by Jenn Bennett
“This is what’s going to happen,” he said in voice that sounded like the low purr of a big cat. Like someone who was calculating, very certain of himself, and unconcerned with trying to hide it. “I need to be in charge now. You’ve got to let go and give me the reins. You’ve got to trust me. Whatever I say, you do.”
“Are we pretending?” she said in hushed voice.
“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “No more pretending.”
She was confused. “Why, then?”
He exhaled slowly through his nose and made a small contemplative noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t explain it, but whatever things are like outside this room . . . right now, when it’s just us, I just need to be in control. And I think maybe you need that, too.”
Maybe she did, because she thought she might just understand what he meant. Out there, he conceded and compromised every day. Bit his tongue when he wanted to speak. Bowed his head when he wanted to fight. Out there, he did it because he had to. Alone with her, he wanted to be himself.
As for her, and what she needed . . . well, the idea of yielding to him was oddly pleasing. A relief, even. And a bit thrilling. “All right,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
Dark pupils dilated. He nodded once, the matter settled, and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. The way he looked at her now was predatory. Startlingly so. She fought the urge to back away from him and felt her heart gallop inside her chest. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when he finally did, it staggered her.
“Take off your dress.”
TWENTY-TWO
They stood together for several moments, and he didn’t lower his gaze. Didn’t offer her a way out or ask if she wanted to change her mind again. No quarter whatsoever. The cottage was quiet but for the distant waves crashing against the cliff below the lighthouse and the crackle of wood in the heater.
“Take off your dress,” he repeated.
A little shudder went through her. He meant it.
And she meant to comply.
She pulled the top of her tunic dress over her head, unbuttoned the skirt, and let it drop in a puddle on his shoe. Goose bumps rippled over her arms. Her nipples pebbled beneath the silk of a shell pink step-in chemise that was lacy and frothy and very, very expensive—but not nearly enough armor to shield her from the intensity of his heavy gaze. Her head felt light. She wasn’t sure if she had the nerve to do this . . .
Until she heard the change in his breathing.
Her eyes dropped. An intimidating erection strained the front of his pants. Like an echo, heat bloomed between her thighs.
“Very good,” he said in a steady voice that had a new layer of huskiness that wasn’t there before. “Now the rest.”
She slipped off the outer silk garters at the tops of her stockings and wiggled off the elastic roll garters beneath; without support, pale pink silk slipped down her thighs and fell to her knees. Her fingers trembled as she bent to push them off her feet along with her heels.
When she stood, Bo undid the buttons on his vest and tossed it aside.
“Get those off for me.” He extended a cuff toward her as his free hand tugged the hem of his shirt from his belted pants. She unfastened a silver cuff link engraved with a dragon, a task that was both intimate and mindless, all at once. She was glad for it, because it settled her nerves. After repeating the process on his other cuff, she dropped both cuff links in his waiting hand.
He pocketed them. Rolled out of his shirt. Pulled his undershirt up his back and over his head. A slash of black hair swung over one eye. He pushed it back and unbuckled his belt and left the ends dangling like an invitation while he tugged off his shoes.
She surveyed the elegant bone and hard muscle of his body. The lines of his stitches were railroad tracks across his side. The cut was now a raised, reddened scar, slightly puffy and still smelling faintly of mint, but looking much better than Astrid expected. Velma’s magical poultice was a small miracle. Astrid longed to touch him—there, to make sure he was okay, and other places. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her fingers, but when she reached for him, he stopped her.
“Not yet,” he said, and nodded to her chemise. “Continue. Everything but my wristwatch,” he added with a wicked curl of his lips.
They held each other’s gaze for several beats.
She would be naked; he would not.
He wanted control; she would give it to him.
Her tongue was heavy in her mouth. In two quick motions, she tugged down her chemise’s straps and removed the last bit of silk covering her body, and then kicked it away and stood in front of him.
His eyes took their time looking her over as he stepped closer and lightly, delicately ran the tip of his middle finger from the center of her collarbone down between her breasts, and didn’t stop until he’d circled her belly button. Her breath came faster.
“Leng,” he murmured. Beautiful. “I must have thought of your body a thousand times since that afternoon I saw you in the fitting room mirror. Maybe ten thousand. But memory is a poor substitute for the real thing, and you were right. You’ve changed . . . here,” he said, running his fingers over the slopes of her shoulders to show her. “And here”—over the flare of her hips—“and here.” His palms cupped her bare breasts.
She inhaled sharply and bowed her back as he rolled her nipples between index finger and thumb. It was too much and not enough, and she was very aware of the wetness surging between her legs. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he bent low and replaced his fingers with the suction of his mouth. The flick of his tongue. The gentle scrape of his teeth. First one nipple, then the next.
If what he’d previously done to her earlobe had been wicked, this was positively satanic. Her fingers dug into his hair. Her hips swayed forward. But when she rose up on her tiptoes, he took one last lick and released her. Cool air rushed over the puckered tips so fast, the sensation bordered on painful.
She whimpered and tried to draw him back, but he made a clucking sound with his tongue and pulled her hands between them while he waited for her to submit. Then he gave her another command.
“Finish undressing me.”
She glanced at his open belt buckle and took a deep breath. The buttons of his pants were a struggle until she gave up on delicacy and pulled them open with force, gaze locked with his as she did. He looked back at her with a barely restrained wildness that was dark and hungry and vibrating with delight. She’d never seen him look like that. Ever. And she loved it. With one last pop of a button, she got his fly open and tugged everything down over his hips and looked at what she’d revealed.
The ridges of his stomach dipped over lean hips. The trail of black hair she’d touched in the darkened car trailed down to a cock that stood long and proud, curving upward from wiry black curls. It was thicker around the base and a darker shade than the rest of his skin, and she was astonished, and possibly a little bit intimidated. She was no expert by any means, but she reasoned the matter wasn’t much different from evaluating a finely made gown; she knew quality when she saw it.
“Stars,” she murmured.
He chuckled low and deep. “Pretty good, I think.”
“It’s impressive.”
“It’s yours. Go on and claim it, huli jing.”
Delight surged through her when he said that. She hesitated, just for a moment, but long enough for him to guide her hand forward with his. Her fingers wrapped around him. He was shockingly warm and silky, heavy in her hand. She stroked upward and saw his stomach muscles flinch. Stroked downward and pulled back the foreskin to reveal a glistening dark pink tip, beaded with fluid.
He sucked in a sharp breath and shivered. She glanced up to see his head tilted back, eyes shut. A thrill shot through her, and she continued stroking him
, slowly. While she did, Bo’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck and kneaded her tense muscles. Just that—just him touching her while she touched him—seemed to complete an electrical circuit between them. To put things in motion that couldn’t be undone.
Bo’s hands ran down her back, fingers splayed. He rounded over her backside and palmed her with a slow, proprietary squeeze. Then he reached a little farther. Warm fingers slid beneath her buttocks and between her legs, dipping into the wetness there and stroking.
“You do want me,” he murmured, equal parts smug and surprised.
She couldn’t answer, because his roaming fingers slid away, only to be replaced by another hand in front. Skimming damp curls, he traced her swollen flesh, making lazy rotations until one finger dove through and found her clitoris, brushed it, testing. A touch like a whisper. The pleasure this caused was an avalanche that made her lose track of her strokes on him and weakened her knees. They wobbled a little and then gave out completely; she might have fallen to the floor if Bo hadn’t sensed it in time and slung an arm around her waist.
She grabbed his hips and fell against him. And with her breasts pushed to the solid wall of his chest, his hot erection trapped between them, he urged her backward, repeating, “I’ve got you.”
A single bed was pushed against the cottage’s outer wall, beneath the band of windows overlooking the ocean. The mattress was thin; the blanket, tucked military tight around it, was old and worn. Bo pushed the pillow aside as they sank into it together, his mouth covering hers. His kiss was achingly soft. Erotic. And all at once nakedly hungry. If she was hot before, she was burning now. His hands drifted over her with abandon while his knee wedged between hers. She needed no urging. Her legs parted shamelessly, and this time, when his fingers found her center, his stroke wasn’t experimental, but sure and steady. He touched her like she touched herself when she thought about him too much before sleep. He touched her like he’d had all the time in the world to imagine how it might best be done. He touched her like it was his own body, and he was pleasing himself.
After he slid two fingers inside her, it didn’t take long. She’d worried she couldn’t let herself go in front of him, but somewhere along the way, between his murmurings against her cheek—You’re so soft here. Make that sound again for me. Like this? Tell me you want me—her hips arched off the mattress and she knew she was close.
He knew, too, and when her body began shaking, he moved between her legs. Hovering over her, his weight on one arm near her head, he continued touching her and whispered, “Do you want to know a secret? I was already in love with you the afternoon I took you to the redwoods.” And with that, he replaced his fingers with his cock, and drove himself into her in one unrelenting push.
One pump of his hips and she lost her breath. Two, and she regained it, along with her voice, which was making the most bestial noises she could possibly fathom and she didn’t-care-couldn’t-stop. Three, and her mind emptied.
The orgasm ebbed and flowed, lifting her out of her body and pulling her back down again, pleasure and relief in equal measure. When the last pulses of it slowed, she wanted to wrap her legs around his and pull him down under, but he wasn’t finished with her.
His body bowed above hers, every muscle taut and tightened like a finely tuned cello. Dark hair hung over his eyes and tickled her face when he dipped his head to taste her lips. “Hold on to my arms,” he said, and she obeyed, wrapping her hands around his stony biceps. He lifted himself higher and tucked his chin to his chest, staring between them to the place where they were joined. To where he pinioned her, pushing into her, slow and steady, hips like a machine that showed no signs of tiring. Dark curls, blond curls. The root of him glistening with her wetness. He pulled out completely and then slid back inside with a shudder.
“Look at us,” he whispered. “We are beautiful.”
His words were a match combusting into fire as they struck over her skin. And she soon felt herself involuntarily clutching around him a second time. How could that be?
“Again,” Bo ordered, groaning with pleasure as his rhythm grew fiercer, steadfast, faster. “And this time, we’ll come together.”
She felt her climax gathering speed. She breathed in the scents of their bodies. And when his arms shook and his head tilted back, she watched Bo’s face straining (mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, dark brows lifted high at the inner corners), and crashed along with him.
—
Her heart beat slow and forceful, and when he pulled her closer, she felt his own heart pounding in the same unhurried way. The pleasure he’d given her still pulsed in her blood. She was slack, spent, and felt a bone-deep satisfaction of both body and mind. He shifted onto his back and drew her along with him until she was sprawled across him, limbs tangled. She fitted her cheek in the hollow at the center of his chest, sighing heavily.
“Still alive?” he whispered into her hair with an earthy sound that was almost a chuckle.
“Mm . . . not sure.” Her voice was broken and sleepy. “I feel like I’ve been drugged from my knees to my stomach.”
This time he did chuckle, and she felt it through his chest. “When have you ever been drugged?”
“I haven’t, but I imagine this is what it would be like. I’m all warm and loose. It feels amazing. How long does this last?”
The fingers that were trailing through her hair, lazily combing it back over one ear, stilled for a moment. “Are you saying that this is a novelty?”
“Well, it’s a hell of a lot different from doing it yourself,” she said.
“I meant—”
“Yes, yes. I know what you meant. This is the first time that’s happened for me with anyone else, and was . . . marvelous.” She sounded inane and a little drunk, but she didn’t care. Nothing felt this good. Nothing at all.
She felt his smile against her hair.
“Don’t get cocky,” she said, curling her toes around his feet.
“Too late.” He forced her to look up at his face and squinted down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. His smile was dazzling. “You were loud.”
“Oh God.” She tried to hide her face, but he wouldn’t let her.
“I knew you would be—when I imagined us together. I hoped you would be.” His hand smoothed over the skin down her back.
“You were loud, too,” she pointed out. Almost alarmingly so.
“Mmm-hmm. You made me feel wild. Are you proud? You should be.”
“Not proud, no. Just happy.“ She sighed with pleasure.
His bare foot danced with hers, toes tracing the curve of her arch and over her heel, and then hooked around her ankle to pull her leg closer. “And if I’m being honest, I’m usually dressed and gone by this time, so this is a little new for me, too.”
She twined her leg harder around his. “You aren’t leaving, and we’re not going home tonight.”
“You couldn’t make me if you wanted to. I would tie you to the bed.”
“You would?” She didn’t mean to sound so eager, but the image of it raced through her head and made her chest warm.
“I still might.” He shifted onto his side and rolled her with him, capturing both of her forearms together at the small of her back. He pinioned her and smacked her buttocks with his free hand.
She squealed and broke free, rubbing her stinging cheek. “O-ow,” she complained, laughing. A grin split his handsome face as he tried to spank her again, and when she was too fast to catch, he wrestled her facedown on the bed and made her whoop with laughter when he threatened to tickle her. “Don’t do it,” she said into the bedcover, mildly hysterical and breathing heavy. “Do not do it, Bo Yeung.”
“Looks like you are in no position to tell me what to do.”
“I’m begging,” she said, trying to blow hair out of her eyes as she twisted around to look at him, but he only pinned her legs down with h
is and blew the hair back.
“Well, well,” he said. “That’s different. What can you offer me?”
“Umm . . .” She couldn’t stop smiling. Her heart raced madly inside her chest. “I’ll let you be in charge one more time.”
He snorted and smacked her bottom again, this time more playfully—but it made her jump, regardless. “That was going to happen anyway. Every time,” he said, and joy shot through her. Every time. More times. Meaning: this wasn’t an anomaly.
“Try again,” he said, nipping the back of her neck with his teeth. “What can you offer me?”
“I have heard—I mean, I don’t know, but I have it on good authority—that some men might enjoy the feel of . . . well, that is to say, when a woman uses her mouth instead of her hand, you know . . .”
“You don’t say? And where did you hear such a thing? I don’t think it could possibly be true.” She couldn’t see his face through her hair, but he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
“Are you teasing me?” she asked indignantly.
“Maybe.” He pushed his hips against her backside, where her skin still stung, and she was shocked to feel his erection. “And I accept your offer; though, to be fair, we were going to do that anyway.”
“Hey!” She tried to buck him off of her. “No tickling!”
“But for now, I’ll settle for another trade,” he said, tracing the cleft of her buttocks with one teasing finger that made her gasp. “Because I have it on good authority that some women enjoy the feel of a skilled tongue between their legs, and I know Greta says it’s a sin to brag, but I am most definitely skilled at this task—”
“Stars,” she murmured.
“—and if you’re very, very good, I might lick you a little before I put my cock inside you again.”
TWENTY-THREE
