von Willegen, Therése - Tainted Love (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Unknown

  Brett reclined there, his arm thrown over the back. He watched her, his expression unreadable.

  “I’m doing my best impression of a drowned rat, okay?” Marianne laughed.

  “Come sit.” He patted the seat next to him.

  With nowhere else to go, Marianne obeyed.

  The bewitching aroma of cinnamon filtered up from the two mugs on the coffee table before them. The couch was so soft she half sank away into its depths, unable to avoid sliding toward Brett.

  “I’ve just realised the hour,” Brett said, by way of explanation. “Coffee may not be the best of options so close to dawn, so I made chai.”

  “I had it once, ages ago,” Marianne said, too conscious of the hardness of his thigh pressing into hers. The sensible thing now would be to get up and find out where he’d want her to sleep, not sit here in the lion’s den until he decided to pounce.

  An overwhelming desire to face Brett had her pull herself up onto the couch, and she scooted to the other side, tucking her feet beneath her arse so she could watch him from what she considered to be a safer distance.

  He gazed at her, a slight smile twisting his lips. “I make you nervous, don’t I? Why?” He shook his hair out behind him, and it fell in a luxuriant mane of black that caught blue highlights as it fell.

  Marianne licked her lips. “I’m that obvious, aren’t I?”

  Brett nodded once, a brief gesture, then steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his dark eyes never once leaving hers. “I’d like to know why.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’ve never been stalked by someone who comes across like a dangerous creature, a jungle cat of some sort. I’ve never done anything to warrant that kind of attention before.” She shrugged. “Until now, that is. And, besides, you’re my boss. I shouldn’t feel…” The words became muddled.

  “Shouldn’t feel what?”

  “That I don’t mind, that this is kinda fun…and since I’m in the business of tearing through all my boundaries, it may even be good for me to overstep my preconceptions of right and wrong.”

  “I’m wrong?” Brett laughed. “I’ve been told by many self-righteous twunts that I’m a very, very bad man, but I don’t feel wrong.”

  Marianne’s face grew warm. “I didn’t mean to say you’re wrong. It’s just that, my entire life, I’ve always been toeing the line, trying to fit in and do the right thing. God, I feel like I’ve been asleep for most of my adult life, and now that I’m doing something that isn’t exactly socially acceptable, I’m suddenly discovering that there is a lot more to life than I thought possible.”

  Brett quirked a brow. “And you feel like you’ve been missing out? But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been hot then cold with regard to me. Am I that repulsive?”

  “No! Not repulsive! Not by a long shot!”

  “Then why don’t you do something about it?” He leaned forward, shifting into her space so she was pressed back against the arm of the couch.

  Marianne’s body went limp, warmth spreading from her crotch. Brett was so close she could smell the cinnamon on his breath and feel the heat of his skin. His gaze held hers, rapt, and she was unable to move an inch either way. He was waiting…waiting for what, exactly?

  A mad impulse stirred inside her. She was faced with a make-or-break moment. Either she could push him away or…

  Marianne kissed the man, her lips parting to allow her tongue to flicker in and out, butterfly touches along the ridge of his teeth.

  He groaned deep in his throat, his hands coming to rest on her hips and travelling up to her shoulders as he deepened the kiss, promising devilish passions with each torturous exploration of his tongue.

  All sense of trepidation fled as Marianne surrendered her critical mind to the sensation of Brett, allowing her fingers their own quest as she sought to lift his shirt from the waistband of his leather trousers to trail up the hot, flat planes of his belly, where she tugged at the small line of hairs leading to his groin. This unexpected act made Brett tense slightly, and his musky cologne washed over her, mirroring a wilder masculinity that sent fiery tendrils racing from her core up her spine.

  A sudden sense of claustrophobia of having his mass crush her had Marianne flex her body to force the man over onto his back, and she sat astride his chest with a growl, nuzzling at the skin beneath his chin as if she’d bite into the soft flesh there like she’d seen vampires do in the movies.

  Brett went limp beneath her, which only excited her further, and this time Marianne did bite, enjoying the sensation of her teeth sinking into skin, but she held back just before the point where she knew he’d feel extreme pain or her teeth would leave marks.

  Hands travelled from her hips to undo the ties keeping the dressing gown closed, and Marianne gasped as Brett found her nipples, his fingers grazing the hard buds before he cupped her breasts to squeeze. She ground down with her pelvis, enjoying the knowledge that his cock was hard and trapped inside his trousers. The leather felt smooth, like skin, against her thighs, and Marianne sat up so she could get a good look at the man writhing beneath her.

  He returned her regard, his pupils dilated as he breathed, but he grinned up at her, his hair pooled about him. On a whim, Marianne coiled some of the silky length around her right hand, pulling hard enough to warn Brett that she could take things further.

  “You like your women wild, don’t you?”

  “I think the word is ‘unpredictable.’” He gave a small buck of his hips.

  Running her free hand down his chest, Marianne marvelled at his toned muscles, the tension. Without meaning to, she recalled other sexual encounters, with Carl, with some of the boys at college, who’d been pale, flabby. Unbidden, she recalled the way Carl would shove at her, grunting, until he reached his climax, rolled over, and promptly went to sleep. He was nothing like Brett, that much was for sure.

  “I must admit it will be fun to find out what it’s like being with a real man.” Relinquishing her grip on his hair, she started undoing the buttons of his shirt, but even as she began her task, she had to draw back with a gasp before hurrying through the remaining fastenings.

  Writhing in sinuous coils on Brett’s chest, a dragon gaped at her, its head held to the side on his sternum.

  “Oh my…” She traced the lines, marvelling at the intricate detail of the scales.

  As his chest rose and fell, it gave the beast inked on Brett’s chest the semblance of life.

  “Thirty-six hours of pure agony,” Brett said.

  “It’s…something else.”

  “Glad you appreciate it.”

  Her gaze fell upon the silver rings through his nipples, and she reached out to tug on each, grinning at the flicker of discomfort passing over Brett’s features.

  “You’re not so mad about that, are you?” she asked, allowing an impish grin to play across her lips.

  “It’s not that I don’t like this, it’s just that you’re…”

  “Making you nervous?” Marianne teased.

  “Something like that.” He grimaced, then sat up, catching her wrists and shifting so they were face to face. “My turn.”

  He kissed her, hard, his tongue twining with hers and making her think of the twisting reptile on his chest. His hands were everywhere, teasing her nipples, cupping breasts, then pulling at the already loosened belt keeping the dressing gown closed. With two tugs he released the knot, and the gown fell from her shoulders. Brett leaned back, unashamedly appraising her, his lips slightly parted and face flushed. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “You really are a work of art,” he said.

  Bringing both hands to her neck, shaking slightly, he smoothed his palms down her arms as though he could mould her flesh. A delicious shiver coursed through her as he reached her sides, teasing his thumbs over her nipples before going lower. There he paused, his palms pressed to her belly, not once looking away from her, obviously enjoying her anticipation of what would happen next.

  But she wouldn’t
let him get away with torture. Her skin was aflame, but Marianne pushed past the arousal clouding her imagination. She dropped her hands to Brett’s groin, playing her fingers along the bulge she encountered there. God, he was huge, his phallus straining against the shiny leather.

  With one swift movement, she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the zip, freeing his shaft so she could feel the weight of it. His cock was hot in her hands, and she stroked its length once, twice, smiling when he pressed his hips into her movements.

  “Oh God, your hands, woman. Evil, evOh…ahhh!”

  Where her hand grazed the tip, it came away moist. She was overwhelmed by the desire to taste him, quickly scooting to kneel on the ground so she could enclose the head of his phallus in her mouth. He smelled of the sea and something dark and wild, and his saltiness filled her mouth as she explored him with her tongue, finding his secret ridges, flicking at the small slit where his essence wept out.

  Brett groaned and twisted, his hands tangling in her hair, which encouraged Marianne to see how much of his length she could take into her mouth, delighting in the way he writhed every time she pulled back, sucking hard so that she could increase the pressure on his shaft and the smooth, tight skin of its head.

  Before she could continue, he shifted, placing his feet on the floor. “Enough of this torture,” he said. Strong hands pushed her up and tilted her face up to his. “Kiss me. I want to taste myself in your mouth.”

  Marianne rose so she could straddle his thighs, gasping a little when his fingers found her secret place, stroking the lips lightly, tickling and probing, but not penetrating. Brett accepted her kiss with great ardour, increasing the pressure slightly on her feminine folds, so she pushed against him. The moist head of his phallus brushed against her stomach, and she knew, without doubt, that she wanted that, no, needed that inside her so she could take all of him into her.

  She wanted the slide and pull of warm flesh in her deepest secret places, and the scary thing was she couldn’t remember last when she’d hungered so much for this kind of contact. Moaning slightly, she shifted, bringing her hand down so she could position Brett’s phallus outside her tight opening. To hell with the consequences.

  He tensed beneath her. “Wait,” he said into her ear. “Let’s not be stupid about this, okay?”

  For a moment Marianne thought he meant to stop this encounter, but he reached into his back pocket, withdrawing a square foil packet, an almost sheepish grin plastered on his lips.

  “Of course!” Marianne said, her face warming. “But let me do it.”

  He handed her the thing. It could be a passion killer in some cases, but she wouldn’t allow this to put a damper on the mood. After tearing the foil and removing the rubber, Marianne took Brett’s shaft into her mouth again, pleasuring him with her tongue and lips in a way she knew was driving him crazy, because he groaned in the back of his throat as she took as much of his length into her. Mercifully the rubber slid on easily to sheath his phallus, and, in one swift movement, she straddled him, sliding onto him.

  Not only was he longer than she was used to, he had more girth, and she allowed a moan to escape her, because it felt so good, stretching the muscles inside her in ways she had never before imagined. Flexing her hips, she bore down on him, enjoying the slide and pull.

  Strong arms encircled her, pressing her close against the hard planes of his chest, and Marianne inhaled deeply of his muskiness and the scent of his sweat, which enticed her to lick at his chest. She found a nipple, which hardened when she nibbled at it and teased the steel ring piercing it.

  His thrusts were slow and deep, growing more forceful, but the withdrawal was languorous, and he hesitated before plunging again, teasing her with the potential of building their climax.

  Heat spread from her centre, building tension, and she rode him, tipping him over onto his back so that she crouched over him, arching her back as waves of delight travelled up her spine. Marianne couldn’t hold back anymore. Her release washed through her, making her cry out, and she felt his phallus within her pulse almost simultaneously.

  “God, that was…” She slumped against him, pressing small kisses along his jawline.

  “Absolutely fantastic?” he ventured.

  “Just what I needed.”

  Chapter 11

  It felt peculiar to share a bed with someone who moved instinctively to encircle her in the protective arc of his arms, a warm, naked body spooned around her. With Carl it had always been a war for space, and she’d often woken half off the bed, half frozen because he’d cocooned himself in the bedding.

  She had to stop these comparisons to Carl. Brett was definitely not her erstwhile partner. Marianne studied Brett while he slept, marvelling at his high cheekbones and how dark and full his lashes were, his eyelids flickering at some quirk of dream-space.

  Thinking back to the previous night’s series of events, she chided herself for slipping into such an obvious ploy on his part to get her into his bed, but she couldn’t really complain, could she? When had she last had such an intense orgasm that she hadn’t induced herself?

  But where to from here? Perhaps she was being foolish considering anything other than sex would come of this. He must have taken many other lovers before her. No man who moved with such surety, who no doubt had dozens of women thinking dirty thoughts, could be anything but some form of predator. Granted, he was a predator who knew exactly how to make a woman feel every inch a woman, but trouble nonetheless, especially if he owned a strip club and could, without doubt, have his choice of a range of desirable beauties.

  This led her to another uncomfortable thought. Who among the girls at Imperial House had he slept with? Bubbly Sherry with her infectious laugh? Delia? What about Tonia with her cold eyes? Marianne suppressed a shiver of horror.

  Brett stirred, opening his eyes. “Mornin’, Hot Pepper.”

  “Ugh, don’t call me that. It’s after hours.”

  He frowned momentarily. “You don’t seem too happy. Was I that bad a lover?”

  “It’s just…I’m having the usual morning-after ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’ pangs.”

  “Why?” Brett tightened his grip on her, squeezing a breast.

  “Why me?”

  “Why not? I find you captivating.”

  “But…”

  He sighed, sitting up and stretching so vertebrae popped, before fixing her with his dark gaze. “Am I not allowed to find you beautiful, to show my appreciation for the temple that is your body?”

  “I’m a stripper, Brett. And, before that, I was a graphic designer. A redundant one at that.”

  “You underestimate yourself. There is nothing wrong with your current chosen profession so long as you don’t fall into some of the pitfalls, like drugs or sex work.”

  She gave a humourless bark of laughter. “What of this?”

  “Tsk. Don’t be so maudlin.” He reached for her, pulling her up into a seated position. “You think too much. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

  “Bu”

  He silenced her with a kiss, his hands smoothing down the small of her back to pull her closer to him, his erection hot and damp against her belly.

  His hair smelled of mint, and Marianne lost herself in his embrace, an answering stab of desire bringing heat to her loins. This time they shared none of the previous urgency, Brett’s movements languid, as though he were still waking.

  It was easy for Marianne to lose herself in the slide of skin on skin, questing mouths, and fingers tracing trails. His hardened phallus pushed against her thigh, and she took it in her hand, massaging its length and paying particular attention to the hot, moist head. Brett made a sound deep in his throat and pushed into her grasp. His fingers found her clit, and she let out an involuntary gasp as small shocks of pleasure radiated from the point of contact.

  When he did slide into her, Marianne could feel how wet she was, revelling in the ease with which she could accommodate him, enjoying the tempered strength in th
e muscular arms enfolding her. Brett’s lips were hot on her face and neck, and she arched into each thrust until their joint rhythm increased. She’d hoped they would take this encounter slowly, but that was not to be, for their mutual hunger for each other’s bodies took over, and she gave herself over to the inevitable climax.

  For a moment she thought she would burst apart, as if she were filled with so much light she could not contain it. Tipping over the edge, she melted into the mattress as Brett shuddered into her with the final bursts of his pleasure.

  “Wow.” Marianne gave a small groan.

  “Did the earth move?” She could feel Brett’s smile pressed against her throat, and a small gasp of his laughter.

  “Cliché alert, Brett Gentle.”

  “Where would we be if we couldn’t laugh? Everyone always takes these things so seriously.”

  “And me? Do you find me that amusing?” She couldn’t prevent an edge of bitterness creeping into her tone, the unease of earlier clouding the warm glow suffusing her body.

  “You’re hardly amusing, quite desirable, actually, but why the awful seriousness? You have a lot of reservation in you. That much I can pick up. Let yourself go and just enjoy life.”

  His hand stroking her thigh distracted her momentarily, and Marianne allowed herself to relax.

  “I guess I’ve just gone such a long time without anything going right for me that it’s easy to be bitter.” A deep sigh escaped her.

  “Forget these worries for a while, my dear.”

  Marianne bit her lip, wanting to know if there would be more to this than a one-night stand, but she was too scared to ask, too afraid to consider that the man in bed with her was merely looking for a momentary distraction before moving on to some other…floozy. And what did that say about her then?