Tie Me Down

by Tracy Wolff

  But his brain was screaming at him, the warning signals having turned into bright red flags of alarm, and somehow he found the strength to release her.

  The bartender chose that second to drop their drinks on the bar, and he grabbed the ice-cold shot of tequila like it was a lifeline. Slammed it back and gestured for another one. He was teetering on the brink of madness, his body out of his control. His desire for Genevieve nearly palpable in the small distance she’d created between them.

  What was wrong with him he wondered, tossing back the second shot as quickly as he had the first. He’d never reacted like this to a woman before, had never felt like he would give anything—and everything—just to be inside one.

  But Genevieve … in a few brief moments, Genevieve had turned him inside out. It was ridiculous, absurd. And he—

  “You’re not as uncomplicated as you look.” Her voice broke into his self-flagellation, had him turning to her with hot eyes he couldn’t hope to cool down.

  “I could say the same thing about you.” He forced a calm into his voice that he was far from feeling.

  “Yeah, well, I had a crappy day.” She stuck out her chin at him. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

  Very deliberately, she glanced down at where his hands were clenched into fists before taking a long sip of her drink. “It’s pretty obvious that you need something.”

  Her words—cold and taunting—slammed through him. God, she was amazing—her icy control housed a hot fire that was tempting as hell.

  “And what is it you think I need?”

  For the first time, he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes and couldn’t help wondering at its cause. A heavy silence stretched between them, long and taut and more than a little uncomfortable. Just when he’d decided that he’d blown it—that she wasn’t going to answer—Genevieve took a deep breath.

  “Me,” she said, in a voice that was as steady as it was unexpected.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as the word left her mouth, Genevieve wanted to snatch it back. To bury it—and her desires—so deep inside herself that they could never escape. But she didn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  Words stuck in her throat, while her body throbbed with a combination of desire and nervousness that all but overwhelmed her.

  She knew she would probably regret this in the morning. Hell, she was having second thoughts already; she wasn’t in the habit of picking up men and inviting them home with her. But it had been so long since she’d been held, so long since a man had comforted her in the dead of night.

  After the week she’d had, she would sell her soul for a little comfort.

  Would do anything to avoid knocking around her empty, echoing house in an effort to find sleep.

  Would do whatever she had to do to get one night of peace.

  It had been months—years—since she’d managed to close her eyes without being haunted by all the violence she couldn’t stop.

  She glanced at Cole, saw he was as startled by her invitation as she was, and somehow that made the next step easier to take. She didn’t know who this man was—what he was—but she wanted him.

  Needed him, in a way that was as enticing as it was unfamiliar.

  To give her hands and mouth something to do, Genevieve reached for her glass and drained it in one long sip. Then set the glass on the bar with a flourish as she eyed Cole with unmistakable challenge. “Cat got your tongue?” she demanded. “Or was it something I said?”

  He stared down at her from his formidable height—at least six-foot-five—with the blackest eyes she’d ever seen.

  The thought caught her unawares, and for long moments she struggled against it, against the need and arousal winding their way through her belly and chest.

  Cole kept her waiting—much longer than another man might have, and damned if watching him watch her didn’t make her hotter still. She was trapped, ensnared, every cell in her body completely focused on him as she waited for his response.

  His strong jaw worked for long seconds, as if he was biting back an instinctual comeback, while his big, rough hands clenched and unclenched in a rhythm that had her nipples tightening and her womb spasming. His heavily muscled body tensed as if to spring, and his arousal throbbed in the air between them.

  She felt a shiver work its way up her spine—it was an unbelievable thrill to have this strong, sexy man at a disadvantage. Would be even more of a thrill to have him beneath her in bed.

  Or above her, Genevieve acknowledged, as she eyed his broad shoulders and lean waist. With his too-long black hair and too-handsome face, Cole-with-no-last-name struck her as the kind of guy who liked to be on top.

  She suppressed another shiver. Tonight, that was more than fine with her—it gave her one more excuse to check her worries at the door and take whatever he could give her. And—if she was lucky—just a little bit more.

  Her body quivered, desire a living, breathing animal inside her—so wild that it nearly drowned out the horror, and the sorrow, of her day. And still he didn’t answer, just stared at her with eyes the color of midnight.

  Then, in a move so fast she would have missed it if she’d blinked, he pulled out his wallet and dropped two twenties on the bar.

  “I live uptown.” His voice was low, gravelly—filled with sex and promises she couldn’t help but respond to.

  “I’m closer,” she countered breathlessly, as he grasped her elbow and propelled her toward the door.

  “We go to my place.” His voice brooked no argument as he moved ahead of her to clear a path through the crowded bar.

  He moved like a jungle cat—each step a smooth, sinuous flexing of long, lean muscle that was no less threatening for its captivating beauty.

  And no less perilous.

  An unfamiliar fear filled her. Her mouth turned dry as a desert, while her palms ran with sweat. Her heart beat like a metronome on speed, while her breath caught in her throat.

  For one long, interminable moment she thought about stopping. Thought about backing away. Thought about doing anything but following this man to his house like a lamb to slaughter.

  Her empty house rose in front of her eyes, taunting her with one more sleepless night. Morbid pictures blocked her vision, ridiculing her with each new failure. And still she might have changed her mind—might have retreated into the restless, roiling crowd and lost herself.

  But Cole chose that moment to turn, to pin her with eyes that were still wicked—still dark, still delicious. Still devastating. She jerked in response, arousal blooming in her belly, and she knew she was going nowhere without him.

  The realization should have frightened her, but it didn’t.

  It should have had her calling out for help, but the words refused to form.

  It should have had her backing away, but she kept her feet firmly planted despite the nearly overwhelming urge to flee. Shoving her misgivings down, refusing to do more than halfheartedly acknowledge them, Genevieve returned his stare with interest. And felt the spark all the way to her toes as her temperature shot into the stratosphere and then beyond.

  It was too late for second thoughts.

  The hunter had just become the hunted.

  * * *

  They hailed an empty cab outside the bar and Cole flung the door open, ushering her in first.

  They didn’t speak as the taxi crawled through the dark, crowded streets, though Cole gripped her hand like she somehow offered salvation—his thumb stroking her knuckles in a rhythm that was both soothing and seductive.

  When they hit a pothole, his fingers tightened instinctively on hers, and she felt herself grow wetter, hotter—until all that mattered was Cole and how he would feel inside of her.

  Her sex pulsed at the thought, and Genevieve squeezed her legs together in a fruitless search for relief. Just a few more minutes, she told herself as she fought the aching discomfort. Just a little longer and she would finally have Cole exactl
y where she wanted him.

  His hand tightened on hers, as if he sensed her discomfort. But when she glanced up at him, his face was granite hard and expressionless. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and the voice in the back of her head whispered that she was being stupid. She knew the voice was right—she was being careless and foolish and entirely too trusting—but she couldn’t bring herself to back out. To end this thing before it ever got started.

  Another glance up at him—into his eyes this time—had her doubts dwindling like so much dust. He wasn’t as remote as he would like her to think. His eyes were blazing with a passion that more than equaled her own.

  The cab drew to a stop in front of one of the historic homes on St. Charles. As big as it was well preserved, she got a vague impression of stately beauty as Cole paid the driver and hustled her up the steps. But before she could do more than glance at the outside, Cole was slamming through the front door—his hand an unyielding clamp around her wrist.

  How could she be this hot, Genevieve wondered dimly, for a man she’d only just met? How could she want anything—anyone—this badly?

  She didn’t know the answer to the questions, and after a second, didn’t care. Her body was literally vibrating with the need to feel Cole against her, inside her. He was a wild man, a sorcerer, and he had bewitched her. There was no other explanation for her behavior. Her desperation to feel his body against hers.

  The second he kicked the door shut behind them, she was on him. Her hands around his waist, her lips trailing kisses down his bare back as she struggled with his belt.

  “Not yet,” he growled, shifting in her arms. Turning her so that her back was against the wall.

  She arched against him, felt his cock twitch as she opened her legs so he could settle between them. Grinned at the fact that she could drive him as crazy as he was driving her.

  His hands went to the buttons of the shirt she wore and he yanked it off, dropping the ruined silk onto the floor beside them. Then he was slipping his hands into her waistband, tugging. She heard a tearing sound and glanced down just in time to see her favorite pair of work pants fall in pieces around her feet.

  Cole stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, noting with appreciation how Genevieve’s chest heaved and her body quivered. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, standing there in nothing but black lace, her back against the wall. A tiger momentarily tamed, but ready to attack at any moment.

  His back flexed at the thought, the need to feel her claws digging into him, a burning pain that couldn’t be denied. Part of him was shocked at what he was doing, astounded at his need to control her. To drive her beyond boundaries, beyond control until all she felt was him.

  All she knew was him.

  All she wanted was him.

  He’d always been dominant, had always needed to be the one in control—especially after his sister had died—but never had he taken it this far before. Never had he let the dark side of himself go.

  He was on wild, uncharted ground.

  But seeing the need in Genevieve’s eyes—feeling the desperation she couldn’t hide—freed the beast inside him, had him slipping the leash in his desperate desire to claim her.

  Leaning down, he grabbed her wrists, held them above her head. Then he captured her mouth with his own, using his lips and tongue and teeth to brand her in a way she wouldn’t soon forget. A way she couldn’t forget.

  But, God, was she sweet. Like honey and lavender and warm, sweet sunshine. He nipped at her lower lip, reveled in the moan she couldn’t stop. Sucked it into his mouth in an effort to ease the ache.

  She went wild, her strong warrior’s body bucking against him. Her wrists jerked against his hand, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Couldn’t let her go, if the truth were known. One touch of her long, slender fingers and he would go up in flames.

  So he kept her pinned, using his hand and chest and hips. Made sure every part of her body was covered by every part of his. And then he went about devouring her.

  He kissed the softness of her lips, the corners of her mouth. Traced his tongue along her full bottom lip, lingering at the cupid’s bow in the center of her upper lip.

  “Cole,” she gasped, her head rocking back and forth against the wall. “Hurry up, finish it. You’ll drive me crazy.”

  “I like you crazy,” he answered, but took advantage of her open mouth to thrust his tongue inside. She was like velvet, softer than he could have imagined. Hotter than he had dreamed. He tried to be gentle, to give her the tenderness she deserved.

  But the second he tasted her, he was lost. Lust rose, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. It raked its talons through his belly, got in his head and demanded that he take her. That he fuck her, again and again, until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone any man who had come before him.

  And still he kissed her, unwilling to give up her lips. Unable to break the connection when everything inside of him roared that she was his.

  He did crazy, wild things to her mouth, reveling in each moan and cry that escaped her lips and entered his. He sucked her tongue, pulled it inside his mouth and nearly fell to his knees when she explored him as he had done her.

  Fighting back a yell of triumph, he rejoiced in the fact that her body was nearly as crazed as his own. Ripping his mouth from hers, he ignored her moan of protest and the blind seeking of her lips as she tried to regain his mouth.

  Instead he trailed his lips down her cheek, over the long, graceful curve of her neck to the delicate bones of her shoulders. How could she be so fragile and yet so strong? Another contradiction. Another piece of the puzzle he was dying to solve.

  Using his free hand, he reached behind her and freed the clasp of her bra. Then let go of her wrists long enough to rip the thing off her. He had to taste her, had to feel her beautiful nipples in his mouth, had to feast on her before he imploded.

  Sinking to his knees in front of her, he relished the feel of her hands digging deep into his hair, enjoyed the sharp tug on his scalp. The little pinches of pain only made the pleasure sweeter.

  Then he forgot everything but the ecstasy of her body as he buried his face in her breasts in a frenzy of desire. He didn’t have the patience, or the control, for delicacy. Instead, he simply latched on to a nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth.

  She screamed, the hands in his hair tightening. For a moment he feared he’d been too rough, that he’d crossed the thin line between pleasure and pain. But her hips were moving, shifting, pumping restlessly against his chest. And he knew she was with him all the way.

  Genevieve groaned, moving her hips against Cole in a maelstrom of need. He was killing her, killing her. Devouring her until she was unsure where she left off and he started.

  And, God, was he good—and bad. Oh, so bad. She was going to lose it if he didn’t do something, and soon. Trembling on the brink of orgasm, she was ready to fly over the edge at the slightest provocation.

  But Cole was a master of suspense, a wicked lover who somehow knew her body better than she did. Who played her like an instrument. Who controlled her and denied her that final pleasure until he was ready to send her over.

  As his teeth nipped at her areola, she nearly screamed with frustrated need. Only the knowledge that he wanted her to, that he was trying to drive her completely insane, kept her quiet. But when he soothed the nip with his tongue, taking care to make sure the sting was well and truly gone before moving on to the underside of her breast, she lost the fight.

  No man should be so tender and so controlling at the same time—it went against the laws of nature. “Cole,” she whimpered, clutching his head to her breast, relishing the soft, delicate sweeps of his tongue. Thrilling in the love bites that sent shivers of desire through her entire body. “Please.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured as he moved to the other breast. “I’m just getting started.”

  “No,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she sobbed out
his name. Her body wasn’t hers to command anymore, her voice and thoughts and movements taken over entirely by the wizardry of his mouth, of his touch.

  He shifted, caught her wrists again in his big hands. Pulled them forward and clasped them in front of her body with one hand. “What are you—”

  “Look.” His voice was deep, gravelly, unfamiliar in his desire for her. She felt a sharp rush at the thought that she had done this to him, that she had driven this strong, beautiful man so crazy with lust that he could barely speak.

  Then she glanced down and was transfixed by the sight in the dim light. He’d captured her wrists in such a way that her arms framed her breasts, plumping the already full mounds up and out for his pleasure.

  For her pleasure too, because already she could feel the increase of blood flow to the constricted area. But he wasn’t done, the hand on her wrists tightening so that her arms squeezed her breasts even more tightly. They actually stung, the air alone chafing her unbelievably sensitive nipples.

  “You’re so beautiful like this,” he muttered, his tongue darting out to tease and caress.

  She whimpered, her knees threatening to collapse beneath her, but he leaned forward again, until the pressure of his chest and shoulders pinning her to the wall was all that kept her upright. Bending his head, he took her nipple into his mouth. She gasped, begging for mercy, but he had none as he bit and licked, sucked and nuzzled her into the most intense orgasm of her life.

  Wrapped up in the incredible heat burning through her breasts and the empty aching of her pussy, the climax caught Genevieve by surprise. Though she’d known she was close—so close—she hadn’t expected to hurtle over with nothing but the touch of his mouth on her breast.

  But as he lapped at her, taking as much of her aching breast into his mouth as he could, she felt herself begin to tremble from the inside out. There was a roaring in her head, a fuzziness that overtook her as pleasure like nothing she’d ever experienced slammed through her body.