Combustible

by Lexxie Couper

  And once more, just as she felt herself about to orgasm, he pulled away from her pussy.

  “Are you fucking kidding?” Frustrated disbelief turned the question to a hitching groan.

  At her feet, his hands roaming her hips and backside, Desmond chuckled. “What don’t you remember about me being in control, Captain?”

  She dropped her head to glare at him, a ridiculously stupid action given she was still blindfolded by his tie. “I’m so fucking close,” she pleaded. “And it feels so good. I can’t—”

  “I told you I was in control of your body and pleasure, Jessica.” The reminder flayed her like a velvet whip. It didn’t help that he was slowly inching a long finger into the wet slit of her pussy as he uttered it.

  She hissed in a swift breath, squeezing his penetrating digit with her inner muscles even as her hips rolled forward of their own accord.

  Or was it Desmond’s accord? Was he truly in control of her pleasure, her body? Was she so undone by the mastery of his touch he had remade her as his creature?

  Her body reacted to the notion, thrumming on the brink again by his domination.

  “Your pussy is so tight,” he declared, his breath fanning the tattoo of the dingo on her hip. “It sucks on my finger, greedy and impatient.”

  The description set off another throbbing tension inside her. She whimpered, the desperate sound hitching into a shaky cry as he sank another finger past her folds and stroked both fingers against her G-spot.

  A series of increasingly tight contractions claimed her lower body. His name burst from her lips, her spine arching as it did so. “Oh god, oh god, I’m…I’m…oh Desmond, I’m going to—”

  He withdrew his hand.

  She screamed, balling her fists to strike him blindly on the shoulders. “Fuck you! Fuck you, you bastard, let me fucking come!”

  His mouth crushed hers, taking her by surprise. The musky taste of her own juices slicked her tongue and she groaned. She’d never let any of her previous sexual partners kiss her after going down on her. Ever. The idea always repulsed her, and yet with every powerful, dominating swipe of Desmond’s tongue over hers, the liquid heat in her core grew more powerful.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair, submitting to the wholly arousing sensation. And gasped when he grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands behind her back once again.

  “I’m in control,” he ground out against her lips, the words hoarse, strained. The rigid pole of his erection rubbed her belly as he buried a hand between her thighs and plunged a finger into her sex. “I’m in control.”

  Jess did not miss the desperate torment in his voice, nor the way he punctuated the declaration with a savage thrust of his finger. He may be in control of her pleasure and body, but something told her his control over himself was fraying.

  The thought sent wicked delight through her.

  She arched her spine, already too close to the orgasm threatening to unmake her.

  She rode his hand, panting his name.

  He kept her balancing on the edge for an eternity, her eyes blindfolded by his tie, her hands imprisoned behind her back by the power of his command. He pinched her nipples often, hard enough to make her cry out, soothing them with a gentle mouth afterwards each time.

  He teased her clit over and over. Fucked her sex with his tongue.

  Every time her body began to shudder, he would withdraw his hand or tongue from her pussy and listen to her curses and promises to hurt him, to make him pay.

  Would stand away from her. Would wait for her tirade to die and her pleas for him to make her come, to let her come fall, from her lips.

  When that happened he would return to her body. Would skim his fingers or his tongue over a part of it—her nipple, her shoulder, her collarbone, the base of her spine. Would return his lips to her sex, or his hands to her thighs, and propel her to the edge of the precipice again. She never knew where he was going to touch her, nor for how long, but with each unseen caress, her core grew wetter and her need for release burned through her.

  He truly did control her body and pleasure.

  “Desmond…” she panted, her knees trembling. “Please, I can’t…I need…”

  “To come?”

  The question caressed what remaining sanity she had. Catching her bottom lip with her teeth, she nodded. “Make me come. Please. Make me come.”

  Once again, he stepped away from her. Once again, she balled her fists.

  “Fuck you,” she snarled, reaching up and tearing the tie from her head. It took her eyes a moment to refocus, to see what the tie had kept from her.

  Desmond stood directly before her, still dressed in his suit, his stare locked on her face.

  She glared at him. “If you won’t do it, I’ll fucking do it myself.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, Captain…”

  She narrowed her eyes. Her brain was foggy. With lust, desire or rage, she couldn’t tell. “Try to stop me,” she snarled, moving her right hand to her sex.

  He moved. Fast. In two steps, he destroyed the small distance between them, grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back, hauling her to his body as he did so. “Shall I tie your hands behind your back as well?” he asked, his voice silkily calm even as his nostrils flared and his jaw bunched. “I have more than one tie here. Enough to bind your hands and your legs spread-eagle on the mattress if I wish to do so. Enough to blindfold you again.”

  Jess gasped. A rush of eager moisture slicked her folds and the tops of her thighs.

  Desmond gazed into her eyes, his breath as ragged, as shaky as hers. “Is that what you want, Jessica?”

  She swallowed, pictured herself completely at his mercy. Imagined what it would be like to submit wholly to his power over her pleasure. “N-no,” she whispered, almost undone by the thought. “Not…not yet.” She stopped. Licked her lips. “Later…”

  An unreadable light flared in Desmond’s eyes at her promise of future submission. His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat. And then, before Jess could beg him once again to let her come, to make her come, he scooped her off the floor, carried her to the bed and threw her onto it.

  And buried his head between her thighs a heartbeat later, drove her to the edge of sexual insanity once more, and finally, finally, let her fall over it.

  Jess was pretty fucking certain everyone in Wallaby Ridge heard her orgasm.

  If nothing else, the tourists in either side of Desmond’s room sure did.

  She writhed on the bed, clawed at the duvet, tossed her head side to side, cried out his name, and generally did every clichéd thing all the porn films told her women in the throes of the most amazing orgasms of their lives did.

  None of it was fake.

  Holy fuck, she was having the best orgasm of her life right now. Right here. And Desmond was only using his tongue and lips. How the fuck would she survive when he actually fucked her?

  The deliciously petrifying thought sent another rush of liquid heat through her core and another orgasm claimed her. She dug her heels into the mattress, arching her spine and grinding her pussy to Desmond’s mouth as the potent climax overwhelmed her.

  “Oh god, oh god,” she whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, breath nothing but shallow pants. How was this possible?

  How was he doing this to her?

  Between her thighs, his tongue working her clit with wicked precision and devotion, Desmond hummed.

  The vibrations radiated through her, tickling her ravished pussy lips and clit. Unable to stop herself—utterly drained of any control and strength now—she bucked her hips upward, moaning laughter falling from her lips. “Th-that tickles,” she burst out, reaching for his hair as she pressed her thighs hard to either side of his head. “Oh god, that tickles.”

  He hummed again, louder this time, the sound disintegrating into a satisfied chuckle.

  A wave of something close to contented joy swept over Jess, followed immediately by a flush of concentrated pleasure as Desmond suckled
once again on her clit.

  “No more,” she begged, draping her forearm over her eyes and shaking her head even as she spread her thighs wide again and rolled her pussy harder to his amazing mouth. “No more.”

  He chuckled against her folds once more and then, with a slow swipe of his tongue over her sodden seam, raised his head.

  “Holy fuck…” she moaned without removing her arm from her eyes. “That was incredible.”

  He didn’t reply.

  In fact, the only noise she heard in the silence of the hotel room was the soft rasping of fabric on fabric.

  Lifting her arm, she looked down her body—her thoroughly used and sated body—to find Desmond standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze on hers as he removed his suit jacket and placed it on the mattress beside her foot.

  “That,” he said, his voice level, “was only the beginning.”

  Chapter Six

  Without breaking eye contact with Jess, Desmond reached for the top button on his shirt and popped it open.

  A soft gasp escaped her. Her eyes widened. Her breasts rose and fell.

  She licked her lips, a quick little flick he doubted she was even aware of.

  Holding in check the urge—no, the crushing need—to rip his clothes from his body and pin her to the bed with his weight, he slowly moved his fingers to the next button on his shirt and released it.

  Jess’s pupils dilated.

  He popped the third button, the fourth, the fifth.

  Jess watched him, her breath growing quicker, shallower with each button he undid.

  When he reached the last one, when he tugged the hem of his shirt free of his pants, and slipped his shirt from his torso, a ragged sound left her.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re…you’ve got…holy shit…look at your six…six…pack…holy shit…”

  He didn’t comment on her inability to complete her sentences. He could tell by the open desire in her eyes she approved of the way he looked.

  He’d had more than one lover praise his body, and yet he’d never felt such a rush of happiness as he did now at Jess’s incoherent words.

  Fighting still with his control, he unbuckled his belt, slid it from the loops in his pants and deposited it beside his suit jacket.

  Jess flicked it a quick look, her tongue touching her bottom lip.

  Was she wondering what it would be like to feel the smooth leather against her arse cheeks? Was she imagining the intoxicating rush of having it bind her wrists together?

  He didn’t ask. Instead, body thrumming with urgent impatience, he moved his fingers to his fly and lowered the zipper.

  Her stare snapped to his face.

  Her throat moved as she swallowed.

  Apart from that, she was motionless, stretched on the bed, supporting herself on her elbows, her thighs askew, her glistening, glorious pussy waiting for him, her breasts round, her nipples puckered.

  His for the taking.

  And how are you going to take her? Are you going to toss her onto her stomach and take her from behind? Tie her to the bed on her back? Or without any restraints at all? Could you handle her touching you? Looking at you as you enter her? Could you handle watching the pleasure in her eyes? Or would that completely destroy any vestiges of control you have?

  He ground his teeth. Studied her for a long moment.

  Watched her as she waited for him to remove his pants.

  An unexpected image whispered through his mind: Jess, standing before him, her hands on his hips, his thighs, his legs, lowering his pants to the floor.

  Jess in control of his undressing as surely as she was in control of his pleasure.

  Searing desire rushed through him. Stole his breath and made his stomach clench in painful want. His balls rose up, hard and full. A spasm claimed his cock.

  He bit back a growl, shaken by the physical and emotional response.

  No. He was in control. Not her.

  Spinning on his heel, he turned his back on her and ran his stare over the room. A foggy haze filled his head.

  He had to regain control of himself. He didn’t let desire rule him. Never had. Calm control was what saved lives. Calm control was what kept him sane. In the chaos of burning buildings, in the aftermath of such chaos…control.

  That was the way it was at a fire scene; that was the way it was with the rest of his life. His father had forgotten that, had lost it inside countless scotch bottles. Had surrendered to the chaos. Had let it weaken him. And in doing so, robbed people of closure. Of knowing.

  He, Desmond, would never lose control.

  Of his heart, his mind, his body.

  His pleasure.

  “Desmond?”

  Every muscle in his body stiffened at Jess’s hesitant whisper. His heart quickened.

  Closing his eyes, he sucked in a slow, deep breath.

  Drew oxygen into his body, willing it to his brain.

  And still, the image of Jess caressed his mind; her hazel eyes ablaze with desire as she skimmed her hands over his hips, inching his pants down his legs, her breath a warm kiss on his bare chest.

  Oh Christ, man. Get a hold of your—

  Two soft palms smoothed over his back before his confused, tormented brain registered the subtle sounds of a body sliding off the bed.

  He flinched, his spine snapping straight, his heart slamming into his throat.

  Touching him. She was touching him.

  Hungry heat flooded his already engorged cock. Tumultuous joy churned in his gut.

  Teeth grinding, he turned his head to cast a level gaze over his shoulder. “What are you doing, Captain?”

  Her lips curled in a slow grin. In her eyes, a defiant gleam of cheeky delight danced. “Helping you.”

  He couldn’t move. Even when she inched her palms around his waist to dip beneath the waistband of his boxers.

  Even when the tips of her fingers stroked the tip of his dick, jutting upright in his boxers, impatient for release.

  A raw groan tore from his chest at the contact. His balls contracted. “Jess…” he ground out, circling his fingers around the fine structure of her wrists.

  And yet, the strength to remove her hands from his body deserted him.

  The willpower, the control to halt her fingers from wrapping around his rigid length was gone. Incinerated like dry wood by the potent force of her gentle touch.

  She drew closer to him, her soft breasts brushing his back a heartbeat before her belly pressed to his butt and her lips grazed the base of his neck.

  “Jess…” He closed his eyes, incapable of stopping her. Surrendering to a desire he’d never anticipated.

  She trailed her lips over his shoulder blades, featherlight kisses that stoked the inferno within him.

  Behind him, Jess hmmmed, increasing the pressure of her grip around his erection with one hand as she smoothed her other up to his chest to scrape her thumb over a tight nipple.

  Sparks of charged rapture shot through him. He groaned, as incapable of silencing the sound of capitulation as he was removing her hands from his body.

  She pumped his cock with slow attention, dancing her fingers over his nipple as she did so.

  He expected her to say something, to mock her power over him. Instead, she rained a path of tender kisses over his back. Instead, she awoke in him a fire beyond control with each slow, steady pump of his length, and each tender touch of her fingers on his chest, his nipples.

  Eyes still closed, he released his grip on her wrists, trailing his fingers along the length of her forearms.

  She hmmmed again, rolling her hips a little to rub her body against his.

  The corners of Desmond’s lips tugged into a small smile and he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, covering her hand on his cock with his own. He didn’t alter her speed or pressure. He didn’t control her action in any way. Just pressed his hand to hers and let her work his length.

  He sought out her other hand, letting his fingers skip over th
e back of it as she teased his nipple. Her heat seeped into his back, a sweet invasion of his body and soul.

  It was too much. Not just the way she was working his cock, not just the way she was playing with his nipple or exploring his back with her lips, but with the way she was holding him. Too much.

  He turned in her embrace, smoothed his hands up her back, drew her closer and captured her lips with his. Her breasts crushed against his bare chest. A wave of giddy wonder washed over him. Was he really surrendering to her? To the unfathomable reaction she stirred in him?

  Was he really relinquishing control of his emotions?

  Pulling away from the kiss, he gazed down into her face, studying her eyes as he cupped her jaw in his palm and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “This is not…I don’t normally…”

  Jess smile against his thumb. “No kidding?”

  He laughed. And then captured her mouth again, kissing her deeper than he had before.

  She melted against him, smoothing her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, the back of his neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, a possessive grip Desmond would normally rail against. He never allowed his sexual partners that kind of contact, that kind of…control…over him, and yet the very thought of removing Jess’s hands and binding them behind her back…

  No, he wanted her to touch him. Reveled in it.

  Submitted to it.

  Raking his hands down her bare back, he cupped her arse and squeezed each cheek, drawing her body harder to his. His erection—released somewhat by his unzipped fly but still contained by his boxers—pressed hard to her belly. She groaned, dragging her lips from his. She wriggled against him, even as she slipped her hand between their bodies and palmed his cock through the silk.

  “I want this, Des.” Desire burned in her eyes. “And I think it’s about fucking time you give it to me.”

  He arched an eyebrow, the mere contact of her hand on his shaft almost undoing him. “Do you now? And what are you going to do—”

  She moved before he could finish the playful challenge.

  Dropped to her knees in front of him, hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down.