by Wicked Ties
Jack didn’t simply want to give her pleasure; he wanted to control her, addict her, turn her into the depraved wanton Andrew had been so contemptuous of. She’d never been any man’s doormat. She wasn’t starting now.
“No,” she panted. “Stop. I didn’t agree to this. I don’t want this.”
He raked a pair of fingers through the exposed slit of her sex. Morgan knew she was more than damp. She was embarrassingly wet, swollen. Aching. His touch only ramped up the pleasure, made thick moisture gush from her weeping opening again.
He sent her a low, sexy chuckle. His well-muscled torso rippled with every move and made the wicked part of her ache to put her hands all over his body and feel his vitality.
“Your mouth is saying the words, but your body is making a liar out of you.” His whisper taunted, challenged. “Are you sure you don’t want this?”
“Are you deaf? I said I didn’t agree to this.” She accused, “You still think I’m submissive.”
“No, I don’t.”
Morgan arched a fiery brow, fighting all the sparks of pleasure leaping through her body, burning away her common sense. “Good. Finally getting smart?”
“Cher, I don’t think you’re submissive; I know it.”
She gaped at him, then shut her mouth. Bastard! Fine. He was entitled to his opinion. She had her own, thank you very much.
He clamped his fingers around her nipples again and squeezed.
“Stop it. I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
In an instant, his smile disappeared.
“I won’t ask for permission, so stop playing this game. The brave woman who took a chance with me after being shot at, the woman gutsy enough to alter her appearance to disappear in a strange town with the help of a man she’d known for all of a few minutes—hell, the woman who talks about sex on TV . . . you are that woman, not the one who keeps running from herself.”
His words smacked her between the eyes. She bucked again, struggling to break free. He’d called her a coward for trying to be sane! Unreal. “I’m not running from myself. I’m getting away from you! I wanted protection, not a mauling.”
Sending her a sharp smile, Jack eased a hand down her rib cage, over her hip, a soft contrast to the unyielding bindings at her wrists and ankles. Damn him for being so warm and looking so scrumptious shirtless, so totally male and confusing the hell out of her. He could make her needy and angry at once. And angry because she felt needy. Damn! He was using his experience to crowd her, cloud her judgment, overpower her good sense.
And she had to stop her body from falling for it . . .
“That was me against the door this morning,” she ground out. “I’m not running and I’m not playing a game. You’re just expecting something that’s not me.”
“Yeah, that was you this morning, but it wasn’t all of you. You’re capable of deeper submission. You let me touch a part of what’s inside you. But you held back. Yeah, I saw that; don’t look surprised. The deep part, the dark one that wants to be dominated and fucked, that’s the part you hid from me. That you deny exists. You have the guts to defy this sick asshole trying to stalk you, but not enough to take the pleasure I’m offering.”
Morgan ignored the heat wave that flowed in with his words—and the sight of his thick erection pushing insistently at his jeans. She focused on her anger instead. “Maybe being around too many female doormats has made you assume all of us live to roll over and spread our legs for you on command.”
“You want to submit because you’re strong, because when you’re fucking, you don’t want responsibility. You want a man who can understand you and give you what you need—all without a word.”
“Is that the kinky version of Dr. Phil?”
“Watch that mouth, cher. I own a ball gag. I know how to use it,” he growled.
At his gravelly threat, Morgan’s mouth snapped shut. Fury and desire both spiked inside her, threatening to boil up and up until it all exploded.
“I listened to you. I know you’ve been looking for a man strong enough to force your surrender in the bedroom. You’ve never explored your dark side, cher. I know you’ll respond perfectly to what I want. I sense it in you, see it in you.”
Male confidence and the physical power to back it up—all with that smooth control that wreaked havoc on her senses. Heaven help her. Jack looked so convinced of every word he said. Morgan trembled. For most of her life, she’d had . . . urges, curiosities. Fantasies. Didn’t everyone? That didn’t mean she wanted those fantasies to become reality.
She shook her head. “If you’d stop pushing your twisted needs on me, you’d figure out I’m just a normal girl.”
His shoulders tensed, arms bunched. He looked ready to grind his teeth.
Then his expression smoothed, until no trace of anger, or any emotion, remained. He merely leaned over and worked at the knots at her left wrist, then her right. He repeated the process with her ankles, careful not to touch her anywhere. That quickly, she was unbound and free, no longer at his mercy.
An odd emotion slammed her, like she was . . . empty. Bereft. Morgan curled her knees up to her chest and watched Jack yank on his shirt. He didn’t look at her—or avoid her, either. It was as if she was irrelevant.
She felt suddenly alone, even though he was in the room, gathering up the velvet ropes.
“Jack . . .” she blurted, without having any idea what she was going to say. Morgan only knew his indifference hurt.
“Yes?”
That expression. He could have been talking to anyone—a complete stranger, about nothing more vital than the weather.
The irony of his accusation fired her temper. “Talk about playing games! You don’t get your way, so I get the cold shoulder?”
He ambled back to the bed and eased down on it, a good two feet away. No part of him touched her, and she ached for his hands on her.
What the hell was the matter with her?
“If you’re not willing to be who and what I know you are, I can only give you what you asked for: platonic and professional.”
Morgan knew she ought to be rejoicing. She wasn’t submissive at heart. A few scattered fantasies didn’t make her any dom’s dreamboat. She wasn’t really wired like that.
So why did part of her yearn to call her words back, return to the moment she’d awakened and discovered his beautifully bare chest crowding her as he bent over to lap at her nipple with his blazing tongue?
Yeah, and what would you do if you could, just spread your legs like a mindless twit? Morgan honestly didn’t know the answer. She just knew she couldn’t let the conversation end with this chill between them.
“You’re angry.”
“Resigned,” he corrected. “You’re going to hide from yourself, and that’s that. I’ll leave you to go back to sleep.”
Standing, he sent her a regretful glance, then turned his wide back on her.
Morgan stared at the solid breadth of his shoulders. Power, control, intelligence, patience. Everything she’d ever wanted in a man. And she was letting him walk away.
Did that make her a coward? Or had she just let Jack crawl into her head and confuse the hell out of her?
She bit her lip to keep her response inside, but the words scorched through her mind and were quickly out of her mouth. “Fine. I’ve had . . . thoughts about submitting. Nothing serious.”
Jack paused and turned to look at her again, expression carefully blank.
“Go on.”
Conscious of her near nudity, Morgan kept her arms tightly curled around her knees, covering her bare breasts. “I’d be lying if I said it had never crossed my mind. I just know me. And that’s not me.”
“Why do you think that?”
She frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“You’ve never been submissive to any of your previous lovers. How could you know something is not for you without trying it at least once? If you’re having fantasies, the reality may be even more appealing.”
<
br /> Thoughts chased one another in Morgan’s head. He couldn’t be right. She only had to smell cooked cabbage to know she didn’t like it, right?
Weak analogy. The fact was, she avoided submitting in part because of the shame Andrew had forced on her, because of the horror she knew her mother would express if Morgan gave in to such wicked urges.
The other reason . . . the idea tempted her more than anything had in her life. She feared addiction.
Jack leaned closer, making it hard for her to process her thoughts logically. He smelled amazing. Man and spice, cypress and leather and warm skin all rolled into one incredibly attractive package with abs so tight she could probably bounce a quarter off them. The man was temptation on two legs.
What if she tried submitting? To him. Just once.
If she liked it, Andrew would be right. She wasn’t . . . abnormal, was she?
“I can almost hear the thoughts spinning in that pretty head of yours, cher. You’re thinking too hard. It’s simple.”
“No, it’s not! It’s my body, my . . .” Morgan shook her head, trying to put it into words.
“Your life? The way you see yourself? I know. But would you rather tell yourself you were adventurous enough to try something once or have to admit that you were so scared you ran away before even dipping your toe in the water?”
Why the hell was he pushing so hard?
“Stop! This is about you. You just want to get laid.”
He slanted her a self-deprecating smile—one that made her toes curl. “I want you, mais yeah. I’ve made no secret about that. But I also don’t want to see you miserable when the truth could free you.”
“I’m not miserable. I love my life!”
“I’m sure you love every part of your life . . . except sex. If you have the courage to find the truth, spend one night with me,” he challenged. “Just one, but my way. Tomorrow if you didn’t like it, no harm done. I’ll never touch you again.”
Lord, there it was—a challenge to find the truth, one that could be both simple and ugly.
Morgan sighed. Jack was right. She had never enjoyed sex, never explored the side of her psyche that wracked her with fevered dreams. Maybe . . . maybe those two facts were related. Maybe it was time to assuage her curiosity. She’d indulge her wicked fantasies once, and when they’d been fulfilled, she’d be over them.
And if Jack was just using her for sex . . . well, why couldn’t she use him, too? A mad sex scientist in decadent bedroom experiment. He was absolutely no hardship to look at, and when he was buried inside her, the pleasure was intense enough to make her lose her mind. With his help, she could rid herself of the nagging desire to be dominated by a man when it came to sex. Then she could go back to a normal life and shake off Andrew’s slurs and, someday, move into a new relationship with a clear head.
“I’m not a coward and I’m not a submissive. Mount up and I’ll prove it.”
He took her hand. “You need to find this out, once and for all.”
Whatever. By tomorrow they’d both know the truth. He’d know he was wrong. She nodded.
“We need a safe word,” Jack said.
“All right.” She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She’d read enough to know what it meant. “If I say the word . . . swamp, you’ll stop everything.”
He nodded, dark hair skimming his wide forehead. “You say swamp, and we’re done. But before you use the word, be certain you’re in actual pain beyond your bearing. Mild discomfort isn’t good enough. Either physical or mental. I’m going to challenge your traditional notions about sex. I will dare you to give more of yourself than you ever have. There’s no place to hide here, Morgan. I want to be totally clear. Are you ready for that?”
No. “Ready to show you that you’re wrong about me? Sure.”
Jack fought a smile tugging at his mouth. “Good.”
With that, he stood and tore off his shirt. His rippling shoulders straightened. Expression dissolved from his face. An air of authority, impenetrable and intimidating, surrounded him. As fast as lightning, as forceful as thunder.
Morgan shivered, even as she told herself to hang tough.
“You know the rules, Morgan. I’m master. Everything I say is absolute. You do what I tell you, when I tell you, how I tell you. You don’t question. You simply do.”
He clutched the velvet ropes in his hand, his thumb caressing the soft length of one. She tried to forget the feeling of those soft ropes at her wrists and ankles, holding her down tight, keeping her in place for him to do with her body as he pleased. Even the thought made her gut cramp with lust.
No, no, no. It wasn’t sexy, just . . . weird.
A ghost of a smile graced his mouth when he caught her staring at the velvet bindings. “Very good.”
A shiver went down her spine, and she looked away. But it was too late. He’d seen her gaze fixed on the ropes.
His voice, unusually gravelly, rumbled as he demanded, “Take off your thong.”
JACK watched Morgan tense, hesitate, her arms still wrapped around her knees, as she struggled mentally with his command. Normally, this sort of faltering would be a punishable offense. She was new to all this, her mind still pushing back from the mastery her body begged for. For now, he’d stay patient . . . as much as he could. But the reality that Morgan would soon be under him, spread wide, his to do with as he pleased, was driving him to the brink of control.
Swallowing down a lump of choking lust, he regarded her with a hard expression. “When I give a command, I expect it to be followed immediately. Take off your thong now or use the safe word.”
She bit that lush lower lip. The sight made his cock throb inside his jeans. God, he wanted that mouth of hers around him, those bee-stung lips stretched wide to take him, pull him in deep, that little tongue darting over the head. Patience, he steeled himself.
“I thought . . . Don’t we at least kiss or something first?”
Damn, she was naïve. She really had so much to learn if she was ever going to successfully submit. And he was dying to teach her everything.
Sometimes that meant playing hardball.
“You’re questioning me,” he warned. “If I thought now was the right time for a kiss, I would have demanded one. You’re behaving like a petite fille, a little girl too scared to face her own wants. And you’re wasting my time.” Jack turned his back on her.
He took a step toward the door, then another, and began to wonder if this gamble was about to explode in his face.
“Wait! I’m scared. This is new for me,” she said softly. “I . . . I don’t want to like it.”
Jack turned back to her. Finally, some honesty. That was a step in the right direction.
“What do you call me in the bedroom?” he challenged.
“Sir.” The word trembled from her lips, and it seared him like a hot poker, shoving a slam of desire up his cock.
To reward her, he moved to her side and cupped her cheek in his palm. “You need to face yourself, cher. I’m not the enemy here. I can help you.”
“I just can’t stop thinking that—”
“You know the rules. Don’t think. Just obey.”
She sighed. “I’ve never been good at obedience, sir. Ask my mother.”
Smiling, he promised, “I’ll never ask you to clean your room or take out the trash. Obeying me will be a lot more pleasurable.”
Morgan smiled back and sent him a shaky nod, innocence and need both shining from her blue eyes.
His heart turned over in his chest. Damn, she was so beautiful, so uncertain. Something about her made him want to fuck her in every way possible and reassure her of her perfection while he was doing it. Crazy notion . . .
Stepping away, he blanked the soft amusement from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. “One last chance. Take off the thong, Morgan.”
She paused a mere instant before she released a deep breath and eased off the bed, exposing her lush, pale breasts, framed by the golden camisole. Her
nipples still stood hard and rosy from his sucking.
Fresh lust kicked him in the gut, pulsed in his balls, as she sent him a hesitant glance, then hooked her thumbs in the lacy strips over her hips. Slowly, so damn slowly he tried not to hold his breath, she began pulling the thong down, displaying more pale-perfect skin dotted with tiny, faint freckles.
Then she exposed the fiery hair guarding her pussy. Jack clenched his jaw. He was dying to taste her. She was already slick. Totally wet and ready. Knowing that was killing him.
Finally, her thong made it to the floor. She straightened, casting him an uncertain glance, but played brave by throwing her shoulders back and holding her head high. Jack knew from the way she squirmed that she was fighting the urge to cover her breasts with the camisole hanging from her shoulders and place a hand over her mound. But she didn’t. His respect for her courage climbed up a notch—as did his eagerness to have her completely at his mercy.
“Pick up the thong.”
Morgan stared at him, a little frown crinkling between her brows as she looked for the logic in his request. He’d break her of that habit eventually.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.
With an expression torn between confusion and resignation, she bent and picked up the thong, then held it against her bare breasts. Her fiery hair lay tousled across her shoulders. Her red mouth, which would do Angelina Jolie proud, looked moist, lips parted. A sweet flush spread across her cheeks.
Jack sucked in a breath. Damn it, she was so beautiful. And so wasted on Brandon Ross. The thought of showering her with pleasure until she screamed was clawing at his restraint. He was getting harder by the second. He had to retain some control here. Otherwise, he couldn’t give her what she needed—what they both needed.
“Give me the thong, cher.”
Swallowing, she reached out a hesitant hand full of golden lace and silk. Fear and eagerness to please warred on her face, clutched at his heart. He had to both soothe her and push her. Balance his responses. It was the only way to coax her into really letting go.
Jack took the thong from her and bunched it in his hand. It was damp. And even six inches from his nose, he could smell her arousal on the garment. The knot of lust in his gut wrenched so tight, he could hardly catch a breath.
