“Now.”
The raw power and dominating calm in his voice turned the knot in her stomach to a molten pool of need.
Jesus fuck, what was wrong with her? Had she always been this way? Or was it Desmond Russell who brought it out in her?
Desmond’s nostrils flared. “Now, Captain.”
She crossed to where he stood beside the bed. “Happy now?”
An unreadable emotion flared in his eyes. “Yes.”
The single word slipped from him, a low murmur that affected her with the same potent arousal as his earlier “Now”.
“Close your eyes.”
Charged excitement flooded her pussy at the simple instruction. And nervous hesitation.
As if sensing the conflict warring within her, Desmond brushed the back of his knuckles along her jawline with a caress more tender than any she’d ever experienced. “Close your eyes, Jess,”
She did as he commanded. Inside her tummy, a swarm of maniacal butterflies took up residence.
“Very good.” His deep voice played over the bare expanse of her shoulder, the side of her neck. “Now I could do two things with my tie. I could blindfold you or I could bind your wrists together.”
Jess stood motionless, unable to stop her breath falling past her lips in choppy pants.
“Which would you like?”
She wasn’t prepared for the question. “I…” A tormented whimper tore at her throat. “I…don’t…”
“Have you ever been tied up, Captain? Blindfolded?”
She shook her head, licking her lips in an effort to moisten them.
Before she finished, Desmond’s tongue swiped at hers in a teasing flick and she gasped, snapping her eyes open as she jerked away at the unexpected contact.
Desmond’s chuckle was low. “Let’s begin with blindfolding you. Close your eyes again.”
She met his gaze, the burning desire she saw in their blue depths assuaging her nerves. She knew she was desirable in an Outback, no-class, rough-as-guts kind of way. She knew the words sexy, hot and fuckable had been used to describe her at one point in time or another by most of the single men in the Ridge—and quite a few of the taken ones as well—but not one of those men stirred things inside her like Desmond did. Nor had any of them ever looked at her with such open desire.
“Am I going to survive this?” she whispered.
“If you mean, are you going to walk away alive.” He smiled slowly. “Most surely. If you mean unscathed?”
He swallowed, once again brushing his knuckles along her jaw.
Without further prompting or instruction, Jess closed her eyes.
A heartbeat later, the cool silk of his tie pressed to her eyelids.
It really was insanity, letting him do this to her. And yet, she trusted him. Deep down, in the very pit of her soul, she trusted him.
As much as, if not more than, she craved his domination of her pleasure, her body.
It was fucked-up lunacy.
And so fucking arousing she could feel her pussy grow wetter as he gently knotted his tie behind her head.
Her world became sound, touch. Her remaining senses went on high alert. A firefighter spends their life relying on their senses, maybe more so than most other careers; to not only see the flames but hear where they are, what they are engulfing. To feel the heat, gauge its intensity. To smell the smoke and recognize the future of the blaze in the way it singes the sinuses. To taste the burning destruction with every breath pulled and let it lead to the best way to extinguish the blaze.
All those sensory skills heighten after a decade of fighting fires, and here Jess was now, a slave to them as Desmond denied her sight.
Bracing herself for Desmond’s unseen touch, she fought to steady her breath. To regain control of her body.
Fuck, how was she not going to come the second he touched her?
Heart beating wildly, she waited, her eyes closed beneath his tie.
And waited.
And waited.
No touch came. Not even another brush of his knuckles over her jaw.
She bit back a frustrated whimper. “Jesus, Des, are you fucking—”
The softest of breaths blew against her skin, high on her inner thigh.
“Oh god,” she gasped. Her pussy constricted. The butterflies in her belly whipped into a frenzy.
Another soft breath caressed her inner thigh, higher this time. A little more concentrated. An image of Desmond kneeling at her feet filled Jess’s head, his lips almost brushing her leg just below the hemline of her shorts.
Fresh heat pooled in her sex. Her clit prickled with a rush of eager blood.
She wavered on her feet, reaching for his head.
Strong fingers wrapped her wrists, Desmond’s low chuckle playing with her ears as she felt the heat of his body draw close.
He slid his body up over hers as he placed her hands behind her back and held her wrists together. “Do not remove your hands from here, Captain,” he instructed, his voice a warm murmur against the shell of her ear.
A shudder of impatient need stole over her. Her breasts grew swollen, her nipples hard. “What if I—”
The fingers around her wrists squeezed. “Do not remove your hands from here, Captain,” he repeated. This time however, it was his lips that feathered her ear, not his breath.
Before she could stop herself, she turned her head, seeking out those lips with hers. She needed to kiss him. She needed to be kissed by him. So much it hurt.
Empty air greeted her, and the taunting feeling that he’d pulled away from her despite his grip remaining on her wrists. “Bastard,” she growled.
He laughed, the sound low and thoroughly smug. “Did I not warn you, Jess, what was going to happen when you crossed the threshold?”
The grip on her wrists shifted, Jess’s mind alerting her to the fact he now held them with only one loose hand.
Which left his other hand free to do—
Fingers skimmed over the tip of her right nipple, the thin barrier of her shirt doing nothing to lessen the affect the contact had on her body.
A hitching whimper fell from her. She arched her spine, craving more. The sounds of the hotel room and the reality beyond its walls faded, replaced by the pounding of her heart and the roar of her blood in her ears.
“I love that you came to me without wearing a bra,” Desmond murmured, a second before he brushed her straining nipple again with his fingertips.
Once again, Jess’s body responded to the unseen touch. Her breath quickened, her pussy throbbed. She stood motionless, sucking in shallow pants, waiting for his next touch.
Aching for it.
“It means,” he continued, trailing his fingers over the swell over her breasts through her shirt, “I can do this.”
Jess hung on the brink of tormented, heady anticipation, waiting for his hand, his fingers to tease her breast once again.
For a moment, there was nothing.
And then warm lips closed around the pebbled tip of her nipple and Jess let out a raw cry as he sucked it deeply into his mouth.
Chapter Five
The heat blooming in the pit of her belly liquefied. Flooded her sex with a powerful throb. She cried out again, instinctually reaching for his hair, wanting to feel the soft strands against her fingers, before his earlier instructions halted her.
Balling her fists, she returned her hands to the small of her back, standing motionless as he drew her nipple into his mouth with exquisite pressure.
Oh god, how the fuck was she going to walk away from this?
A heartbeat later, his lips slid from her nipple. The room’s air-conditioning instantly turned the fabric of her shirt—moistened by his saliva—to a chilly caress that sent a shiver over her body.
She sucked in a breath, aching for him to return his mouth to her breast.
Instead, she heard him walk behind her.
He didn’t touch her.
His footfalls stopped. Silence fell over the r
oom.
Jess stood frozen, every fibre in her body thrumming, craving him.
An agonizing eternity later, a single fingertip traced up the back of her thigh.
She couldn’t stop the moan of delighted relief falling from her.
“You make the most receptive noises, Captain,” he observed, his breath warm on the back of her neck. He trailed a line up the back of her other leg, this time continuing the path over the curve of her right arse cheek, her hip and then around to the strip of her tummy just beneath her navel.
She bit back a groan. Steeled herself against leaning back into his body.
She couldn’t, however, stop her gasp as he dipped his fingers past the waistband of her shorts. Couldn’t stop her hiss as those fingers slid over the curve of her sex and stroked the sensitive button of her clit.
“Fuck, Des…” she burst out, writhing on the spot.
His other hand came to rest on her hip, holding her still. He pressed his body to her back, the bulge of his erection perfectly aligned to her balled fists. Her knuckles rubbed against the trapped length of engorged arousal and for an overwhelming moment her head swam with the urgent need to wrap her fingers around that length. To pump it.
Her fingers opened before she could stop them. Cupped the rigid pole through his suit pants.
“Jesus, Jess!” His groaned exclamation heated the side of her neck. “That feels…”
She turned her head, seeking his lips. Offering hers with plaintive need.
Instead, he withdrew his fingers from her clit and stepped away.
“Fuck,” she protested through gritted teeth.
Once again, silence filled the room. Silence punctuated only by her ragged pants.
And then a hand curled around her throat and Desmond’s mouth plundered hers. Took possession of it with hungry ferocity.
She whimpered, the sudden savagery of his kiss flooding her pussy with wet pleasure. His tongue mated with hers, punishing and dominating. She surrendered to his mastery, aching for it all.
And more.
When she buried her hands in his hair, when she rolled her hips against his, the raw growl of lust that rumbled deep in his chest almost made her come.
Until he grabbed at her wrists and yanked them from his head.
“I didn’t say you could remove your hands from your back, did I, Captain?”
“Fuck,” she ground out. She couldn’t miss the desperation in her voice. “I can’t…” She balled her fists and rammed them behind her back again, even as she scrunched up her face in pained anguish and pressed her thighs together. Jesus, her clit felt like it was about to explode.
“Yes,” Desmond’s breath kissed her lips. “You can.”
She swayed towards him, just as she sensed him stepping backward.
“Take off your clothes.”
His command flayed her senses.
“Without removing the blindfold, take off your clothes.”
Jess’s heart slammed into her throat. A prickling wave of heat swept over her flesh. Her breasts grew fuller. Rounder. Anticipating what was to come.
Drawing in a slow breath, wondering where he stood, she toed off one boot and then the other. Kicked each one aside.
Bending at the waist, she removed her socks, picturing the smirk on Desmond’s face when he noticed the little images of fire engines on them. She wriggled her toes against the plush carpet of the floor for a second, needing the reality of the sensation to settle the crazy thrumming of her body, and then moved her fingers to the fly of her shorts.
For a moment, she expected Desmond to take over the job, but he didn’t. A mixed wave of disappointment and excitement rolled through her. It was a dizzying emotion, one that messed with her sanity, and she frowned against the tie bound around her eyes, even as she lowered her zipper.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
His command, uttered in a calm voice from farther away than she expected, stoked her unsettled anticipation. “I thought you might…that you might not be able to…”
“Stop myself from undressing you?”
She nodded at his completion of her sentence, feeling both vulnerable and stupid.
“Trust me, Jessica,” a liquid tension licked through her core at the way he uttered her name, “there is a reason I am standing over here, away from you.”
Jess’s tummy knotted at the strained tension in his voice. It was as if he himself was as undone by the force of the moment as she was.
“If I were to touch you right now,” he continued, “your clothes would not survive. It’s all I can do not to tear them from your body, throw you onto the bed and bury myself to the hilt in your cunt. Do you understand?”
Her sex contracted at his words. Her heart slammed harder to her breastbone. She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
“Good. Continue.”
She did as he instructed. Breath held, throat tight, she smoothed her hands over her hips and lowered her shorts and knickers down her thighs.
“Fuck me.” Desmond’s low murmur—hoarse and barely audible—stroked the silence of the room as gravity deposited the items of clothing to her bare feet. “You are exquisite.”
The compliment sent a rush of delighted warmth through Jess. She fought with her smile, failing miserably. Why she felt so good at Desmond’s choice of adjective, she didn’t want to ponder. This was just one night of crazy fucking. She didn’t care what he thought of her, not here. What he thought of her at the fire scene, that was important, significant, but here, this was just rutting.
And yet, she couldn’t help but preen. Couldn’t help but feel…special.
Drawing an image of him into her mind, she hooked her fingers beneath the loose hem of her shirt and, very slowly, raised it up over her ribs, her breasts.
Cool air licked at her nipples the second the fabric of her shirt slid over them. They puckered into tighter points, the sensation filling her core with elemental expectancy.
At the sound of Desmond’s swift intake of breath, another wave of sheer joy washed over her. At his muttered, “God help me”, her pussy fluttered. She might not be able to see his face, see his eyes, but she could hear the fierce desire and hunger in his exclamation.
Hear the struggle he was having with his control.
She might be surrendering to the wanton pleasure he wrought on her body tonight, but it seemed he was just as enslaved by it. By her.
Jess had never been more turned on. Nor felt so empowered.
Without further hesitation, she pulled her shirt up over her head—making sure not to disturb the tie blindfold—and let it slip from her fingers to the floor.
Stood naked and utterly exposed before him.
“I like the tattoo,” he commented, still too far away from her. “What’s its significance?”
She let her fingers skim over the leaping dingo formed in smoke inked on her right hipbone. “To remember my brother,” she answered, a ghost of an image of her big brother whispering through her mind. “His nickname was Dingo. He died in a house fire.”
She stopped. She didn’t want to talk about her brother. Talk of her brother would remind her who Desmond’s father was, and how he’d contributed to the bitter grief that still tore at her heart.
Silence followed her statement.
She’d told Desmond before about someone she loved dying in the fire his father investigated. What would he do now that she’d reminded him of—
Warm lips pressed to the tattoo in a kiss far tenderer than her heart could process.
“I am sorry,” she thought she heard him whisper, before two gentle hands smoothed up the backs of her thighs.
She stood motionless, her heart a crazy beat in her ears, her chest constricting.
No. No this isn’t what I want. I don’t want him nice. I can’t handle it if he’s nice. I need him…I need him to be…
“Desmond.” His name fell from her lips, a raw plea of base want and desperate fear. “Please don’t make me fee
l anything for you apart from lust and contempt. Please? I don’t think I could—”
His tongue stroked over the seam of her pussy, choking her tormented request.
“Oh fuck,” she gasped, her hips bucking forward of their own accord.
He took advantage of her violent body shift, pressing her thighs wider apart to lave at her clit with his tongue again.
“Jesus fuck.” She threw back her head, the wet friction on the sensitive nub of flesh between her legs setting her on fire. “Jesus fuck, that feels good.”
Desmond parted her thighs more, penetrating her pussy with the tip of his tongue as he did so. He flicked at her clit, rolled his tongue over it and then sucked with teasing pressure.
Instinctively, she reached for his hair again, and stopped before her fingers found the cool strands.
If he noticed, it didn’t stop him worshipping her sex with his mouth. He licked and sucked and tormented her clit, his rhythm perfect, his attention to every gasp and moan she made heightening the concentrated pleasure building within her.
Her knees trembled but she didn’t steady herself. She knew he wouldn’t let her stumble if she lost her balance, just as she knew he wouldn’t stop fucking her pussy with his tongue and teeth until she came.
The intoxicating thought sent a bone-deep shudder through her. Every muscle in her body coiled. The base of her spine began to tingle.
“Oh god, Desmond,” she rasped, every swipe of his tongue on her sodden flesh propelling her closer to the most exquisite, honest edge of pleasure. “That’s so good. So fucking good.”
He sucked on the sensitive button of flesh between her thighs with a pulsing pressure before slowly licking a path up to the shallow dip of her navel. “You taste so fucking good, Jess,” he murmured in reply.
The raw need in his voice, coupled with the eroticism of his statement, made Jess’s sex throb. Or maybe it was the way he rolled a finger over her wet clit, unfurling new tension in her core, before returning his tongue to her sex again.
Once more, he ravished her most intimate of places with his mouth, nipping and sucking and teasing. Once more, she reached a height of combustible pleasure.
Combustible Page 5
