The Keeper

by Quinn, Jane Leopold

  "Keep your hands still. Don't touch me," she ordered.

  He was only able to fist the sheets in torture of the most glorious kind. His balls had already withdrawn tightly into his groin as she smoothed the soft bristles over and around the circle of his cock.

  She finally glanced at him. Her eyes twinkled with humor and devilment. Holy God, I love her. "Share."

  "Do you like this?" she purred.

  All he could do was nod and arch his back. He was losing it. A drop of cum seeped from his slit. Shit. She skimmed the thick fluid over the chocolate. "Fuck! I can't take any more," he exclaimed, his voice pitched embarrassingly high.

  Her smile quirked. Her mouth opened. She grazed her tongue over the ridge of her top teeth, swiped it over her lips to wet them, and Holy Mother of God, she took him in her mouth. He shouted. She sucked at him fiercely, lapping at him systematically with her tongue. Up and down. Around and around.

  He lost his mind in the pleasure; lost it in the sweet draw of her mouth, the pressure in his balls, the heated ache boiling up from deep inside. The little sobbing sounds of gratification coming from her throat aroused him all the more, and he convulsed in a fiercely intense surge.

  He would have been humiliated to pass out after climaxing with any other woman. When he awoke, just before dawn, she curled around his back. He reached behind him to smooth exploring fingers over her, loving the warm softness of her skin. She responded immediately, as if she were waiting for him to wake. She purred as he rolled over between her thighs and thrust inside her already slick, primed cunt. All without a word.

  A laugh of pure joy burst from him. Her body was a welcome home for his cock, her heart a home for his. Rejoicing in the fact she'd come to him, proving she trusted him after all. He would not let her regret it. Making love to her in the early morning hours was sweet and satisfying. She arched into him, grasped his ass, wrapped her legs around his thighs, and answered every one of his thrusts with her own.

  While they dressed for work in the morning, he asked, "Are you free this weekend?"

  ***

  "Share?" Pete hovered over her naked body and held her wrists at either side of her head.

  "Yes?" Smiling up at him, she decided she could get used to the familiar penthouse, the same one as on the wedding weekend. It was a magical, luxurious place made even more special by the man on top of her.

  "Baby, do you trust me?"

  Instantly wary at the tone of his question, she sobered for a moment. Did she?

  "Do you trust me enough to put yourself in my hands?"

  She tried to shift her arms, but he tightened his grip. A frisson of awareness raced through her. Not fear. Her pussy throbbed. She liked the feeling of his capturing her. She'd worked through her demons, knew she had trust issues and insecurities, but there was no doubt in her heart and mind Pete Rayne was different from any other man she knew and definitely different from her father. She'd finally been able to speak her mind to that man and survived.

  There was only one answer to Pete's question. "Yes," she hissed.

  He tugged her wrists above her head and held them together in one hand.

  Something soft brushed along her upraised arm, back and forth, tickling her. She couldn't see what it was. Then it circled one wrist like a silky fur cuff. She heard a click. "Pete?" Her voice held a note of alarm.

  "Does it hurt?"

  "No," she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. He enclosed the other wrist in another furry circlet—and clicked. She was defenseless, vulnerable, and open.

  "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I promise you'll enjoy this. I'll never hurt you."

  She believed him. Her heart thudded hard in her breast. Nevertheless, she tugged at her restraints, testing them and herself. At his mercy and now attached to the headboard of the four-post bed. He kissed her then, a consuming mating of their lips, his tongue plunging and curving into her mouth. It ended all too soon.

  He drifted his lips down her neck to the cushions of her breasts. Arching in expectant passion, she offered them as she whispered encouragement and pleas. He toyed with her until she squirmed. "Baby," she whimpered. "Suck my nipples."

  "I have something better. Close your eyes." His voice dropped an octave as he looped a scarf around her head, covering her eyes, and tied a knot by her ear.

  She gasped at the loss of her sight and rolled her head on the pillow, complaining at the loss of his body's heavy warmth when he sat up. Her nipples ached, and he wasn't touching her.

  Cool air raised the fine hairs on her body. She groaned. Something soft swept, with the lightest of touches, across the pebbled tip of one breast. "Oh, yes," she whimpered. The swish, back and forth, brought goose bumps.

  He dragged the feather down her center, tickling her belly button.

  Her hips lifted, seeking the feather's movement as he slowly curled it over her thighs. Muscles quivered and her pussy flooded, the swollen tissues hot and pulsating. Her whole body throbbed in anticipation.

  He must have knelt between her legs, because his muscular biceps pushed them wide to expose her completely. He nipped at her inner thigh, sucking the skin into his mouth, his teeth leaving a sharp sting.

  "Pete!"

  His chuckle sent waves of sensation rolling through her. The feather stroked up her slit, from her back hole to her clit. Up and down. Down and up.

  Her mouth opened in a shriek. Her hips pumped, lifting right off the bed.

  He tickled and tormented.

  It was agonizing. It was wondrous. "Please, please," she begged. "I want you inside me."

  "Me too." He groaned the words, his heated breath puffing over her face. The insistent, thick head of his cock pulsed at her vaginal opening. Slowly, tauntingly, he pumped in the tip.

  She tugged at her restraints, wanting desperately to touch him, to pull his body into hers.

  "You feel so good," he murmured, broken and husky, his in-stroke confident and persistent, the pulling out heady and with a little erotic twist.

  Arching her back, seeking more, her head tossed on the pillow. It was maddening to be blind. She didn't like it. She wanted to see his face, to gaze down the length of her body to see his cock straining toward her.

  He thrust completely in, grunting harshly in her ear.

  She screamed her pleasure as they plunged and withdrew in counterpoint to the other, their bodies meeting with satisfying wet slaps. His pleasure was a guttural rumbling sound in her ear. His chest abraded her breasts. Her senses narrowed to her pussy, her hole, to his cock in her hole. She bit her lower lip and took his thrusts until her orgasm bloomed, forcing its way to the very tips of her fingers and toes, coating her skin with a sheen of perspiration.

  Her shoulders ached a bit when he released them. Too spent to care, she rolled to her side with his hard, equally sweaty body curled up behind her. Secure in his tight embrace, an exhaustive and satiating sleep claimed her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sharon floated into consciousness, to warm, plush awareness. It didn't feel quite familiar, not like her bedroom at home—oh, right, the penthouse suite of The Sanctuary, the most expensive hotel in Chicago. Everything had been perfect with Pete. He was amazing, sexy, and sweet.

  Rolling her head to one side, she peeped at him from under her lashes. Sprawled on his back, arms above his head on the pillow, face relaxed into a little boy expression, he looked magnificent and innocent—which he was not. Innocent, that is. God, he's a good lover. She smiled and gazed at him tenderly. She didn't really want to think of all the women who might have taught him a thing or two over the years. Besides, she'd learned a thing or two herself. Remembering the furry cuffs, she rubbed her wrists and wondered if he'd done what they did last night with anyone else.

  Easing out of the bed, she strolled over the thick Oriental carpet into that stupendous bathroom. This time, she didn't want to leave the place without sampling the whirlpool tub. Huge and deep, it sat right in front of a picture window overlooking the skyline.
The blinds didn't need to be drawn, since the penthouse was above the rest of the city. Besides, who else would be up at this hour? It was five in the morning. She had a strong yen for this tub.

  Starting the water and turning on the jets, she dropped in scented bath salts from the vanity. Mm, coconut. It reminded her of a Piña Colada. She sank into the hot, frothy water with a contented sigh. This was heavenly. Surging water soothed her well-used muscles. She was accustomed to Pete's energetic lovemaking and reveled in it, but it had a cost. This was completely soothing and, if she angled just right, arousing.

  Relaxed into limpness, her head, with hair in a topknot, dropped back onto the neck cushion. She stretched out, and sighed again. Champagne and shrimp? Cheese? Grapes? That's what she needed. How decadent.

  The pedestrian sound of the toilet flushing in its little room woke her from a hazy doze. The steam from the whirlpool had melted her muscles and clouded the mirrors, but the masculine body stepping into the water was clear as lust.

  "Private party?" he purred, sinking until the only parts of him visible were his head and shoulders. "Ahh," he groaned appreciatively.

  "Not any more," she replied, sensuous excitement pulsing through the parts of her already made soft by passion and hot, frothing water.

  "Hi." He lifted his arms to rest on the sides, fingertips dangling, twitching. Flicking.

  "Hey!" she giggled as she put her palm out to keep water out of her eyes. His calf drifted along hers, toes poking into places he'd already claimed. "Hey." The sound strangled out of her, breathy and truncated. She suddenly felt very petite and delightfully trapped in this bubbly, steamy bath. His tall, broad-shouldered body overwhelmed her even from three feet away. His warm, hazel eyes gleamed mischievously, and his lips quirked before he broke into a smile.

  "Got a problem?" He wiggled his toe, sliding it delicately over her clit.

  "Oh." The heat rose up her neck. All of a sudden, she was inordinately hotter than the water temperature. Mm, it does feel wonderful. She pressed back. Parting her lips, running her tongue over the ridge of her upper teeth, she watched the unholy gleam in his gaze as he pushed off and glided slowly toward her.

  She bit the corner of her lower lip. He ducked his head under the water and surfaced right in front of her. Muscular arms rose to run fingers through wet hair, sweeping it off his forehead, an act that showed off every line and curve in the muscles of his chest and biceps. Even the soaked tufts of underarm hair aroused her. Gauzy ruffs in the center of the most tender skin on his body, and as she knew, the most ticklish.

  She clasped her fingers around his chest, sliding them around to his back, caressing the firm skin. Tearing her gaze off his puckered, pointy nipples, she met his eyes. He stilled, watching her, his hands in his hair, muscles bunched, his chest the only part of him moving—in and out in rough, uneven breaths.

  "Don't you dare." His warning was deep and powder-puff threatening.

  He knew what was in her mind. It was the one thing he feared. She pursed her lips and blinked in what she hoped was an unsuspicious, coy way.

  His chest broadened, tensed in her hands. Her own breathing became more and more irregular. She inched her fingers up. He hated being tickled. Her thumbs twitched. He watched her face like a jungle cat watching prey, waiting for the slightest telltale movement.

  She kissed him instead, a long, tongue-dragging slide from one coffee-brown male nipple across to its mate. Her insides jumped in rapturous shivers.

  A sound escaped him, half giggle, half-rough, lusty sigh.

  He had extremely sensitive nipples. His cock could go from soft to spike hard with just a light, pursed-lip blow of warm air across them.

  His arms lowered around her, and he pulled her against him, flattening her breasts, then slid his palms down her back to cup her bottom. She didn't have the smallest butt on earth, but she loved the way one huge hand of his could hold her whole bottom easily. He made her feel amazingly petite and protected in his arms.

  His morning beard-roughened cheek abraded a path across her neck. His soft growl, a purr deep in his throat, followed as his lips nuzzled her breasts, licking, and nipping a trail all around the silken skin.

  "Mm, you taste good, honey."

  He held her shoulder blades in his palms and finally—finally—lit into her nipples. She clutched his shoulders, digging fingertips in until she scratched. She wanted to rake her claws over his hard muscles, wanted to wrap her thighs around his hips. Open. She was soft, achy, and open.

  Lifting her up out of the water, he feasted.

  She gripped his head, speared fingers through his fair strands and held him captive against her breasts. She looked down her nose at his face, at the sight of his lips tugging and tugging, working her nipples. His lovely, wet, spiky eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks.

  One of his hands slid down the wetness of her back and kneaded her bottom again.

  "Share, Share, I love how soft your skin is. I love to touch you." He demonstrated, sliding fingers through the water from behind, slipping through her cleft, caressing her thighs.

  She moaned his name, cupped his nape, and surged against him, sinuously drawing his fingers deeper into her heat. "Yes," she whispered. He switched from back to front, and she sobbed when he fondled her clit. Soft touching, firm petting, alternating until she didn't know which would happen next. She didn't care as long as he didn't stop.

  Dropping her hand below the water, she found him, grasped the firm cock in her palm, and wrapped him, stroked him from base to tip.

  He growled deep in his throat, lifted his head to take her lips, to thrust his tongue in concert with the thrust of his hips into her hand.

  She brushed her thumb over and around the flared head, his skin hot even in the steamy water. "Oh, Pete, I think LW's ready," she murmured into his ear.

  "Well, then, why don't we bury him right inside your deep, soft, slick, tight pussy." He sat back in the tub, pulling her toward him.

  "Um hum," she sobbed. "Now would be good." She settled over his hips, and even their sweet, deliberate ballet of touches and kisses couldn't stop them from coming together in a fierce connection of bodies and hearts. She came almost instantly as the head of his penis caressed her sweet spot with his tormenting, magical, masterful skill of swiveling hips. Usually she didn't come to orgasm so easily, but her emotions of late, the hot, tender bondage, the way she felt complete and secure in his arms, toppled her over the edge. She cried out then buried her open mouth against his shoulder, biting it in the beautiful, frightening joy of wanting this man forever. He'd said he loved her, but did that translate to wanting her—forever?

  Tightly, he held her so tightly she couldn't catch a breath. She became aware of the jets of water still pummeling them. The heat, the steam still surrounded them. He groaned. She heard his soft sounds, almost whimpering, his hands splayed over her back, fingers twitching, the hard muscles of his arms like iron bars of a cage.

  She'd fallen deeply and surely in love with Pete Rayne. She had always wanted love but feared she wasn't capable of it. Not really. Not after living through the succession of her mother's boyfriends. None of them lasted. It had burned into her mind that nothing ever lasted. It sure hadn't with her.

  The recent return of her father, her mother's taking him back, had rocked her world. She didn't see it as a great love match. It was more settling for the devil you knew. She was confused and vulnerable. But Pete was different. So wonderfully different. She trusted him. "Pete." Her voice was very quiet in the steamy room. "I love you."

  "Share, I want to do this forever."

  His words spoke over hers.

  She took a breath. It hurt. "Yeah, but we gotta go back home sometime."

  "I mean I want to do this for ever."

  His body stiffened. She could feel the tension. Did he mean what she thought he meant?

  "I love you too, Share." He had to clear his throat after the "I love..."

  Joy bloomed—for a second. She tried
to keep the insecure pain from her voice. "Don't say that just because we have great sex."

  He brought his hands up to cup her head, to tip her face up to his.

  His hazel eyes gleamed with warmth as tears formed in hers.

  "Share, I'm saying it because it's true." Nose to nose, he was completely focused on her. "Ever since the wedding ceremony. You looked so beautiful in the chapel. The reflection of the light in the stained glass windows, it washed your face with the setting sun. I heard the words honor and peace and joy. And I wanted that with you."

  "Really?" She was sick with hope. "That's so beautiful."

  "Yeah, really. Share, you never have to be alone again. I'm not like your father. I'm here to stay. For the long haul." He kissed her. Soft lips, caressing, gently nibbling, drawing her into him.

  Drawing her into his truth. The hard thunder of his heart reverberated against her skin, against her heart. "I do, too. I love you, Pete." Her eyes lost their focus, as if she were looking inward, and she was shocked at verbalizing her honest vulnerability. "No one ever put me first before." God, did that make her too pitiful? "I grew up as the lonely, chubby girl. If you didn't live it, you don't understand it."

  "You do realize you completely changed your own life, don't you?" He traced a fingertip across her cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

  The impact of his statement struck her breathless. He meant it. She could see the honesty in his golden green eyes. "No one's ever—."

  "Someone has now."

  "Oh, Pete, I love you."

  He held her again, hard against his body. "Well, this is a story we can never tell our grandchildren."

  The shiver of his chuckle shook her. This was sensory overload. "What story?"

  "We can't tell them I proposed to Grandma in a whirlpool."

  "It'll be our secret." A teary smile quirked up her lips.

  "So does that mean you accept?"

  The uncertainty in his voice surprised and pleased her. It seduced her. That he wasn't sure of her. "Yes, Grandpa, I accept," she giggled, kissing him, brushing her lips over his, licking them.