by Roz Lee
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded, closing the distance between them slowly, giving her ample time to change her mind. She stood statue still until he came close enough to catch her scent in his nostrils. Her signature fresh, clean scent and another more earthy one hit him square in the libido—arousal. “But we’re going to do it anyway, aren’t we?”
Her gaze met his. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Yes,” she whispered.
He wedged one foot in between hers then slid an arm around her waist and pulled her softness within an inch of his hard body. Leaning in, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. “Want to know what I’m going to do to you?”
She shivered in his arms. “Wha-what are you going to do?”
God, he loved the breathless quality of her voice. Flexing his arm, he tugged her closer. “I’m going to taste you. All over. I’m going to kiss every inch of you, starting right here.” He covered her lips with his, stealing her gasp before plunging his tongue in to capture her groan.
She tasted like chocolate and fine wine, sugar and spice. And everything nice he’d ever dreamed of.
He traced her curves with one hand while the other remained on the small of her back, anchoring her to him. When she arched, pressing her breast into his palm, it was all he could do to keep from tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her to the nearest flat surface. She made him caveman crazy with need.
Breaking the kiss, he searched her face for any sign he’d misunderstood her actions. She gazed up at him, eyes dark with passion, her lips swollen and parted. Every labored breath pressed her hard nipple into the flesh of his palm.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered against her lips. “I can’t wait to taste you.” He nibbled along her jaw until he found the throbbing pulse in her neck. Her head fell back, allowing him better access.
Pressing his mouth to the spot, he inhaled deep. Out of self-preservation, he’d taken to holding his breath around her. Her scent drove him insane. Hell, it drove him up the wall and clawed at his gut every damn day.
Her nails dug into his shoulders. “The clamps.”
“We’ll get to them, I promise.”
Reluctantly, he released her breast and worked on the buttons standing between him and her body. He had to see her, touch her. Now.
“I want to make you as crazy as you make me. I want to hear you beg me to let you come then I want to sink into your heat over and over again until neither one of us can remember who we were before.”
She groaned, and he took the sound as permission to continue.
He slid the last button on her blouse free then went to work on her shorts. As soon as the zipper gave way, she wiggled her hips, sending the fabric to the floor. He leaned back to look at her.
Every man had their own personal definition of beauty, had an image in their mind of what it should look like. Gazing at the perfection before him, he realized how inadequate his imagination had been. It wasn’t just the two perfectly formed globes encased in ivory lace or the indentation of her waist or the way her hips flared out to create the ideal place for his hands. It wasn’t even the soft mound hidden beneath a scrap of fabric. It was all of her—the entire package—the way she championed others, the way she rose to every challenge, the way she used her incredible intellect to make the most of a situation. He’d learned from others how she’d sacrificed her ambitions for her family when her father became sick. Once she had the chance to put her education to use, she used it to help others. Adams Manufacturing had grown like a monster octopus with a dozen legs—not because of greed, but because she wanted to create more jobs for the people in her community. She had single-handedly rebuilt Butte Plains.
“You’re beautiful.” He’d said the words to women before, but he’d never meant them more. “So damn beautiful.”
She ducked her head as if the compliment embarrassed her. He put his index finger beneath her chin, compelling her to look at him. “Those are just words, Becky. Let me show you how beautiful you are.”
Her body trembled under his hands, and, for a heartbeat, he thought she’d changed her mind, and this would be all he’d ever have of her. Then her lips curved upward in a quivering smile, and his heart twisted itself up in knots. Afraid to move, he held still while she gathered the hem of his T-shirt and tugged. “Yes to all of it, but I want to see you, too. I’ve waited too long.”
Christ almighty! “Not so fast.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, stopping her from undressing him. He wanted to feel her skin against his more than he wanted his next breath, wanted to feel her mouth on him, but he also wanted to take his time. She deserved more than the fast fuck on the kitchen counter his dick wanted. “I want this to be good for you, and the only way I can is for you to let me take charge. I’m not a Dom… I don’t always have to have my way, but I’m so close to the edge, if you touch me, it’s going to be over before it begins.”
He could practically see the wheels spinning in her head as she sized up the situation. If she said no, he’d do all he could to see to her pleasure before his, but he didn’t like the odds he’d leave them both wishing they’d never gotten naked together. He was about to plead his case again, when she sighed and he knew he had her.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just feel.” He nodded toward the shipping box bearing the Adams Manufacturing logo sitting on her counter. The shows scheduled to tape this week were all about their new line of bondage play gear. He could hope…. “What have you got in there?”
She glanced at the box. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. He almost smiled, but thought better of it. He reached for the box. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?”
She crossed her arms across her middle. “Ford.” His name sounded like a warning on her lips.
He tucked the box under his arm and lied through his teeth. “Product research, Becky Jean. That’s all.”
“You won’t do anything I don’t want to do?”
“Swear.” If he’d learned anything about his business partner in the last few months, it was she wasn’t a prude. Shy. Private. But she’d try just about anything once. He’d be surprised if she tried the nipple clamps again after tonight, but who knew?
“Okay then, but I want a safeword.”
There was the Becky Jean he knew, practical to the bone. He nodded, anything to get her moving. The sight of her nipples straining against the lace of her bra drove him insane with need. “Choose.”
“Pickle. That should do it.”
“Pickle it is.” She wouldn’t need her safeword, but if having a way out gave her comfort, he would go along. “Let’s go.”
He followed her up the stairs and down the short hallway he remembered from the last time he’d been in her house. Memories of the plug he’d created seated between her sweet ass cheeks had never been far from his mind since the night she’d called him to help her remove it. God, what a night. Dragged from dinner with his mother and aunt by Becky Jean’s frantic call, he’d been out of his mind with worry until he got to her house and found out she’d panicked because she couldn’t get the key in to release the locking mechanism on the plug. He’d been both amused and proud—of her for trying the thing, and of himself for creating the toy. As monumental as the test had been for the company, the memory of touching her skin eclipsed everything else in his mind. He’d lost sleep thinking about touching her ass again—hell, touching any part of her.
After a quick glance at the contents of the box he’d carried upstairs, he set it on her dresser and turned to find Becky Jean standing halfway between him and the antique four-poster bed occupying the center of the room—her arms at her sides as if she dared him to look his fill. He took the challenge, cataloguing every inch of her from her full lips to her toes curled into the braided rug. Fuck, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He had to believe she remained single because of the dearth of eligible men in B
utte Plains, because who in their right mind wouldn’t want her in his bed every night? She belonged to him tonight, a circumstance he planned to take full advantage of.
“Take off the bra.” He held his breath while she reached behind her to undo the back clasp. Held it while she extricated her arms from the straps. Held it while the lace garment fell away from her front to reveal the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen. When his lungs began to burn, he exhaled in a rush. “God almighty, Becks. Look at you.”
“What?” Her brows drew together, and she looked down at her chest then back up at him. “Ford?”
He couldn’t claim to be a virgin, had seen more than his share of breasts, but he’d never, never been this undone. She would be the death of him. He forced his gaze to her eyes. “They’re perfect, Becks.”
“They’re boobs, Ford. Everyone has them.”
“Not like those.” He couldn’t wait to get his hands and lips on them.
“I’m dying here. Are you just going to look, or are you going to put the clamps on?”
The clamps. Mention of the reason he’d been granted this opportunity in the first place brought him out of his trance. “We’ll get to those.” He motioned with his hand. “Panties. Off.” Me. Caveman. You. Obey. He was losing it. Fast.
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband, bent, and pushed the tiny scrap of fabric past her hips. As she straightened, she tossed the garment off to the side. He didn’t know where—didn’t care.
Becky Jean was all woman, from her generous breasts to the flare of her hips to the thatch of red hair at the juncture of her thighs. Blood he desperately needed to deliver oxygen to his brain diverted to his groin, making him glad he’d changed out of his jeans before coming to her house. The jock strap he’d worn had lost the battle with his dick, but he could live with the discomfort.
His heart thundered, trying to keep up with the demand from his libido while ignoring the one organ he needed to remain functioning. He would not fuck up this opportunity by going caveman on her. Which meant he had to rein in his impulses. Breathe. Come on, Adams, man up.
He licked his dry lips with his even-drier tongue. He needed a drink, and he knew just where to get one. “On the bed,” he said. “We need to try these cuffs out.” He spun around to dig in the box for the restraints he’d seen earlier and prayed Becky Jean would do as he said without question. One brush of her hand and he’d explode. In order to do anything for her, he’d need to insure she couldn’t touch him.
When he turned back around, he sent up a silent thank you to the gods for looking out for him. Becky Jean lay spread-eagle in the center of the bed—waiting for him to secure her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. He’d never seen a more inviting scene. He tore his gaze away from her torso. Focus. With numb fingers, he unbuckled one of the smaller cuffs then fastened it around her right wrist. “Too tight?” he asked, using his index finger to test the fit. These were the best they offered at the moment, a light, durable nylon fabric lined with flannel, it sported a single buckle fastener. He owned heavier wristwatches.
“No,” she said, examining the product with her other hand. “I’ve been wanting to try these on ever since we started carrying them. It’s pretty comfortable, actually.”
“You’ll tell me if anything changes, won’t you?”
“Count on it.” She lifted her arm over her head, and he fastened the cuff to the short nylon strap he’d looped around the bedpost.
As he worked his way around the bed, fastening her ankles, he tried to focus on the task at hand instead of the treat awaiting him and not the feel of her skin beneath his fingers or the delicate floral scent he’d come to associate with her. And he sure as hell tried to block out the musky tones of her arousal that awakened the primal male in him.
When he’d secured her left wrist and confirmed she experienced no discomfort from the restraints, he finally allowed himself the luxury of looking at her.
“Fuck, Becks.”
She wiggled her ass, pulled and tugged at the four-point restraints, testing her limits and obliterating his. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted this one.
He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it across the room. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
He put one knee on the edge of the mattress. His gaze met hers.
“Ford.” She strained toward him. Everything he had hoped to see on her face was there—desire, need. “Please.”
Her softly spoken plea grounded him. He had her right where he wanted her, open and trusting. He wouldn’t let her down. “I’ve got you, Becks.” He stroked a strand of hair from her cheek, allowed his thumb to linger on her lower lip. “I’m going to make you feel good, I promise.”
She closed her eyes and moaned, rocking her hips up—an invitation he had every intention of accepting. But first, he wanted to know everything about her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Becky’s body dipped and rolled with the motion of the mattress as Ford climbed over her, situating himself between her legs. He still had too many clothes on, which seemed completely unfair and, yet, erotic as hell. Bound to the bed, she felt powerless, until he stretched over her and ground his erection against her throbbing mound, and she understood the power she held over him.
“This is what you do to me, Becks. You’re so fucking beautiful, inside and out.” He flexed his hips, letting her feel the hard steel of his erection beneath his shorts.
Becky shifted, seeking the contact she needed, but groaned when the restraints prevented her from doing so.
“Relax, baby.” Ford pressed her into the mattress with his body flush on hers. His hands traveled along her arms until he twined his fingers with hers. His mouth hovered over hers. “I’m going to see to your every need. I promise.”
“Ford,” she sighed as he peppered her face with tiny kisses that made her toes tingle.
“Becks. My Becks. Say you’ll let me love you.” He nibbled at her earlobe.
“Yes, God, yes,” she moaned.
At her acquiescence, he crushed her lips with his. She tensed for a second then his tongue demanded entrance, and she opened for him. Slowly, he melted every bone in her body, seduced her with mouth and tongue until his breath became hers and hers, his.
When he broke the kiss, she strained to follow then sagged against the mattress as he forged a path of wet kisses down her neck… then lower.
“Oh God, Ford,” she cried as he tongued one nipple then the other. She arched her back, begging him to take more. He obliged, taking a tight bud into his mouth and sucking hard. A bolt of white-hot heat shot straight to her core. She moaned, and if not for the weight of his body and the restraints binding her, she would have rocketed into orbit.
He pulled her breast taut, grazed his teeth over the aching tip then released her with a pop. He let out a delighted chuckle, but before she could verbally brain him for his childish behavior, he bent and took her other breast into his mouth. Becky sucked in a tight breath and held it as he gave this nipple the same lavish treatment he’d bestowed on the other. Her lungs burned by the time he let go and chuckled again at the audible release.
“Fuck, Becks. I could do this all night, but we’ve got toys to test, don’t we?”
Huh? Becky struggled to keep up with his train of thought. He leaned over, reaching for something on the bedside table. The ringing of tiny bells jump-started her brain a mere second before he sat back on his knees. The sight of the nipple clamps in his hands sent a cold chill racing across her skin, which only made her nipples tighter.
“I’ve only used these things once before,” he said, testing the tweezer-like jaws on the tip of his finger. His gaze met hers, the heat immediately chasing away her fear. “These are for beginners.”
He took her left breast in hand, squeezing and plumping it. He flicked his thumb over the hardened bud, making her squirm. “They’re still going to hurt like hell, Becks, but I promise to make this good for you. Do you trust me?”
She’
d never seen the correlation between pleasure and pain. Didn’t understand the concept, but she had Ford Adams promising to make her feel good. How could she pass up the opportunity? She nodded. “Do it.”
He bent and took her nipple into his mouth again, sucking until she writhed beneath him. Before she could comprehend his intent, he released her, pinched the tip between his thumb and forefinger, stretching her skin. Mid-gasp, the clamp bit into her skin, stealing her breath. Her fingernails dug into her palms, and she burrowed into the mattress, tried to dig a hole with her shoulder blades to escape the excruciating pain. She bit her lip muffling her screams. Tears slid down her cheeks.
Somewhere amidst the pain she recognized Ford’s voice. “Breathe, Becks. Breathe.” And his hands, stroking her from rib cage to mound, his thumb brushing her clit over and over again. “You’re doing good, Becks. So good. Use your safe word if you need to, baby.”
His hand kneaded her other breast—preparing it for the same torture, yet she couldn’t force the word past her lips to stop him.
His lips closed over her nipple. She whimpered. Her pussy clenched with need. He moved swift and sure, as if he’d done this a thousand times—and maybe he had. She didn’t want to think about him making some other woman crazy enough with need to let him do this to her.
Before she could analyze what she recognized as jealousy, he tugged on her nipple. She cried out, arching her back then digging her shoulder blades into the down comforter in an effort to escape. The pain stole her breath and blanked her mind. Her safeword floated to her lips, dying there as Ford stroked her again. Directing the pain, focusing it to a tiny point.
“So good, babe. Fucking beautiful. Ride it, baby. Gonna make you come. I promise.”
Her breasts were on fire, yet the real pain seemed to be between her legs. Please. Please. She raised her hips, begging for relief, for release. She never knew need could hurt so much. “Please.” She formed the word with her dry lips, but had no idea if sound had accompanied it.
