Kate breathed a sigh of relief as they emerged from the beautiful villa. There were valet cars parked in the grounds; Kate knew because she’d personally interviewed and selected the valet staff.
But Benedetto nodded instead towards a shining black motorbike propped insolently in the driveway.
“This?” She squeaked, all the words of warning her father had drummed into her over the years flashing back to the forefront of her consciousness.
In answer, he pulled the helmet from the seat and settled it on her head. She stared up at him as he tightened it into place, then he threw one powerful leg over the bike and throttled the engine to life.
“Hop on,” he called over his shoulder, his eyes not meeting hers.
“My dad would have kittens,” she said, more to herself than him. Her father hated motorbikes, and with good reason given the way her mother had died.
The reference to her father set Benedetto’s heart heaving. He watched her pretty face cross with emotion and his resolve strengthened. This was necessary.
Kate took one last look at the gorgeous castle and then settled herself behind him. She wrapped her hands around his waist, and felt the powerful vibrations of the engine begin to evoke a dark, desperate need inside of her.
“Where are we going?” She shouted to be heard over the engine.
“My place.”
Well, get there fast, she thought. And she laughed, because she’d discovered when she ran away that flirting with danger was a good thing. It made her feel brave and alive in a way she never had her whole life. And that night, with the stars glistening their approval and her arms wrapped around his strong torso, Kate Jones felt Katherine Beauchamp blowing out of her soul. She held him tight and she laughed a little more.
Being reckless felt good. And the motorbike was only the beginning …
CHAPTER TWO
“This is amazing,” she said.
It was, but she was speaking for the sake of it. Since he’d pulled his bike to a halt in front of the river-front mansion, he’d said nothing. He’d simply unclipped her helmet and stalked in the front door, leaving her to scramble somewhat inelegantly off the seat and follow in his wake.
Now, standing on the terrace he’d walked on to, looking at his tuxedo-clad frame, she was besieged by nerves.
“Mr. Arnaud?” She murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention.
He turned slowly, his eyes pinpointing hers with ferocious intensity. “We are about to have sex,” he spoke with a cold pragmatism that should have sent warning sparks flying through her. “I think it is time for you to call me Benedetto.”
She nodded awkwardly. “Benedetto.” It was a perfect name for him. Dark, mysterious and complex. As an after thought, a small frown formed on her face. “The sex part …”
“Yes?” He prompted, but his hands were already behind her back, searching for the zip to the dress. She stepped closer to make it more easy for him to reach.
“I just met you,” she finished, sweeping her eyes shut on how lame the demurral sounded. “I mean … I don’t … this isn’t …”
He began to slide the zipper down, and the already scattered thought she was trying to express evaporated.
“It’s sex,” he said simply. “You walked on to stage and I knew I wanted you.”
Her blood was an out-of-control torrent in her body. “And is this how you do things? You buy what you want?”
His eyes clashed with hers; he held the dress so that she could step out of it. She did, placing a hand on his shoulder for support. The heels were ridiculously high, and she moved to release her feet from them but he shook his head.
“Leave them.” It was an order.
A spark of annoyance flooded her and she stared straight at him as she kicked first one shoe off and then the other. She thought she was making a point, and she was, but not the one she’d intended. Benedetto believed Kate to be spoiled, indulged, reckless and amoral, and everything she had done that night had played right into his beliefs.
Even the recalcitrant expression as she freed her feet from the stilettos.
He didn’t care.
He wasn’t looking to get to know her. He wanted to sleep with her and then use the fact to hurt her father.
It was simple. Cruel, yes, but perfectly appropriate as well. After all, Augustine, of all people, had no right to expect Benedetto to respect the bonds of family, did he?
He knelt before her and gripped her ankle. Holding her foot steady, he pushed the shoe back in place. “I am going to show you pleasure you have never experienced,” he murmured huskily. “But only if you do exactly as I say.”
She was quivering inside; her nerves were so threadbare she found it amazing she could actually speak clearly. “You seem pretty sure of yourself,” she said finally, but she let him slip the second shoe back in place.
He stood slowly, his eyes focused on her body. Without so much as a glint of emotion, he unclipped her bra and freed her breasts. They were small and pale; she was not at all like his usual lovers but then again, he was not making love to her for pleasure.
This was a means to an end; and if the sex itself wasn’t satisfying, the end result would be.
“Shall I show you?” He said, and though it was a question, he didn’t wait for an answer. He brought his lips crashing down to hers; it was a kiss designed to punish and to form submission.
She moaned against his mouth. Her fingers lifted and twisted in the dark hair at his nape. But he reached up and pulled them from him, trapping them instead behind her back. He kissed and she received.
His meaning was obvious. She was not to touch, only to be touched.
He was in complete control.
Benedetto unhooked his bow tie while still holding her hands behind her back, breaking their kiss simply so that he could spin her around. He used the bow-tie to secure her hands behind her back. He moved deftly and before Kate really comprehended what was happening her arms were drawn tight.
A crack of common sense seemed to knife its way into the situation. “I don’t know enough about you,” she said, lifting her head so she could see him over her shoulder.
“No,” he agreed, running a finger slowly down her naked back. She pulled at her hands but they were as firmly bound as if he’d handcuffed them.
She shuddered. “How do I know you’re not some incredibly gorgeous serial killer?”
His laugh was husky. His fingers crept lower, to the waist band of her underpants. “That is a question you perhaps should have asked before coming to my home.”
She spun around, her face stricken. And even though he wished to hurt her father, he had no interest in hurting her unduly. Oh, he hated her for her blood, and he was disgusted by women like her, but he was not, essentially, a cruel man. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised huskily, and such was the strange sense of surreal connection between them that she was instantly mollified.
She watched as he moved towards a stainless steel bench in the corner. There was a fridge beneath and he pulled another bottle of champagne from it. His words came back to her now; his promise that he wanted to drink from her.
She stared, her heart rate increasing, as he poured only one glass. His eyes didn’t leave her face as he walked back to stand in front of her. “For you.”
She looked at the bubbles and nodded. Her nerves were back with a vengeance; maybe it would calm her down? She opened her mouth and closed her eyes. He surprised her by inserting his finger between her lips.
Immediately she blinked open to find him staring at her. The night breathed a cool wind over her and Kate’s skin flecked with tiny goose bumps.
“Suck,” he said, curving his finger around, teasing her tongue. It was too, too sensual. She felt like she was about to climax and he’d barely touched her. Slowly, she began to do as he’d said, applying gentle pressure to the finger, tasting him and rolling her tongue over his nail.
His smile was tight. “Good.” He l
ifted the champagne and poured some into her mouth while his finger remained. She swallowed and he nodded. “Good,” he repeated.
His other hand pulled her underpants aside, and before she could guess his intention, he brought his finger from her mouth and inserted it into her moist womanhood. She clenched around him and bucked instantly. The unexpected invasion sent fire and lava spiraling through her.
She swore under her breath and tried to free her hands but every time she pulled they seemed to tighten. His eyes bore into hers as he swirled his finger as he had in her mouth; though this time he was teasing her most sensitive, private flesh and he was making her whole body shake with so much pleasure it was almost painful.
“I’m going to take you soon,” he said, driving another finger into her core. She pressed her hips down, wanting more of him than he was offering. “But first I want to know what you like.” He stroked her gently, watching as minute expressions of pleasure danced across her face. She was moaning again and again, almost incoherent with pleasure. He brought his other hand to the sensitive flesh above her opening and began to stroke it in unison with his touch.
“Please, please, please,” she whispered, and he thought how good it would be to tell her father that she’d begged him to take her. That she’d been putty in his arms, naked on his terrace not caring who saw her. Though admittedly, it was a private deck and only someone with a serious zoom lens would be able to make out any detail, but Augustine didn’t know that. Only that his little girl had screamed with desire for a stranger intent on revenge.
“Soon,” he promised. He pulled away from her with regret. “I want to take you from behind,” he said, knowing he didn’t want to see her face when they made love. He couldn’t look into those eyes he hated so much while his body enjoyed her offering. “I want to be so deep inside; I want to bury myself where you’ve never been touched.”
His hands were demanding as they pushed her towards the wall and braced her against it. With her wrists bound behind her back, it was her head that was supporting her. He undid his pants, pausing only to sheath himself in a condom, and then he entered her hard and fast.
She cried out with pleasure; her voice was a bell tolling in the night. He saw her hands gripping as wave after wave of desire flushed her system.
His hands reached up to cup her breasts, pulling her from the wall, he held her against him as he drove into her again and again. Her body was perfect; soft and womanly yet spare and petite. She was perfect.
So much for not enjoying the sex he thought, as his own control began to wane.
But he wouldn’t let it. He wanted this to last all night; he wanted her to wake up with no thought other than him, his body. He wanted her to be his sex slave; to know that she would never be complete without him again.
He wanted her to promise him anything for the chance to be with him just one more time.
He squeezed her nipples as he thrust into her, and when he felt her begin to tighten around his length he kissed her neck, flicking her sensitive flesh with his tongue, biting her gently with his teeth, and all the while he plundered her and tortured her breasts.
She was not quiet.
He felt her climax, but he heard her too, as she cried out into the cool Autumnal night. Her body shook with the force of sensations and he held her tight.
The relief was extreme.
He had done it.
He had made that bastard’s daughter his.
Slowly, he dropped his hands, cupping her rear. He felt her sigh and she leaned forward, propping herself against the side of the house. The view from where he stood was exquisite. He ran his fingers, down her spine, enjoying the goose bumps that sprung in his wake.
He had only ever tied the hands of women he’d known well; women he’d trusted and who had trusted him. This had gone beyond that, though. He liked having her as his prisoner.
It had sparked something carnal and base in him.
He pulled away from her and she made a noise of complaint.
“I’m not finished, cara,” he assured her. “Now I want to watch you.”
It was only when she turned around that she realised he was still fully dressed. But for the lowered zip, he had not bothered to take his clothes off.
He lay himself on the ground, his erection enormous.
“Come to me,” he invited.
She nodded, already desperate to feel him back inside of her. She straddled him, bringing herself over him somewhat awkwardly.
“My hands,” she said, as she took his length back inside and moaned at the feeling of completion.
“Are unnecessary,” he assured her.
Her smile did something strange to his stomach. “I’m sorry to break it to you but I’m a weakling. I don’t think my legs are strong enough to do what I want to do.”
His laugh was hoarse. He liked her honesty.
Only she wasn’t honest, he reminded himself sharply. She was lying about her name. Her career. And he was certain she’d lie about her father too.
He pressed his hands into her hips, digging his fingers into her soft flesh. “Let me help you, then.”
He lifted her easily; she was light. He guided her over his length, smiling as she tilted her head back and began to make those gorgeous little noises of rapturous pleasure once more.
Holding his control was almost impossible. As he felt her muscles clench and squeeze him anew, he had to use every single ounce of his willpower to stop from emptying himself completely.
He watched her, and he thought again of how great it would be to tell her father how he’d used her beautiful body for his own pleasure.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and she dropped her head forward to look at him. “Who are you?” Her eyes roamed his face; he understood.
“Benedetto Arnaud,” he answered simply, a smile shaping his lips.
She shook her head. “But who are you? How can you do this to me?”
He reached up and flicked one of her taut nipples. She shuddered at the contact.
“It is just sex,” he said simply.
Her expression clouded. “I know. But it’s not like … I mean …”
Pleasure blew through him like a leaf in the breeze. “It is different for you?”
She nodded slowly. “It’s not like I’m completely inexperienced,” she promised, embarrassment bringing colour to her cheeks. He liked it. This version of Kate was completely at odds with the icy woman he’d first met.
“No?” He prompted.
She shook her head. “But it’s always been so … calm … compared to this.”
He moved his hips, reminding her that his length was still hard inside her.
She bit down on her lip. “This is so animalistic. So raw.”
“As sex should be,” he responded simply. He grabbed her hips and now he rolled her easily, catching her so that she didn’t hit the hard tiled floor with force. His hands cradled her head. She squirmed uncomfortably.
“My hands …”
“Are lifting you up, holding you perfect for me.” He spread her legs with his palm and she saw what he meant. It was impossible to lie flat on the ground with her hands behind her back.
“It’s not comfortable,” she murmured, studying his face. There was a duality there beyond the passion.
“You will soon forget about that,” he assured her, and he thrust into her again. This time, when her world began to crumble and break apart, he chased after her. Their cries mingled to make one guttural sound of release.
The last thing Kate was conscious of before she squeezed her eyes shut was the brightness of the stars overhead. She held darkness around her for several minutes, until reality slowly began to throb through her. She felt him move away and blinked. He was only gone a second before returning with a soft rug.
“Sit up.”
When she didn’t immediately comply he made a clicking noise of impatience and reached behind her shoulders to guide her to sitting. He deftly untied her wris
ts, and watched as she brought them in front of her and rubbed the pink flesh.
Shock was shooting through her. He was still clothed, for God’s sake. She was completely naked, and he was wearing a tuxedo. Apart from the missing neck tie, he didn’t look at all out of place.
“Well,” she said, her voice coldly detached despite the heat of passion they’d just shared. “That was unexpected.” Her smile was apologetic.
“Not for me,” he responded.
She lifted the blanket higher, to cover her breasts. “I really don’t do this kind of thing.”
He brushed aside the demurral. In his experience, everyone had one night stands.
“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t care if you’ve done this once, twice or a hundred times. Tonight you did it with me, and I enjoyed it.”
She studied his face thoughtfully. “You’re actually kind of a bastard, aren’t you?”
He laughed, completely surprised by her assessment. “Cara, that’s not the worst I’ve been called.”
“I believe it.” She stood up awkwardly. The dress was across the terrace. “I … I think I should go.”
He followed, standing and catching her around the waist. “We should go,” he corrected, lowering his mouth and pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.
She swallowed. Butterflies were hammering her insides again, making her feel hot and cold and thick with desire.
“Two days, remember?”
Her eyes flared wide and she squashed the small ray of hope that seemed to be gleaning into her heart. “Two days? Surely you don’t mean … I mean …”
His laugh was deep. “Do you realise how many sentences you start and don’t finish?” He ran his hands down her sides.
She expelled a breath and furrowed her brow. The insult was one her father had thrown at her often. “I know,” she apologised. “I do. I’ve tried hard not to but my mouth isn’t always in synch with my mind.”
Something in the way she spoke flared a warning in him. He chose to disregard it. “Come with me tonight. Give me the two days I bought.”
Seasons of Sin: Misbehaving in summer and autumn... (Series of Sin) Page 17
