by Jianne Carlo
The dark wave of her desire lightened. She exaggerated the sway of her hips and sashayed to him. The brass section of a famous Trinidadian band echoed around the room. “This is old, but it’s classic. It’s called “Dollar Wine,” and it’s the Trini song that teaches you how to wine. Just listen to the lyrics while I show you what to do.”
When she stood not a foot away from him, Angel spun around and gave him her back. She snagged his wrists, placed his hands on her lower belly, jammed her rump into his groin, and circled her hips slowly over his erection. “That’s the basic motion. Okay on cent, we grind to the right, five cents—”
To her utmost shock, he immediately gripped her pelvis, and began to control the rhythm. “Five cents, left, ten, back, dollar, grind front. I was in Trinidad during Carnival in 1991. This song was what you call the Road March. The song most played by bands going over the judging stage.”
God, he could be a Trini. The man wined like a pro, grinding his cock in a tight circle on her ass, and when he set his palm to her mound and pressed the heel on her clit, she reeled.
He licked her neck, took the sensitive skin in the crook between his teeth, and nipped. “I decided to go into town to see the costumes and hear the music. Before I had gone fifty feet, I’d had about three different women teaching me how to wine.”
His hot breath skipped fire and ice across the cleavage revealed by the dress’s low, scooped neckline. The folds of her pussy were drenched. She hadn’t worn panties, and her cream wet the tops of her inner thighs. She swallowed hard when he tickled her clit through the thin silk, and then pushed back against his dick and shuddered. The fingers of his other hand found the side slit in her long dress.
“Satan, please.” Her sex clenched on her whispered plea. “Let’s get busy on the rug.”
“Five orgasms, and you beg for mercy. Slip the dress off your shoulders.” The huskiness of his clipped command sent her greed for his cock buried deep inside her into a spiraling coil.
She licked her dry lips and couldn’t contain a frustrated moan, but pushed one wide dress strap down to her elbow. He followed the fabric’s path with a series of hot, moist kisses.
“Lift your dress to your waist.” He edged the other strap down to expose both of her breasts while she bunched the cloth around her waist.
“Now here’s how we’re going to do this.” He scooped her into his arms. “I’m going to place you in position on that rug.”
She glanced in the direction of his gaze. A thick wedge-shaped pillow-like cushion lay on one end of the fluffy white sheepskin carpet. “In position? What does that mean?”
“Precisely this—you’ll be lying on the rug with hands above your head gripping the back of the cushion, legs spread wide, eyes closed. You can squirm, wriggle, shout, and scream, whatever you want. But under no circumstances are your hands to move, nor are you allowed to open your eyes. If you break either one of those rules, we begin the orgasm count again from scratch.”
Chapter Nine
Satan stifled a hoorah when Angel’s already dilated pupils expanded. Whether she knew it or not, the woman had a touch of the submissive in her. Not that he was into the Dom lifestyle, but he liked his sex varied, and relished spicing screwing up with bondage and role play.
Her beautiful breasts rose and fell. She touched her tongue to her teeth and eyed him. “Okay. On one condition. Sometime over the next four days, I get to have you in the same position until you beg for mercy.”
Impish, alluring, and addictive, his Angel. He lipped her nipple. “Deal.”
“You planned this, didn’t you?” She nuzzled his throat when he carried her over to the sheepskin rug and carefully lowered her onto the soft fur.
“You bet. Lift your sexy butt, missy.” He tugged the dress over her hips, pausing to lick her pussy from the base to her clit, eased the silk over her legs, and whipped the garment onto the sofa.
“I could’ve said no.” She slid him a peek.
“Yep.” He edged her thighs apart and kneeled on the carpet between her legs. He glanced at the wedge, estimated the angle to give him the utmost access, and lifted her onto the cushion.
For a moment, he froze, arrested by her glowing beauty. “I ordered a black sheepskin rug today.”
Now why in shit’s hell had he blurted that? He’d paid double the price of the damned carpet to have it delivered the day after Christmas even though the vendor hadn’t been able to guarantee the date.
Her lashes fluttered. She sucked in her lips, and he cussed himself for causing the wariness in her expression. Time to change tactics.
“Hands over your head. Fuck. You have no idea how stunning your tits are when you arch your back.” He shifted the wedge down so the pointed end hit the dimples above her ass. “Comfy?”
“As comfy as a gal can be fully exposed. You’re still dressed.” She pointed her chin at him.
“Yep.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed the cotton onto the couch, settled on his belly between her thighs, and draped her knees over his shoulders. Unable to resist the lure of her dewed folds, he nosed her labia apart and sucked the musk of her desire into his lungs.
He cupped a hand over her sex and glanced up to find her absolute focus on him. “Eyes closed.”
“Why? Aren’t you going to take off your pants?” She bit her lip when he ground the heel of his palm into the seam of her ass.
“Heightens the anticipation if you don’t know what’s coming next. Eventually.” He trapped her gaze. “Eyes.”
She pouted, but her lids lowered.
He tongued her delectable belly button and grinned when she shimmied to angle her flesh to his light licks. She had the most beautiful skin he’d ever seen, smooth, supple, and translucent, the color a true ivory. A faint hint of Shalimar teased his nose, and he followed the aroma to her pubic hair. He nuzzled her soft curls, took a clump between his teeth, and tugged.
The contrast between her skin and the glorious red inflamed him. His dick was on fire, and his balls burned. When he laid his cheek on her thigh, the fragrant musk of her desire replaced the hint of perfume.
He glanced up and checked to make sure her eyes remained shut. Mesmerized by the picture she painted, he couldn’t help but stare. Her hair was wild and tousled, the flame color a riot against the onyx of the pillow. Her plump lower lip glowed ruby and swollen from her constant worrying with her teeth, and her cheeks wore a deep flush. Satan knew at that moment he wasn’t letting her out of his life. Not for a long time.
“Is something wrong?”
Startled out of his lust daze, he answered without thinking, “You’re so beautiful, Angel. You distracted me. For a second.”
To his amazement, she blushed. All over. What a beguiling conundrum she was. Passionate and earthy, yet at the same time shy and innocent.
She wriggled her legs, and he spied a shiny wet spot on her inner thigh. Drawn to her glossy flesh, he sipped his way to her mons, tasting the slight nuances of her juices when he went from leg to the top of her pussy.
Determined to delay eating her until he couldn’t hold out a second longer, he tongued a circle around her sex. Traced a finger along the moist path he’d delineated. Reversed the circle and nipped the same trail.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she muttered, her voice gone all husky.
“The whole point, woman.” Grateful, she interrupted him, almost giving into temptation and finger-fucking her, he returned to his slow, circling of her pussy. Her folds glistened with slickness. The light of the flickering flames whisked waves of gold over the dewy drops coating her pretty curls.
He salivated, surrendered to her irresistible allure, and suckled his way around her outer pussy lips. Her heels dug into his back. She lifted her hips and tried to plant her sex on his face. He smiled. She was so, so pumped and primed.
To prolong both their torture, he drew a finger around her inner labia, firmed his arm around her hips, and grazed the hood guarding her clit with his thu
mb.
“Oh God.” She bucked, arched, and tensed.
He pulled back to watch her sex clench and release. Her frantic orgasm captivated him. His breathing faltered, and he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her pussy’s violent contractions.
Fucking avarice shot through him, his dick scraped the rough denim, and his pants became a vise around his balls.
He panted and fought for control.
She went limp and fell back onto the fur.
Following her back down, he rubbed his face in her juices, and lapped like a man dying of thirst. Her thighs tightened around his head, and then she screamed his name and climaxed again. He slurped the paradise of her nectar.
When he felt her coming down from her manic orgasm, he inserted a finger into her sex, pulled back the hood guarding her clit, and planted his mouth on her. His last grip on his discipline shattered under the intoxicating, relentless clamping of her walls around his finger.
“No more.” Her plea came out as a squeak and acted as a mental headshake for him.
“More,” he growled. Blinked and took a moment to tally her orgasm count. Three. “Two more.”
“Come inside me. I want to feel your cock hammering into me.” Her breathy murmur, the total carnality of her declaration fired his stones.
He inserted another finger.
She groaned. “Oh God, Satan. I can’t.”
Her words hardened his resolve. “You can. You will.”
Satan looked up and caught her spying on him through slotted lids. She squeezed her eyes shut before their gazes clashed. He decided to give her a freebie and not restart the count. This time.
Changing strategy, he plied her gently with his tongue. Barely there licks, a slight tooth-graze here, a puff of hot breath over her swollen clit, and all the while he kept his fingers inside her still. Her ass cheeks squeezed together, and he lifted her to tickle the base of her seam.
She moaned his name.
It was awkward, but he positioned her so he had access to the soft, sensitive flesh between her pussy and her butt without having to remove his fingers. He suckled the sweet flesh of her perineum, the line of skin leading to her anus, with a riveted thoroughness and then nipped the ridge of each ass cheek hard.
Jesus. Her pussy went nuts on his fingers. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto her thigh, he stared at her sex clamping his fingers, and battled the compelling urge to continue to finger-fuck her. When her peak began to wane, any semblance of self-discipline vaporized.
He set his mouth to her clit and thrust into her in the age-old primitive rhythm. In and out, over and over, until she started to meet him tit-for-tat, arching to his hand’s increasing cadence. He pinched her swollen clitoris.
She shrieked.
Too close to shooting his wad, he worked her through her frenzied climax and shifted so he could suckle her breast. He cuddled her close and waited for her breathing to return to normal. “Open your eyes.”
Ever so slowly, her lids lifted, and he choked back a victorious hoorah at her dazed expression. Only the desperate need to be inside her gave him the strength to withdraw his fingers from her drenched sex.
He vaulted to his feet, shed his pants on a pulse beat, settled onto the carpet between her legs, threw her knees over his shoulders and drove home.
“So good, Angel. You feel so fucking good.” Words, the ability to string them together, vanished on his next plunge and retreat. He totally lost it and hammered into her with a frenetic fever. His balls contracted, he shuddered when the orgasm crashed through him, and dug his toes into the rug. Her pussy walls fisted around him, and he exploded into her, the sperm shooting out of him in flaming spurts. He threw back his head and roared her name.
It took him a while to come back into his skin. Too sated to compose a sentence, he rested his forehead on hers, and allowed himself the sheer pleasure of simply feeling. His cock was turgid and throbbing. Her vaginal muscles tensed around his dick and milked a few more drops of sperm from him. He wanted to prolong being inside her sweet heat, dredged up a few remnants of self-control, and rolled them over.
He arranged her so she straddled his groin and the change in position seated him deeper. He growled her name when a wave of aftershocks hit her, and she, once again, convulsed around his dick. To his amazement, semen burst out of him in a short but fiery squirt.
She sighed, her warm breath tickled the hair on his chest, and she sank into him. A few seconds later, a me-Tarzan-you-Jane smile chased his lips.
His Angel had fallen asleep. He sighed when his dick went flaccid, and he slipped out of her sweet heat.
Satan wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Had sex ever been like this for him? He searched his memory banks and came up empty. Not even with his first and only fall-in-love relationship had he ever felt so complete, so replete. She was dangerous for him, his Angel.
Already, he had decided to extend their time together. Why else would he have paid a fortune to have the master bedroom redone in seven hours? He wanted her comfortable in his home. He wanted her to want to stay with him, needed to have her break in the New Year with him. The penthouse condo he owned in Manhattan, but rarely used, had been readied for the two of them. From there, they could watch the ball drop together.
The blazing flames in the fireplace angled on a gust of cool air. He craned his neck, searched for the throw he usually kept draped on his reading chair, and spied the soft chenille crumpled around one of the clawed feet. Grinned because it was within reaching distance, he stretched one arm back, and scrabbled the cloth into his grip. He retrieved the throw, settled the warm textile around her shoulders, back, and legs, smoothed a curl off her cheek, and relaxed.
He had long ago given up on the idea of marriage and family. Never, not once in the last decade had he wavered on what his future would be. He saw himself alone, enjoying life from the outside through his squad who were all happily married and having kids. He had too much baggage for any woman to put up with, was too damaged, and would not infect anyone else. How was it then that those forbidden thoughts about happy-ever-after had begun snaking their way into his head since meeting Angel?
He glanced down at her, and a tidal wave of tenderness crashed over him. Awake, she appeared ten years younger than the twenty-seven her driver’s license claimed, but asleep, if it weren’t for her luscious bod, Angel could pass for fifteen.
The contrast between the two of them couldn’t be greater. His worn, weathered flesh, his violent and destructive past, added years to his visage. Three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, together with his kidnapping and torture, and Farida’s murder, had corroded his soul.
He blew out a long sigh. What a cluster fuck—he yearned for the impossible. For even if he decided to ask her to stay with him, what were the odds of her consenting? For Angel had made it absolutely clear that all she wanted from him was monkey sex and fun.
Chapter Ten
Angel knuckled one eye and peered through the wall of hair covering her face trying to get her bearings. She was resting on Satan’s chest, and he lay on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace.
She tilted her head back, swiped her tangled curls to one side, and found him staring down at her.
“You’re a sound sleeper.” He pressed his lips to her brow.
“Not usually. Only with you, it seems. Did you get any rest?” She thumbed the coarse hairs stubbling his jaw. The man had the sexiest five o’clock shadow on the planet. The lines bracketing his eyes hadn’t deepened, and he actually appeared relaxed and refreshed.
“We both conked out. I only woke when I felt you stirring.”
“Oh. I’m so glad you slept, too.” She cupped one hand over the other, rested her chin on her knuckles, and smiled up at him. “Maybe pairing two insomniacs is the cure for not being able to sleep. Heck, we could take a wedge out of Ambien’s market.”
He tickled her nose. “Sure. Like the pharmaceutical lobbyists would allow that one
to happen.”
“True. I’m guessing you like lobbyists as much as I do.” The man radiated heat and her chilled toes sought his warmth by tucking under his hard calves.
“They’re fourth on my list of despicable professions.” He danced a finger along her forearm.
“Fourth? What’re one through three?” Why in hell had she forced the issue? She already knew from Jess how much he detested anyone who worked in any form of media.
“Journalists, ambulance chasers, talk show hosts. Crap. What a topic to go off on when I’m holding the most desirable woman on the planet in my arms. We’re not going there. How about we delve into the lamb stew?”
She bent her head to avoid his scrutiny and gather her wits after his sucker punch. Yes, she knew he had no love for any media occupation, but the contempt with which he spat out the three words, talk-show-hosts, startled and upset her a ton.
“Hey.” He nudged her jaw. “Something wrong?”
She yanked her chin up and flashed him her talk show host smile. “I’d almost forgotten about the lamb. I’m ravenous. And so I should be after our marathon sex. I can’t wait to turn the tables on you. I’m going to really, really enjoy making you beg.”
He sat up. “You’ve got a competitive streak there, missy.”
“You bet. I hate losing, but then again, who likes being last?”
He grabbed his phone from the coffee table.
She made to get off his lap, but he snagged her waist, swaddled her in the throw that covered her back, and lurched to his feet carrying her and his cell.
“Really. What’s with all this carrying me everywhere?” She tapped a finger to the hollow of his cheek. All at once she remembered Jess talking about Devil and Bacchanal—the BDSM club where their romance started.
“What’s going on in that ticking brain?” He slid her a side glance.
“Are you a Bacchanal member?” She bit her tongue to stopper the real question she wanted to ask.
