Forbidden to Want

by JC Harroway

  I take in Kit’s enormous white bed, the linens freshly straightened. My stare scans again for Laura’s presence in this room—I can’t help myself.

  ‘Laura and I never shared this room.’

  It’s as if he’s read my mind. The whoosh of air recoiling from my lungs hints at the answer I’d hoped to find in the stark, masculine space, devoid of feminine whimsy or even photographs.

  The roll of tape cuts into my fingers. For a second I waver, my blood on fire with anticipation, but a trickle of fear, of vulnerability is hot on its tail. His reasons for bringing me here shouldn’t matter. I’ve spent years forcing myself to avoid permanence and crave freedom. I don’t belong here, but I don’t have to.

  The fact he didn’t share this room with his wife confirms Kit’s emotions are still housed in a fortress on lockdown.

  I strum my fingers on the roll of tape, focussed on my own emotional boundaries to stop my brain’s flights of fancy.

  He steps behind me, his breath whispering in my hair as his hand covers my fluttering fingers. ‘Do you trust me?’

  My heart thunders anew, the realisation I do trust him almost choking me. The new territory stretches in front of me, terrifying but tantalising. I sway. Not with the momentum of him grinding against my backside, but with the weakness in my legs as I nod my assent.

  His fingers skirt my waist. I lean back against his chest as he lifts the hem of my shirt and raises it over my head, freeing the roll of tape from my hand so he can fully divest me of my shirt. He groans, his chin perched on my shoulder from behind to watch the passage of his hands over my breasts.

  My eyes follow the same path, as if hypnotised by the soft, sure touch.

  ‘Your skin...so many freckles.’ His lips brush my shoulder and I shudder. Just like the hand-holding in the car, him looking at me, inspecting every inch of skin, every place his fingers glide is way more intimate than anything we did last night. I suck air through flared nostrils and focus on the sensation under those rough fingertips, forcing my thoughts to switch off before they drive me insane.

  The roll of tape sits like a bangle on his wrist, its presence in my peripheral vision shunting hot pulses between my legs. I can guess what he’s going to do with me. I’m not scared, physically. But the feeling I’ll be at the mercy of the scrape of those eyes of his, which seem to see past my barriers... Another involuntary shudder rattles my bones, the emotional wobble tempered by the pleasure of his hands and lips on my skin.

  Still behind me, he flicks open my bra, scraping it down my arms, and then unbuttons my fly. His big hands cup my breasts—they’re warm, his fingers teasing. His mouth whispers a shh against the skin of my shoulder at my breathy moan. His thumbs graze my nipples, stroking them, sparking them to life.

  ‘Keep still.’ His lips feather my neck. His command is soft but insistent. My head wants to hurry this along; to end the sensual, drawn-out way he’s touching me, as if he has all the time in the world. His attention, his stare seem fascinated with whatever his fingers are doing, only detouring to watch my reaction blaze across my face.

  I’m falling again; the effect Kit has on me, his control over this is so intoxicating, so alluring, so dangerous. Only the ghost of Laura keeps me complicit, keeps my feet glued to the hardwood floor of Kit’s bedroom, as if my usual rules do not apply. Without her presence, the fear of giving him too much control, too much of my trust, would send me hurtling from the room.

  He stoops behind me, sliding my jeans and underwear down my legs, and then his hot breath blasts one cheek of my arse seconds before he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss there. It’s not particularly sensual, but the fact he’s moved to kiss a part of my body I’ve never given much thought to sends pulses through my core. There’s no time to linger, or over-analyse his action, because he stands and guides me to the bed with his hand on my lower back.

  As arousal boils over inside me, I’m done being passive. He’s had his fun, taken his time. I want to strip his sublime body, to touch every slab, every hard plane. To suck his delicious skin-scent into my lungs. To make him squirm in retribution.

  I turn to face him, tugging on the hem of his shirt to drag his mouth down to mine. He kisses me back, eyes open. But then he pushes me away, a knowing half-smirk on his lips.

  ‘Wrists.’ It’s a low, seductive request.

  I’m foggy. Lust-drunk. My mind slow.

  When he takes the roll of tape from around his arm, light dawns. His intention is clear. Compliance mine to grant or deny.

  He grabs my hips while he waits, crushing his erection into my belly and nibbling at my mouth with teasing little kisses.

  My blood floods with adrenaline, with power—potent and addictive. It’s amplified tenfold with the knowledge that I trust him. Perhaps this is what it’s always like for people entering relationships.

  Ever since my first rushed and fumbling sexual experience, I’ve perfected the technique of hit and run, leaving before they leave first. But Kit, the deal I made with him to relinquish control, and the all-encompassing way he savours every second like the ultimate connoisseur, pushes me into new territory.

  I swallow past my tight throat and offer him my wrists. I’m just getting caught up in my own head. Better to focus on the sex and whatever challenge he tosses my way.

  He makes one revolution with the tape around each of my wrists, slipping his index finger between it and my skin as he goes. He takes it slow, his eyes darting from the tape to my face, the agonising pace drawing out the anticipation, flooding every inch of my skin with the scalding heat of his stare.

  Kit’s finger traces my cheek, sliding back a strand of hair. ‘Still with me?’ His eyes glint with addictive excitement.

  I nod. I can easily escape from the loose gaffer-tape shackles he’s created. Escaping the way he makes me feel will be another matter entirely.

  I look down at his handiwork. The dark green tape is stark against my skin. Heat pools low in my pelvis. When this is over, when I leave, I’ll need to change brands, buy a different colour and width to banish the memory of Kit Faulkner and his penetrating eyes.

  Within seconds I’m secured to his headboard by my wrists. Kit’s eyes rake my nakedness from head to toe as if he’s cataloguing every dip, every hair, every freckle.

  ‘You’re staring and I have nothing to look at.’

  He smiles down at me, a feral smile. He’s still fully clothed. ‘I am.’ His finger traces a path from the notch at the base of my throat to encircle first one nipple and then the other, sending skitters of sensation across my belly. ‘These freckles are fascinating.’ The fingertip returns to my chest, tracing an outline, a dot-to-dot only he can see, before gliding over one cheek and ending up on the tip of my nose.

  I shudder—he can stare until his eyes explode as long as he keeps touching me in this way, keeps talking in that low, seductive drawl. And my own eyes aren’t idle, flicking frequently to the bulge he’s sporting behind the fly of his jeans while saliva coats my parched tongue.

  ‘They make me want to kiss each one in turn.’ His finger glides to my top lip. ‘You even have them here.’

  I nod, lifting my head from the pillow and sucking the pad of his finger, my reward a lurch of movement from behind his zip. I can’t wait to get my hands on him, my mouth on him. To render him helpless, even for a few heady seconds. My revenge plot formulates in my head.

  He shakes his head, eyes alight. His lips replace his finger against mine, delivering the promised kiss. Slow and sensual. The now wet fingertip retraces its path back between my breasts and continues to head south until it centres over my clit.

  ‘I wonder where else they might be hiding,’ he says.

  I gasp as he presses down with barest hint of pressure. So good, but not enough. I swallow my whimper, battling the urge to hand over all the power to him and beg.

  I claw back some dignity
, glaring up at him while I kiss him back. I shift tactics, spreading my legs a fraction and lifting my hips to gain the pressure I need.

  He pulls back and smiles, his eyes burning hot. He whips his hand away and stands to shrug out of his clothes with rapid jerks, as if he can’t tease us a second longer.

  He’s warm when he lies beside me, his body heat scalding my skin where we touch. His stare is too close for comfort. The delicate intricacies of his blue irises are fathomless.

  I hold my breath, glad now for the shackles that hold me to the bed so I can’t get sucked into those eyes. So I can’t get lost.

  And then his fingers are back between my legs and he’s alternately kissing my mouth and tonguing my nipple and capturing my every reaction with his bold, hooded stare. There’s nowhere to hide. Every speck of me, every blemish on display for his lazy perusal.

  He kisses me with his eyes wide open and I brazen out the eye contact, which magnifies every surge of pleasure, even though it leaves me completely exposed to him. But no matter how much I want to retreat from the intense intimacy, I can’t close my eyes.

  Just when I’m finding my rhythm, Kit’s particular brand of magic drawing from me choppy breaths interspersed with whimpers, he jerks away. A cry escapes before I can clamp my lips down on it.

  ‘Fuck, sorry. I have to taste you again,’ he says in explanation as he shuffles down the bed and guides my thighs open wider.

  My abdominal muscles clench in anticipation of his devastating mouth. ‘And if I want to taste you too?’

  He grins up at me, reminding me that, while I allow it, he’s in charge. ‘All in good time.’

  I can’t decide which I want more, his mouth on me, or mine on him. I want it all and then I forget how to think, let alone speak, because he cups his hands under my buttocks and raises me to his mouth. I’m silenced for long, torturous minutes while he licks and sucks at me, intermittently spearing his tongue inside so I gasp and writhe, at his mercy.

  This time, sexy little grunts of encouragement come from his throat, vibrating through my sensitive flesh, through my clit. Every time I glance down, he’s actually smiling up at me, only sliding his eyes away to glance at my breasts, before continuing to watch the reactions I’m powerless to hold back.

  Just when I’m primed to breaking point by his intimate kiss, Kit’s mouth leaves me. My body protests, clamouring for more exquisite attention as he reaches for a condom and covers himself.

  ‘Please...’ It slips out—I can’t help myself.

  He leans over, soothing me with the swipe of his fingers over my sensitised clit. ‘Still with me?’

  I nod, frantic.

  ‘Good. Don’t hold anything back, understood?’

  ‘Yes,’ I hiss, all but sobbing with relief as he pushes my knees back. He’s primed me so effectively; I’ll give him anything in this moment, unashamedly. I groan as he eases inside me, all the while his beautiful face tenses with ecstasy.

  I’m gripping the gaffer-tape shackles so tightly now the glue sticks my fingers together. But I’m glad, because the way he’s looking down at me as he stretches and fills me so deliciously, nodding his encouragement to the moans escaping me... It’s too much.

  When he’s fully pushed inside he scrunches his eyes shut for a second, perhaps staving off similar levels of pleasure to those wracking me from head to toe. Creases fan out from the corners of his closed eyes.

  My fingers twitch. Pressure builds in my chest, my head, behind my eyes, and I have the crazy urge to touch those wrinkles. To smooth them, just like I managed to smooth the pain from his eyes earlier. To cup his beautiful face and tangle my fingers in his decadent hair. To pull all his weight down on top of me so I’m completely engulfed by Kit.

  When he’s composed he opens his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘We weren’t done, were we?’

  I shake my head, words locked in my throat by the building pleasure as he moves inside me, his strong arms braced either side of my head.

  He grins then lowers his mouth to mine, and I raise my lips to his and we meet in the middle to kiss.

  It’s as carnal as it was the first time—I’m shackled to his headboard, for fuck’s sake—but face to face, nowhere to hide, all the blood drains from my head as I cling for dear life to the tape, the only thing holding me safe from a free-fall into unchartered territory.

  The pleasure rising in me trickles away. I’m too exposed—thoughts, doubts and demons tumbling. I flounder, kissing Kit harder in an attempt to reclaim the only thing I can take from him. The only thing I can want from him—sex. Another astounding orgasm.

  But he pulls away, his stare sweeping down my body to my jiggling breasts and lower, to the point where we’re joined.

  He rolls his eyes back. ‘You still with me?’

  I nod. If anything I’m too close.

  He scoops one hand around the back of my neck, fingers digging in, and lifts my mouth to his in a searing kiss. ‘Then let’s come together, gorgeous.’ He drops his head to the crook of my shoulder as he powers into me with renewed enthusiasm, his mouth and his hot breath moving over my skin. ‘We’re not done, Mia. I want more.’

  His voice, thick with pleasure and heated promises, does the trick, along with his mouth back on mine. I come out of nowhere, loud and long, while Kit pounds on, kissing up my cries and moans and stealing my air.

  He’s seconds behind me, slamming into me for the last time with a harsh yell and then collapsing on top of me and pressing me into the mattress, like I wanted.

  I lie beneath him, heart thundering, chest tight, trapped by his big body, his Kit scent, the last few judders from his hips reminding me he’s still inside me. I’m trapped in more ways than one.

  I close my eyes and try not to suck in too much of the scent of his hair while I breathe through the battle raging between my pulse and my adrenal glands. It’s just sex. Just phenomenal sex. I’m overreacting.

  With Kit’s sweat evaporating from my skin, leaving icy tingles behind, I lie still as he raises himself up and withdraws. I close my legs, wishing I could get up too. But as I’ve tugged on the tape, it’s tightened around my wrists. I can still escape, but not without revealing the vibrating panic that courses through my nerve endings like mini lightning strikes.

  ‘Hold on a sec.’ His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, as if this is the real Kit, and the previous versions I’ve witnessed have been personality programs selected from a menu in one of those freaky, lifelike human robots.

  The grieving-widower program.

  The arsehole-alpha program.

  The lover-of-all-your-wildest-fantasies program.

  My lungs spasm with the burst of inappropriate laughter I suck back down. Inappropriate because I’ve never felt less like laughing as my eyes burn and I blink repeatedly.

  Kit steps into the en suite and returns just as quickly minus the condom, his glorious cock still impressively engorged. We’re both still naked, but with my high dwindling, with my emotions all over the place, I’m vibrating with the urge to flee. The urge to be footloose Mia, not Mia who’s willing to hand over too much of herself to a man who has nothing but sex to offer in return. Holding back is the only way I can hold myself together. The only way I can be free of needing anyone.

  Kit’s face is blank, but the hint of regret is back. He isn’t looking at me as he undoes the tape, which is well and truly stuck to my skin where I writhed and pulled and tightened my own shackles.

  I snatch my hand away, too exposed for his tender touch, too confused by the fact I care about his regret and what it means. I make short work of freeing my other hand, wincing through the tug as the tape yanks on the tiny hairs on the back of my wrist.

  I welcome the sting—a timely reminder that this fuck-fantasy with Kit comes at a price. A price that seems affordable, but quickly drags me down into spiralling debt. An
d then I’m off the bed and tugging on my clothes, unsure of what happened here tonight, but certain I want no part in it.

  Before I run for the door, I give myself a mental slap—I’m acting like a madwoman. It’s sex. Great sex. But just sex. Kit feels the same. Kit would rather be making love to his wife. That should be enough to appease my heart rate. Forcing a chilly expression, I shoot Kit a small smile. ‘I’ll pick you up early tomorrow. Eight a.m.’

  He hasn’t asked me to spend the night, but then, I haven’t given him chance. I’m fully dressed and fiddling with my hair, trying to tame it into something that doesn’t resemble a just-fucked cloud.

  Kit nods, his face blank, piercing eyes unfathomable. And I’m naked again.

  He stands, tugs on his boxers and strides my way, opening the bedroom door for me with a flourish and heading down the hallway ahead of me to do the same at the entrance.

  With a curt chin-lift from a silent Kit and a whine from Bob, now sitting at his master’s feet, I make my escape. There’s no other word for it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kit

  ‘I’LL NEVER WALK straight again.’ I close the door on the ridiculously compact car Mia borrowed from her brother and stretch out the cricks in my back.

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. ‘You spend too much time being chauffeured around.’

  I press my lips together, hiding my smile and fighting the urge to kiss her. After the way she practically ran from my bed last night, I’d prepared myself for her bailing out today. But she showed up, early, as promised, and shoehorned me into her brother’s car without a hint of what she had planned.

  ‘What are we doing?’

  ‘Rap jumping.’ She grins and crosses the car park ahead of me, her steps all bouncy with her excitement.

  Fuck, seriously?

  I don’t know whether to drag her back into the car or distract her with sex. My stomach twists, halving my options. This is why I like being in control.

  ‘Mia.’ I catch up in two strides, stalling her and spinning her around to face me. I eye the building—the signage and the excitement on her face confirm her statement.