Surrender

by Peters, Heather

  "Can you put your claws away for tonight, Isabella, and just enjoy?"

  "Against my will?"

  One brow rose. "You weren't so unwilling in the shower." Touché. "I was, uh, carried away by your charms," she said, mockery dripping from her lips.

  "On the contrary, you are the one who holds me in your grip." What does a woman say to that? "Well, I guess I have to make sure you're getting your money's worth."

  "And I will." He placed a brief but deep kiss on her mouth. "I intend to enjoy every single penny."

  He retrieved a glittering black shawl from the bed and stepped behind her; his touch on her shoulders sent shudders through her. She hoped he didn't notice. No such luck.

  "Are you cold, Belle? Or are you on fire, just as I am?" Her pulse quickened each time he called her Belle. "Don't flatter yourself. The room is cold from the air conditioning, that’s all."

  He ignored her remark. "I expect you to act like a companion this evening. We will be meeting people I conduct business with, and this is a charity. After rescuing the dogs, I built an animal shelter in the city. This is a special cause of mine so don't make any trouble, please."

  She looked at him and swallowed her anger. He was right. "At least we agree on something. This is a wonderful cause, and you should be commended."

  "Save your praise, Isabella. I neither want nor need it."

  "Oh yes, you just want my body, isn't that right?"

  "Like you said, bought and paid for. We are leaving, now." Her head held high, she left the room with Lyon at her heels. She took the stairs one at a time, keenly aware of his hand cupping her elbow.

  Angry with herself for letting him get the best of her, she allowed him to help her into the back of the spacious Town Car. He climbed in beside her. After he signaled the driver to depart, he leaned forward to the portable bar and poured them both a glass of champagne. She nodded her thanks and took a sip of the bubbly beverage, allowing the fizz to tickle her nose. He lifted a fully bloomed pink rose with curled petals from the seat beside him and presented it to her. "What do you think?" She took the flower from him and their fingers touched. Their gazes locked and in the depths of Lyon's eyes, she saw heat and arousal. Her naked body beneath her dress grew warm as she lifted the rose to inhale the fragrant scent. She sighed and decided to retract her claws, for now. "I didn't know you had a love of flowers, Lyon. These especially are an incredible hybrid."

  He slid close so their thighs touched. "I thought you'd enjoy them in the bedroom and throughout the house. I do have a fondness for beautiful things." His gaze caught hers, and for a second, she forgot to breathe.

  "I could tell. Your gardens are magnificent."

  "I told you before, there are many things you don't know about me. But we have time. Roses are like women." He took a sip of champagne, swallowed, then turned to her. "Possessed of a powerful strength, despite their delicate petals and seductive fragrance." His palm slid lazily up her arm to her ear, where he circled the shell-shaped skin.

  Isabella sat spellbound by his whispers coupled with his carnal touch that both calmed and excited her. His mouth followed his fingers and he nibbled her ear lobe.

  "Roses in bloom, especially the blush variety you hold now, remind me of your beautiful pink pussy."

  His kisses trailed down her throat and she swallowed hard as her nipples beaded and ached.

  Touch me there, Lyon. Touch me everywhere.

  "Now, the flesh-colored hybrid brings to mind a vision of you on my silk sheets, your legs open and waiting for me, begging me to open your petals so I may slide into them and take pleasure from your softness, your scent."

  He was so close, she could smell the champagne on his breath. Her resolve began to crumble. Who am I fooling? How can I possibly think I'm immune to his face, his body, his promises of sex and seduction?

  Suddenly, he moved away from her, leaving her hot and aching. He liked playing with her, and her anger returned with a vengeance.

  "All that's true, but it's because of their beauty they need those sharp thorns for protection." She watched him throw back the last of his champagne. He shrugged and faced her again. "I'm intimately acquainted with your barbs, Isabella. But judging by the events of today, I'm quite unscathed, am I not?" Hot tears filled her eyes. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to beg forgiveness? Fine, can you ever forgive me?"

  Instead of answering her, he dug into his inside jacket pocket and drew out a handkerchief. But instead of handing it to her, he leaned in close and tenderly dabbed at the tears that spotted her cheeks.

  "Thank you," she said, her voice a breath of emotion. She was glad she'd worn waterproof mascara. She didn’t want to look like a raccoon in front of Lyon's business associates.

  "Don't cry, please." He replaced the cloth and then planted a tender kiss to her lids and cheeks.

  Isabella's throat choked at the warmth of his mouth. She tilted her head up to give him more. His lips lowered to take her offering, and the touch of skin on skin sent frissons of desire thundering through her.

  Their tender moment was broken when she realized the car had stopped. Lyon pulled from her, straightened, and tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket. He cleared his throat, as if he were about to say something, but no words followed. The chauffeur opened the door and presented his hand to help Isabella. Lyon followed. And in an instant, his indifference snapped back into place. "We're here, Isabella. No matter what you're feeling, please give the impression that you're having a good time. These people are my colleagues."

  Isabella took Lyon's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her into the banquet hall. Did he really think so poorly of her, that she would embarrass him in front of his business associates? Of course he did. She'd given him no reason to trust her. Suddenly, nothing was as important as his forgiveness. If it were the last thing she did before the weekend ended, she'd have it.

  Now, if she could only figure out how she was supposed to go about getting it.

  * * * * *

  Once they entered the lavish room, he never let her out of his sight. When he wasn't holding her hand, his arm embraced her. No doubt, he'd staked his claim, introducing her to each guest who approached, as an 'old friend'. Old friend, my eye. I'm his sex toy for the weekend.

  The room housed a charity affair for the prevention of cruelty to animals. Lyon, she soon discovered, had long been chairman of this particular cause. His scheduled speech turned out to be both eloquent and powerful. He'd held the room in awe with his verve and passion for the cause as he spoke of the injustice to animals, the need for more shelters, and medical services for the creatures who could not help themselves. She knew now, as the deep timbre of his damaged voice wrapped around her like a warm breeze, how he'd gained success. And his passion for this particular charity made her heart race.

  She thought about how much Lyon loved Ophelia and Eugenia. Isabella had experienced his kindness firsthand, how he would put his heart and soul into anything or anyone he loved. He had a huge heart.

  "Dance with me."

  It wasn't a question, but she nodded her assent and took his outstretched hand, allowing him to tighten his hold on her fingers.

  The band played an old standard, one of Isabella's favorites. Lyon took her hand and placed it on his shoulder and clasped her other to his own. He stepped closer to her.

  As they moved as one across the dance floor, the lights turned low. She raised her gaze, seeking his. "Your speech was quite moving, Lyon."

  "Someone has to speak for the beasts who cannot speak for themselves."

  "And I guess that person is you."

  "At this moment, all I want to talk about is you and me."

  "There is no you and me, no us, Lyon. I agreed to stay for the weekend. In return, you will pay my dad's gambling debt. End of story."

  "Not yet. Not until the weekend is over."

  He danced her over to the corner of the banquet hall and opened the double terrace doors, which led to a marble bal
cony. He led her to a far corner of the long terrace that was shrouded in darkness from the cloudy night. A strong breeze on the air hinted of a storm.

  Yes, Isabella thought, feeling his hand on her bare lower back, a tempest called Lyon Sauvage.

  He stood behind her, so close their bodies pressed together, and removed the ornate comb from her hair. Grabbing the thick plaits, he pulled her toward him. "You smell like sex and your dress is driving me mad. Have you ever made love in a public place?" he rasped. "Have you ever ached to be touched so close to people unaware you were on fire, so hot, you burned to be fulfilled, to be fucked? Does the fact you're not wearing underwear excite you?"

  She shook her head then gasped softly as he began to lift her dress from the front, sliding his warm palm over her thigh. He traced a lone finger along the crease of her pussy, and Isabella opened for him. Frozen by his touch, she felt something in his hand, round, smooth, and cool, and larger than a marble, pressing against her.

  "Just relax." He licked her lobe, one arm around her waist, the other holding the cylindrical ball. "Open your legs."

  She tilted her head back to his shoulder, heart pounding wildly. Her nipples ached and throbbed so deeply, a simple touch from him would push her over the edge. Any minute someone could walk out on the terrace and discover them, but strangely, she didn't care. Nothing could have stopped her from refusing him. She loved the sound of his damaged voice as he slid the ball into her pussy.

  "They are called Ben-Wa balls and are meant for pleasure. Now tighten up your sweet walls so they won't fall out. The tighter you clench, the stronger the pleasure when you move, I promise."

  He was right. Waves of hot sensation filled her as he slid a second cool cylinder inside her. My God, they were in a public place, a roomful of people just yards away. She tensed her inner core to hold the spheres in place. Her pussy quaked with arousal with every move and a strange pleasure saturated and swelled her vaginal walls with fire.

  Chapter Six

  "I want to watch your face while you are in my arms, need to see you, feel you on the brink of orgasm. Are your nipples sensitive?"

  She kept silent, unable to answer him, lest she come right there in public. Secretly, the idea of standing in the darkness with Lyon while he performed erotic, forbidden acts excited the hell out of her.

  He turned her and gathered her into his arms once again. She moaned silently as he slid his hands through her hair. "Tell me what you're feeling, Belle. Talk to me, look at me and tell me you're burning up inside, and you'll do anything to come." Every time she moved, she felt the weight of the balls inside her wet, slippery walls, filling her, killing her with pleasure-pain. She needed release, wanted to explode. Her pussy seeped and her nipples ached to be sucked.

  "I feel pressure." She lifted her lips to his ear. "Tight. As if I will explode soon if I don't stop moving."

  He led her in a slow, sensual dance, their bodies so close she could feel his cock, thick and hard, pressed against her skintight dress.

  "Is your pussy on fire? Can you stand the heat, Belle? Do you ache to have me inside you? How long can you endure the sweet torture, love?"

  "I can endure it as long as you can," she breathed.

  "Liar." He trailed his tongue around the shell outline of her ear, and she shivered.

  "Do you know your face is beautifully flushed? He pulled her so close their bodies seemed fused. "Your hands are warm against mine, your breasts are swollen, and those puckered nipples beg to be sucked. Your body language is telling me you're not fine. You're dying for satisfaction, for completion, to be fucked. Tell me, Belle, shall we leave? Just say the word."

  "What word is that?"

  "Now is not the time to play coy. I want to hear you say you want to be fucked, long and hard. Your body is on fire and only I can put out the flames. Yes, Belle, keep pushing your pussy against me. Do you feel my hard-on? I'm so hot, I want to devour you right here and now. Shall I replace the balls with my cock? Tell me."

  "I don't want to talk."

  "What do you want to do? Say it."

  Words? She could hardly put a sentence together. "Please."

  "Please, what?"

  "Take me home."

  He grabbed her hand, hastily returned to their table, and bid good night to a few passing guests as he led her to the waiting car. The balls inside her shifted with her weight. With each step she took, the cool cylinders rubbed against her sensitive vaginal walls and brought sweet, erotic torture.

  Lyon pressed a button to close the partition connecting the front and back seat, then lifted Belle to his lap. Frantically pulling down the front of her dress with one hand, he exposed her breasts and sucked relentlessly until she writhed under his mouth.

  "You're breasts are so lovely," he whispered, lifting her dress and sliding his middle finger inside her, toying with the silver pleasure balls. "Let them go now, Belle." The sensations filling her pussy were incredible. Moisture followed the balls escaping her center. Her control waned and she found herself on the edge of a precipice. She ached for the release only Lyon could give.

  She shook her head as he removed the balls. "I need . . . ."

  "What do you need, Belle? Say the words." He slid another finger inside her and then brought his fingers to his tongue to taste her. "Ah, you are drenching my fingers, love. You taste like musk and heat. Shall I relieve the ache?"

  "Yes, now, make me come, Lyon. I can't bear it anymore." He leaned over her and pinched her pebble hard nipples with one hand, while the long fingers of his other hand stroked her clit, faster and harder. Lyon captured her mouth in a bone-crushing kiss to mask her cries of release. She exploded into a thousand shards of pleasure and released all she had on Lyon's fingers. He embraced her and she burrowed her head under his chin, drinking in his attention. His mouth nuzzled her hair and he sighed. "Do you know how we say orgasm in French, Belle?"

  She shook her head.

  "It's called la petite morte."

  Isabella knew very little French, but she understood what he'd said. The little death.

  Yes, each time in his arms, she died just a little.

  But what a way to go.

  She shuddered as he arranged her clothing to some semblance of normalcy. She could smell his spicy aftershave as his gentle hands cradled her against his chest. She wanted to stay there, nestled in his arms. Too soon, the aftershocks of her climax subsided and the car stopped. They were home.

  Her home for the next couple of days. And nights.

  He gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the car with little effort. Satiated and tired, she leaned her head against his strong chest and felt the strong beat of his heart as he took the stairs two at a time to his darkened bedroom suite.

  He brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "I want you—now." As he slid her body down his and she could feel the hardness of his long, thick cock trapped between them, Isabella trembled with both anticipation and a sense of adventure. She was sure the balls were just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what Lyon had in store for her. She couldn't help but be intrigued and yes, aroused by this man, who could be both cruel and tender.

  He stepped away and lit several tall, thick candles. Next, he pulled off his tie and threw his jacket over a chair. Facing her, he nodded. "Turn around, darling. Lose the dress. Keep the shoes on."

  He settled in a fat corner chair, naked from the waist up, his arms folded on his chest, a creature who appeared to exist from another world. Isabella focused on him, couldn't tear her eyes from his chest and his beautiful scarred face. Her control wavered. She wanted his hands on her. The power from his flesh and bone pulled her into his spell, capable of making her run or commanding her to do anything he desired. She pulled on the dress and let it spill around her ankles, then stepped out of it. Her heart slammed unmercifully as he stared back at her.

  Naked and feeling strangely uninhibited, Isabella had never felt so sexy and empowered as she walked toward him wearing nothing but tall, red st
iletto sandals. His eyes darkened and trailed over her from the crown of her head to her crimson toenails.

  A tiny bead of sweat tickled her neck and slid down her back. She clenched her hands at her sides. Anticipation drugged her as she sauntered before him. He hadn't even touched her and already the inside of her thighs moistened.

  "Straddle me, open your legs, and give me your pussy, now." Yes, oh yes. Put your tongue inside me; suck me until I go mad. She obeyed without question.

  The first hot touch pushed her off balance, and Isabella grabbed for his broad shoulders. Bracing herself, she swayed as his tongue found her swollen bud and sucked, and his large hands pushed her ass toward his waiting, hungry mouth. Wet with need, she groaned, enticed further by the erotic sounds coming from her own lips. She arched against his face, her body tight, readying itself for orgasm.

  "Give me everything." Lyon's voice rocked her and she prayed he wouldn't stop. Adrenaline raced through her as his hands slid from her ass to her nipples, pinching them and bringing her pleasure-pain from the sensations.

  "Come for me, I need to taste you again."

  That sexy voice of his drove her to push flush against his mouth. She was so close.

  "Now, darling, now."

  His hoarse whispers called to her. She stilled; his tongue darted in and out of her hot, wet channel faster and harder. Her dam broke loose, and with a wanton cry, she collapsed to his lap, shuddering from the aftershocks.

  For a moment, she thought she'd lost consciousness, but then heard his hoarse laugh.

  "So responsive." She heard him say, as his lips crushed hers, leaving no doubt that she belonged to him. "So beautifully responsive." She seemed to fall under his spell. Lyon's lips and tongue not only kissed as if desperate, as if he needed her, but never in her life had she found oral sex so rewarding.

  "On your knees, Isabella."

  She nodded and knelt before him, lifting her head.