be off the rails crazy!
He heads out of the room before I have a chance to toss out a sassy retort. I put my good hand on my hip and huff, eyes never leaving the mysterious bag. What is in there? Curiosity eventually gets the best of me and I drag over the oversized parcel. Searching through the thick fluff of black tissue paper, I find four identical boxes, each one secured with a silky black ribbon tied off into a perfect bow.
I feel a little thrill, as if I’m about to unwrap a Christmas gift. I carefully pull the boxes out, discard the bag, and make quick work of the ribbon on the top box. Lifting the cover, I push the delicate, jet-black tissue aside and stare down at glistening white silk.
The folded garment looks sumptuous, so much so that I’m reluctant to touch it. I reach gingerly into the box and pull it out by the thin spaghetti straps. It’s a floor-length nightgown with an indecently high lace slit from ankle to upper thigh. The bodice is adorned with an X of matching lace; small pieces of the silk are strategically situated to cover one’s nipples.
It is both undeniably beautiful and supremely sensual. I can’t resist slipping it over my head. As the gown floats to my ankles, I marvel at the quality of the material. I have never worn anything so soft, feminine, and lovely. Peeking down into the box, I spy a matching white silk thong. The material is flutter-light. I step into it and slowly pull it up beneath the gown. I’m perplexed. Why is he doing this?
I cross to the wardrobe, remembering that there is a mirror mounted on one of the tall doors. Swinging it open, I’m stunned by the vision before me. The gown is so gorgeous and the fit so perfect that it seems to have been tailor-made for me. I can’t resist a little twirl. What girl doesn’t adore beautiful silk lingerie?
Hmmm, what else did he pick up on his little shopping trip?
Inside the second box is an identical gown, except this one is raven black. Matching panties as well. Ravishing. In the third is a supremely short nightie in cherry-red silk. It screams sex and devilish deeds. The thong is red and gossamer sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. His taste is impeccable.
The final box holds a jaw-dropping, short kimono robe made entirely from white Spanish lace, so fine that I am reluctant to touch it. Why would he spend the equivalent of several thousand dollars on lingerie for me? I can’t figure out his reasoning, but I hope this is a clear sign he isn’t going to toss me to Juric or leave me in a shallow grave anytime soon.
I place each item back in its box, excepting the white gown and new thong I’m wearing. I know him well enough at this point to understand that if I’m not downstairs soon he will come looking for me, and I seriously don’t want that.
I make use of his brush and do my best to put my hair in order before descending the steps. As I reach the bottom step, my senses revel in the delicious scent wafting through the lower level of his charming home. My mouth begins to water as I wander toward the kitchen, suddenly shy about showing off my new gown.
A fire blazes in the empty living room and low, calming music is playing in another. I stop at the threshold of the kitchen. He’s chopping vegetables on a large wooden cutting board and slowly lays the knife down as his glittering gray eyes meet mine. He is still. Too still. Does he like what he sees?
A deep rumble cuts through the air. “Turn around.”
Commands … again! Annoyed, I do as he asks and turn around in a slow circle.
“You look amazing, princeza.” Warmth flows through his voice.
I’m still angry about being held against my will and don’t want to miss an opportunity to let him know this. “Yeah, I suppose so, because apparently your boss isn’t the only one with expensive taste.”
Oh no! His features turn to granite and his teeth grind together. He is clearly furious, if the flint-like set of his jaw is any indicator.
A low, stern warning erupts: “Watch your mouth, Carew.”
Without skipping a beat, I plant a hand sassily on my silk-clad hip and and say, “Apparently you’re watching it enough for the both of us!”
I back up, fast, and nearly trip over the long silk of my beautiful new gown as he stalks straight toward me, furious intent burning in his eyes. Apparently, I just pushed his boundaries to their outer limits.
Mental note: he’s named ‘Tigar’ for a reason, and unfortunately for me, I’m about to find out why.
Chapter Nine
Arrogant Angel
Comparing me to that dickhead, Juric? Fuck no. I can’t believe that came out of her mouth! Western woman never seem to be able to curb their tongues. She’s in for it now, regardless of how angelic and fuckable she looks in the exquisite gown I bought for her. You would think that she would be grateful, but no, not my headstrong princeza. She’ll learn.
She’s backing away from me, as well she should, but she can’t escape. I step close and look down at her. She looks so delicate with her back pressed up against the stone wall beside the fireplace. She’s trying to hide her fear, but her shallow breathing is coming out in little fluttering pants.
“Apologize.”
She looks away, clearly uncomfortable but trying to save face, to maintain her bravado. “No, I won’t.”
I should be used to her cocky behavior by now. At every turn she has a way of pushing my launch button, sending me into fully pissed off mode, making me want to slam my head against the door of my fucking Hummer … repeatedly.
Bending low, I sling her up over my shoulder. Here we go again, baby.
“Oomph! What? Let me go! Put me down, you crazy man!”
My hand secures her ass to my shoulder as I move back through the kitchen. She is so light that her weight barely registers. The silk gown she’s wearing matches her skin in its smooth perfection.
I was erect the moment I saw her. Fuck, I was hard buying the damn lingerie for her back in Zagreb! Whatever it is about this woman that is driving me wild remains a mystery, and I’m not big on those.
“No! I don’t want to go back there! Put me down right now!”
Flipping the light switch up against my free shoulder, I carry her down the steps into my gym. I ignore the smacks landing repeatedly across my back. She struggles wildly, but in vain, as I stoop to deposit her once again on the leather massage table.
Before she can right herself, I shove the silk of her fine gown up to her curved waist and pull the white thong off her legs. She doesn’t have a chance to protest as I drop swiftly to my knees and get busy. Both of my wide, scarred hands hold fast and tight to her creamy, unblemished upper thighs. Good, she’s pinned down.
I’m on her sweet little pussy inside of a few seconds, lapping with slow, sensual intent. She wants to mess with me? I’ll play right back, making her desperate for the pleasure that I can offer her.
“Aagh! Ooh, oh! P-please! Zoran!”
She’s moaning and calling out in desperate, needy cries of lust as I slip my tongue deeper into her tight little sheath. I nearly cease the tongue fucking because the need to collect myself is close to unbearable thanks to her sweet scent and slick, honey-laced pussy.
I’ve never encountered such perfection. I would have clearly remembered and would never have let that shit go.
I pull back for a second to draw in a calming breath while gently swirling her bright pink clit with the pad of my index finger, applying just enough pressure to set her off. Her hips buck up from the leather as I descend onto her once again with my mouth. I’m hungry, so starved for her. She looks like a gorgeous sacrifice, light against dark, laid out only for my pleasure.
Just when all her muscles go taut like a violin string—a telling sign that she is about to come for me—I stop abruptly and release my hold on her.
Lusty green eyes lock onto mine. I see the confu
sion there.
“Please,” she whimpers to me while brushing a few golden strands of hair from her flushed face.
I don’t like doing this, but she needs to learn to respect me.
I arch a brow. “Please what?”
She holds my eyes and nearly begs, “Please, Tigar, finish this. Make me come.”
Goddamn. She is almost impossible to refuse. Almost.
I’m stern, unyielding, as I tell her, “No. You’ll stay down here until I finish preparing our meal, and at that point, if you are willing to apologize for your blatant disrespect, you may join me upstairs.”
“But ….”
She begins to protest. Unbelievable! My eyes narrow and she stops mid-statement.
I wipe her wet juices from my mouth with the back of my hand and point a sure finger at her. “Watch yourself, princeza.”
She closes her mouth and snaps her knees shut at the same time. She remains silent as I turn to leave.
On the top step, I reach out for the handle, my back still turned away from her. “Don’t think of coming. It’s never allowed unless I give it to you.”
My lips twitch into a grin as I step into the hallway. Her exasperated huff, audible all the way up the flight of stairs, tells me that I’m right on track. It looks like I just found the perfect way to punish my naughty Carew without harming her.
Such a sweet pussy …. I am nearly mindless with the need to strip the gown completely off so I can fuck her ruthlessly on the table. I was barely able to hang on. She has to be taught that disrespecting a man like me can only lead to frustration.
After washing my hands in the large sink, I move over to the cutting board and resume chopping the vegetables. We Croatians make a big deal out of our midday meals, keeping breakfasts to a minimum, usually a nice roll accompanied by strong coffee. Today I’m making janjetina for lunch (roasted lamb rubbed with Mediterranean herbs). I’ll also serve mlinci, (flatbread) and baked vegetables.
Captured in Croatia Page 10
