Against the Odds

by Donna Kauffman

  He immediately, regretfully, pulled away. It was just as well, he told himself, at this rate he’d come before they got much further. He reached for the bag, slid two cords out. “Spread your legs.”

  Now she looked at him. A quick dagger of a gaze before she pulled herself back under control again.

  “One heel by each chair leg,” he instructed her. “It will only separate your knees several inches.”

  She slowly slid her heels into position and he rose onto his knees, grinning wickedly. “But you’re going to wish it was more.”

  She held his gaze this time, her eyes dark violet now, and taunting him, pulling at him. Making him want to be her every fantasy incarnate.

  He looked away this time, looped the cord around her slender ankles, tying each one loosely, but effectively, to a chair leg. Then, without warning, he leaned in and again took her nipple into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue, wrenching a surprised gasp of pleasure from her, and a throat-deep moan from him. He drew his tongue up between her breasts to her throat, where he felt the skin pulse. He flicked his tongue over that, too, loving that he was responsible for the rapid vibration he could actually taste.

  He lifted his head, brought his mouth right up to hers, almost but not quite pressing his lips to hers. “Kiss me.”

  She leaned in only as much as it took to create contact, pressed her closed lips to his in the barest of whispers, then relaxed back again.

  “That wasn’t a kiss.”

  She looked at him, saying nothing.

  “Kiss me.”

  This time when she leaned in, he gripped her head and held her there, so that the contact continued.

  “Kiss me,” he said against her closed lips.

  He’d expected continued resistance, so when her tongue suddenly speared past his lips, went deep into his mouth, he was caught badly off guard. He responded instantly, instinctively, holding her tongue tightly inside his mouth, sliding his between her sweet lips before he realized how neatly she’d trapped him. He broke away and now it was he who was breathing raggedly.

  He rocked back on his heels, gathering his control. But when he looked at her, he found her again looking straight ahead. A hot little smile curving her now wet lips. Wet from the taste of him.

  “Be warned, I might ask to trade places after this. And I remember everything.” He leaned in again, took her mouth, refused her any shred of control, then, just as she whimpered, he whispered against her lips, “You’re far too good at this, Misty Fortune. But I promise you, I’ll be better.”

  She did look at him then, the light in her eyes totally at odds with those kiss-swollen lips. Amidst the desire, the yearning…was joy. And an honest affection for him, that when mixed in with everything else bubbling and churning between them, was the final downfall of his heart.

  And that’s when he realized that while he could have her, and he would, repeatedly…just as she could have him and likely would when the tables turned, that what he truly wanted to conquer, to own…was the one thing he couldn’t force her to give him. Her heart. “Misty, I—”

  She glanced at him then, obviously surprised at the shift in his tone and he caught himself. Finish what you both started. There would be plenty of time for the rest later. There had to be. Because a few days in a Vegas hotel room, no matter how explosive, weren’t going to be enough. A lifetime, on the other hand, might do it. And with that greater goal in mind, he got back down to business.

  His grin as he rose to his knees was powered by far more than his need to fulfill this particular forbidden fantasy of hers. If he had his way, he’d be there to fulfill them all. Maybe help her discover a few new ones along the way.

  He placed the flat of his palms on her knees…and slowly pushed upward, slowly revealing the soft pale skin of her thighs as he shoved her dress higher. “Watch me, Misty.” He looked up to find her doing exactly that. “I want you to feel every inch of that skin. Under my fingers…under my tongue.”

  She shivered then and he drew his hands back down her legs…leaving the soft fabric of her dress behind. He skimmed his palms along the outside of her thighs, then down along her calves, then back up, cupping her knees.

  “Which do you want first?”

  When she didn’t answer, he reached up and toyed with one nipple, still damp from his mouth. She gasped and twitched in her seat. But didn’t say anything.

  “Fingers?” he asked, covering both breasts with his hands now, rubbing the flat of his palms lightly across the tips of her nipples. “Or tongue.” And with that he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss just on the inside of her knee, leaving her with a tiny swipe of his tongue as he lifted his mouth.

  When the only sound filling the air was her hitched breathing, he slowly drew his hands over her breasts, then down over her belly, letting his thumbs rest just above the juncture of her thighs, where her dress was now bunched. “Which is it that you want dipped inside you first, Misty?”

  She opened her mouth, but only a little moan came out.

  “Are you wet for me?”

  She said nothing, her breathing very ragged.

  “Tell me, or I’ll have you show me.”

  “Yes,” she said roughly.

  “Good. I’m going to make you wetter. Do you have any idea how incredibly hard I am for you right now?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to see?”

  She trembled hard, then shifted her gaze to his.

  “Do you want me to show you exactly what knowing how wet I’m going to make you does to me?”

  She jerked her chin in the barest of nods.

  “Tell me what you want to see, Misty.” He leaned down and braced his hands on the back of the chair, bringing his face close to hers. “I need you to tell me what you want. Everything. Every.” He leaned closer. “Last.” He ran his tongue along her lower lip. “Thing.”

  “Take off your clothes,” she choked out, her voice rough with need, her accent loose, ragged.

  He straightened, stood in front of her, letting his hands drop to his belt. “Why?”

  She squirmed in her seat. “I want to see you.”

  He tugged his shirt free. “Why?” She licked her lips and he twitched hard inside his pants.

  She looked at him, there, and he grew even harder. Then she glanced up, desire rolling off of her in waves he swore he could feel. “I need to see.”

  He ripped his shirt off, making her gasp at the barely restrained violence of the act. “Need to see what, Misty?” He stepped closer, almost between her legs, so she was forced to look up.

  She tipped her head, looked at him, then looked back down, to what was right in front of her face. “All of you.”

  Staying where he was, discovering his hands were a bit shaky, too, he slowly pulled his belt free, let it drop to the floor. “Do you like what you do to me?”

  She nodded, shifting impatiently as he fingered the button of his pants.

  “If I freed your hands, what would you do?”

  She looked up at him. “Free you.”

  He grinned down at her as he popped the button, then slowly tugged the zipper down. Then he left them like that and shifted back.

  “No!” she said, before she could clamp her lips shut.

  “Oh, we’ll get there.” He reached for the bag again, pulled out the blue strand of beads, and knelt between her legs. “But first, I believe there’s some paying back I have to do.”

  Her eyes widened a bit as he slipped the beads into a glittery pool in one palm, then poured them into the other. Sitting back on his heels, he caught her gaze and held it. “Open for me.”

  Slowly, she edged her knees apart.

  He draped the beads over one bare thigh, then dragged them slowly over her skin, then over the other thigh.

  She gasped and twitched hard in her seat.

  “How still can you sit?” he asked, drawing the beads al
ong her thighs again.

  “Can’t,” she ground out.

  “Can,” he ordered. Then he bent his head and kissed the inside of her thigh…before slowly moving upward. He kept his palms flat on the top of her thighs, rolling the beads along one of them as his tongue continued to slide upward on the other. “How wet are you for me now?”

  “Very,” she growled.

  He chuckled, vibrating the heated skin of her inner thigh as he nudged her bunched-up dress higher. “I’m not done yet.”

  Her hips bucked off the chair when his tongue first brushed against her damp curls. He lifted his head. “Be still. Very still.”

  She only growled.

  He smiled, then speared his tongue inside her, drawing a scream from her as he clamped down on her thighs, preventing her from bucking against him. Again and again, he moved his tongue inside her, groaning himself before finally pulling away. “Very wet indeed,” he said, smiling up at her.

  But her head was tipped back, her throat working convulsively.

  “Watch me,” he commanded, waiting for her to straighten, look down.

  Her eyes were electric now, desire a live thing glowing inside them. Keeping his gaze locked on that electric glow, he slid the beads slowly up her inner thigh, following the damp path his tongue had just taken.

  He watched her eyes widen, then darken almost fiercely as he pushed the beads along the slick crease between her legs. “Wider,” he murmured, and, trembling hard now, she fought to relax her knees.

  He fought not to untie her and throw her to the floor and take her right then and there.

  He wasn’t sure who groaned first when he pushed the first bead inside her with his finger. The deep, gutteral sound vibrated from her as he pushed another, and then another. Her hips writhed against the weight of his forearms pressing her down to the chair.

  “Look at me,” he hoarsely commanded.

  She opened eyes that had been squeezed shut as he pushed another bead inside her.

  “I want you to hold them inside you as tightly as you hold me.”

  Her skin was so damp, so perfect, it radiated translucence.

  “Hold them,” he said again, watching her thighs shake as she willed her muscles to bear down on them.

  Then, so slowly he swore he felt them himself, he popped one bead free, pulling up slightly so it tapped against her. Then he tugged again, another bead slipped out. When the third one popped she began to jerk violently as a climax ripped through her so suddenly it took them both by surprise.

  And that was his breaking point. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand that something other than him was touching her, wrenching that kind of pleasure from her. He pushed between her legs, replacing the last bead with his tongue as he continued to drive her so far beyond the edge that she was screaming at him, begging him, for what, neither of them knew, except they didn’t want it to ever end.

  And when she was done, finally, when she was shuddering, moaning, gasping for breath in the pulse-thickened air, he pushed away, falling back over his own heels, stunned by what they’d done together…and needing her more than he needed his next breath.

  And then he was crawling to her, all but ripping the cords from her ankles. He stood, shoving his pants down and off, violently kicking them across the room before shakily grabbing her hips and pulling her straight up from the chair, her wrists still bound behind her. He spun them around, so that he sat in the chair, then yanked her down astride his lap, plunging deep into her with one thrust.

  “Yes!” she screamed. So did he.

  They fought to join themselves as deeply as they could. And they both shouted all the way up and through first her climax, then his.

  And it still wasn’t enough. He tore the cord from her wrists so she could bury her hands in his hair, grip his head, pull his face to her breasts and hold on as they continued to ride and thrust. It wasn’t enough, he needed more. Deeper. All of her. Claiming.

  “Wrap your legs around me.” He rose as she complied then turned so they both fell on the bed and he buried himself in her again, still ragingly hard despite how hard he’d come. “Dear God, I’ll never have enough of you,” he said roughly as he pushed her up the bed with the force of his thrusts. “Never.”

  “Yes.” She held on, rocked up against him, clawing at his back, his hair, his buttocks. “Don’t stop.”

  “No,” he said, taking and then taking some more. Never. And when she went over again, he was watching her, wanting her all over again just because she stunned him with how beautifully she came apart for him, even as his body finally gave out.

  When he slipped out of her and they rolled to their sides, he wouldn’t let her go, tangling her body with his, holding on like it was for dear life. And maybe it was. She was dearer to him than anything, any job, any location, anything. He wanted life, with her. He finally found his voice only to discover it was shaky…and with more than exhaustion. “Misty—”

  She looked up at him then, a smile of something close to awe curving her lips. “We scare me.”

  He knew exactly how she felt. But there was something greater than what they’d just done that was even more terrifying. In a wonderful, amazing, fantastic sort of way. It was all but bursting from him, but to give voice to it now…would she think it was the sex talking? “I’m afraid to ask what your other fantasies are,” he said, debating, dying.

  “I’m afraid to tell you,” she said, laughing even as she fought to control her breathing.

  He rolled to his back then, pulling her on top of him, suddenly as serious as he’d ever been. “I’m afraid to tell you something, that you’ll think it’s because of this, that you’ll think it’s ridiculous, because we just met, that—”

  She pushed her hands into his hair, scooted up to kiss him soundly on the mouth. “I just let you tie me to a chair and you’re worried that I’m going to think anything you say or do is ridiculous?” She grinned. “Please, have a little faith.” Then she dropped the sweetest kiss to the center of his chest and he just said it. He couldn’t help it.

  “I love you.”

  She stilled, and for a godawful second he thought he’d blown it. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears and…everything he’d ever wanted to see. “Thank God,” she whispered. “I was worried I was the only one.”

  If a person could die from too much happiness, then Tucker suspected he was as good as dead. He rolled her gently to her back, pushed his hand into her hair, framed her face. “It’s not about the sex.”

  She burst out laughing even as the first tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  He grinned, feeling his own eyes get a bit glassy. “Okay, so the sex is so-so. We’ll work on it.” She swatted at him and he laughed. “Misty, you have no idea how much I—” He was cut off by the ringing of the phone.

  They both stilled, looked at each other, as it rang again.

  “I don’t give a damn who’s calling, I’m not answering.”

  The ringing stopped and he started to go on with what he’d been saying, when it began ringing again.

  He rolled to his back, reached for the receiver and snatched it up. “Not interested.”

  “Tucker? It’s Mig.”

  He groaned.

  “You okay, man? You sick?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause, then, “Oh!” in a more knowing tone. “Hey, I’m sorry, man, but the stuff got here early. We want to set it up tonight.”

  “When tonight?”

  “Uh, now?”

  Misty rolled on top of him and mouthed, “Go,” then kissed his chest again. He was really starting to love that particular little habit of hers.

  He swore silently, though, torn.

  “Do it,” she mouthed, then nipped at him, making him jump.

  He locked gazes with hers, promising revenge. She just smiled. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally. You’re mine, he mouthed to her. Then to Mig, he said, “Give me twenty.” He hung up witho
ut waiting for an answer.

  “Fine way to talk to your new partner,” she said with that saucy uppercrust smile.

  “He’s not my partner. And we need to talk about that, too.”

  She frowned slightly. “Okay. Why don’t you come to my hotel when you’re done?”

  Tucker sat on the edge of the bed. “It will be in the middle of the night, most likely. Maybe not until morning.”

  Misty crawled up behind him, kissed the side of his neck, then bit his earlobe. “I don’t care what time it is.”

  “You know, we should call Ripley’s or something.”

  “What? Why?”

  He turned, then made her squeal by pulling her across his lap. “Because, believe it or not, no matter how many times I have you, I swear whenever you touch me…I want you all over again.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows…and her hips. “Is that so?”

  He laughed and nodded.

  “Twenty minutes you say?” she asked, speculatively.

  “I can push it to thirty.”

  “Race you to the shower?”

  He grinned. “You’re on.”

  14

  MISTY WATCHED HIM SLEEP. It was nine o’clock in the morning. He’d called four hours earlier, as she’d made him promise he would before leaving yesterday. He’d told her he didn’t want to bother her, that he’d just head back to his own room to catch up on some sleep. She’d met him there. Softly stroking his cheek, she was very glad she had. When he’d come into the lobby and found her waiting there, a wonderful, surprised smile lit up an exhausted face and tired eyes. And had made the early-morning trip over more than worthwhile.

  He’d pulled her against him in the elevator, held her there all the way up to his floor, all the way to the room, where he’d literally dragged her into bed, kissed her, told her he intended to make wild, passionate love to her…then had promptly fallen asleep before he could follow through. Misty hadn’t minded in the least. He’d curled his body around hers as if they’d done so every night for years, and slept so soundly she had to watch his chest rise and fall to make sure he was alive.

  She pressed a kiss to his heart now. “I want you to get used to coming home to me,” she murmured, thinking how much she wanted to be the one there for him at the end of his day, no matter what hour that was.