When he took the beaded pink peak between his lips to suckle, the sensation shot straight between her thighs, making her practically pulse with need. And she considered asking him if he would untie her now, because she suffered the urge to run her hands through his hair, over his shoulders—she wanted to touch him the same way he touched her—but she thought better of it. He was the one calling the shots here, making the decisions, not her. She was content to let him choose whenever he wanted to release her, and until that time, she was his willing captive.
Her eyes fell shut and her head dropped back in pure surrender to pleasure as he laved and suckled her tits, using his hands to caress and massage as he worked. Her breath came heavier; her sighs echoed toward the ceiling like hot, rhythmic background music to their lust.
Soon enough, he placed his hands at her hips and began to pull her forward, back onto the couch. “Lie down,” he said softly. “On your stomach.”
She went willingly, with his help, glad for it since she still couldn’t use her hands. She ended up stretched out, facedown, waiting as he tugged her pants the rest of the way off. Then he instructed her, “Pull your knees up under you,” and she silently obeyed that command as well. She ached for more attention, for sex, but she resolved to be patient and to take whatever he would give her, still bizarrely content not to be making any decisions or driving what took place between them.
“Still pink,” he said, and she knew he meant her ass.
And then his hands came on her hips and she tensed slightly, wondering if he would fuck her now—and so it surprised her when instead she felt the softest, sweetest sensation on her bottom, tingling all through her. And despite her awkward position, she made the effort to look over her shoulder and see that he’d lowered a kiss there.
Their gazes met over her back, over her bra strap and bound wrists, and he whispered deeply, “Gonna kiss it and make it all better.”
She sucked in her breath because—Lord—that first little kiss there had felt so astonishingly good. Just like the spanking, this much gentler stimulation echoed straight down between her legs, arousing her all the more.
Turning back around, resting her cheek against the couch cushion where it had been, she waited—and luxuriated—as more kisses came on her bottom. He rained the tiny kisses over both sides, each delivering more unexpected and unbelievably immense pleasure. Sighs of joy rose from her throat and she closed her eyes and found herself simply smiling at how wonderful it felt. In those moments, she forgot her hands were tied. She forgot she was in the midst of something new and overwhelming. She forgot everything except how good it was, and how much the kisses seemed to drip into her pussy as well. As it went on and on, she bit her lip, hungering for that part of her to be filled.
And then—oh God—he used his hands to lift her ass higher, pushing her up onto her knees, and then he let his incredibly tantalizing kisses drift down in between her legs.
“Ohhhh,” she heard herself moan. Because it was like . . . the perfect gift, at the perfect time. Yes, she still yearned to be filled there, but mmm, his skilled mouth in that area was just as thrilling in a different way.
Each kiss exploded through her body in a torrent of delight. She found herself spreading her legs as much as she could to allow him better access. She heard more moans leaving her—“Unh . . . unh . . . unh . . .”—as the hot kisses spread through her. And then—oh—he was licking her now, his tongue slicing into her sensitive, swollen folds.
“Mmm, you taste so fucking good,” he murmured, even his breath on her mound affecting her.
And then—oh! Oh God!—he reached between her legs and began to stroke. In front. Where she most needed it. Where her body craved it. She couldn’t control her response—she moved almost involuntarily against his fingers, her pelvis gyrating and rocking.
“Aw, baby, love how wet you are right now,” he rasped—and then he resumed mouthing and tonguing where she felt herself opening for him more and more.
She whimpered into the couch pillow, lost in the new pleasure, more consumed by it than anything he’d done yet. And she somehow instinctively knew that she wouldn’t possibly be feeling his fingers and mouth in the same way—she couldn’t have been this engorged and hot and ready—if not for everything that had come before. And not just the kisses and touches. All of it. All the struggle. All the submission. All the emotions that had warred within her.
She bit her lip and moved herself harder and harder against the fingers rubbing circles over her clitoris. She cried out again and again. And then—the real surrender, the release. It rushed through her like a locomotive, exploding in waves of light and heat that pulsed from her pussy outward through her torso, her limbs, every molecule of her body. She screamed out her pleasure, holding nothing back and no longer trying to. There was no thought, no words—she’d become nothing but a sexual being for him, and she’d accepted that and had no regrets. She let the orgasm wring every drop of response from her that she had to give.
And then her knees gave out. And she sank down onto them again, her whole body spent.
It would have been nice to turn over, hug him, kiss him, rest comfortably against him. She couldn’t deny it when that urge stole over her.
And yet . . . this just wasn’t that kind of sex. So you can’t expect it to be that way. You can’t expect something so different to suddenly start seeming familiar. And so she didn’t fret over that. She simply lay there quietly recovering. Taking it for what it was. An amazing climax. Arrived at by taking a most unusual route.
And she felt herself on the verge of . . . well, of maybe beginning to let herself think about that a little too much. But that was when Rogan’s hands closed over her hips, firm and with unmistakable intent, and she knew what was coming—and she craved what was coming. The eager anticipation overrode anything else that had been trying to sneak into her head, because she’d been so, so patient and she’d unwittingly enjoyed this strange ride more than she could ever have imagined, but now she needed his cock in her as desperately as she needed to breathe.
She began emitting short, quick, anxious breaths when she felt the head positioned at her opening. And then—yes!—he thrust into her hard, burying his erection deep. She cried out at the impact—at once so shocking but so welcome. Thank God he was finally inside her—she never wanted him to leave.
As he began to fuck her—hard, hard, hard—he cried out, too, and her whole body felt filled to the brim with him as he delivered each jolting thrust. It was like the perfect culmination to all she’d been through—she wanted him to fuck her senseless, and that was exactly what he was doing.
She wasn’t sure how long he moved in her that way—five minutes, ten? And then he slowed down, even stopped for a few seconds, before changing the tempo, pulling out partway and then coming slowly back, then again, again. She sighed at the new deliciousness of it, loving the way he made her feel his full length sliding slickly in, then back out.
Hot sighs erupted from her at each smooth, deep stroke—behind her, Rogan emitted low groans of pleasure. And again she lost track of time, having no earthly idea of how long he filled her that way.
“Aw . . .” She heard him begin to groan louder behind her, and slowly the rhythm of his drives increased again—and they even grew wonderfully harder. She had to clench her teeth to absorb them, but she also loved them in a way she never quite had before.
“I’m gonna come, baby—I’m gonna come in your sweet cunt so fucking hard.”
And then he was crying out his own orgasm, each thrust nailing her to the couch, but she didn’t mind—instead she simply loved taking him there, simply loved that she’d let herself go enough to make this so astounding for both of them.
He went still inside her for a moment afterward just before collapsing a little atop her. Then he rose back up and pulled out.
And a fresh barrage of emotions flooded her.
Now that it was over, sanity began to flow back in. It began slowly in a way
—she felt things before she understood why, before she could comprehend the thoughts that came with them. But there was no denying the intense urge to . . . run. Like last time.
To run from him. From all they’d done here. From the strange surrender that had—God—been so humiliatingly complete.
What have I done? What on earth have I done? Who am I? How do I get out of this? I want to take it back. I want to go back just a couple of hours and change it all—stay home, stay sane, stay me.
She found herself pulling once again at the sash that held her wrist. Oh Lord, her arms were so sore—she hadn’t been aware of that for a while, but now she was. I need to go. I need to leave this behind and never look back. Make it like a dream. A thing that didn’t really happen. Because I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have given myself away like that, given myself up like that. Could I?
God, how could something feel so good one second and so . . . horrendous the next? She shut her eyes, fearing tears would come, and she wouldn’t even be able to wipe them away.
Her lips trembled, and again she yearned to escape. But she couldn’t this time.
“You . . . need to untie my hands,” she said, trying to sound very calm. But she was pretty sure there’d been a nervous edge to her voice.
“Can’t, Ginger,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. Stay calm, or at least act that way. “Why? They’re sore.”
“I would, honey, but if I do, you’re just gonna throw your clothes on and go running away from me again. And that’s not how it’s gonna go this time.”
Chapter 10
“Well,” she said smartly, “if you’re looking for post-sex cuddling, it’s going to be pretty difficult this way.”
It surprised her when a loud peal of laughter burst from his throat. Maybe because she didn’t think this was very funny. In fact, it was . . . humiliating. Bad enough that she’d somehow become okay with this—actually being tied up and held down, for God’s sake—during the heat of the moment, when everything was infused with excitement and a certain dark passion. But now that the excitement was over, it was back to feeling unthinkable again. Like a secret you hide away in your closet or under the bed. The room suddenly felt far too bright, and if only she’d had use of her hands she’d have gotten up and turned off a lamp.
But then again, if she’d had use of her hands, she wouldn’t be so desperate to douse the room in shadows.
“Nothing against cuddling, Ginger,” he said, “but that’s not what I have in mind.”
Still facedown on the couch, she let out a huff. Better to be angry than to wallow in her naked embarrassment. “What on earth are you after?”
“Nothing else kinky,” he said, which did actually relieve her a little.
But she stayed just as belligerent. “Really? Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to get down on all fours and bark like a dog?”
He let out another laugh. “Well, if you really want to—”
“I don’t!”
“—but then again, that would be hard with your hands tied behind your back, too.”
She took a deep breath, let it back out. Tried not to feel so aware of her nudity. When she spoke, her voice came out quieter—she was tired. “Look, what is it you want? My arms really do hurt.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced up to see him staring down at her, as if trying to size something up.
“What?” she snapped.
Her tone didn’t seem to faze him. “Maybe we can make a deal.” He tilted his handsome head to one side. “If I let you loose, do you promise not to run away this time?” Before she could even form an answer, he went on, “Because I seriously won’t let you. I just want to talk, April, so I’m not gonna let you run away from that.”
She drew in her breath, both comforted and horrified. In one way, talking sounded so easy—even nice. But in another . . . what did he want to talk about? What they’d just done? Ugh.
Though even if that was the case, she couldn’t see a better alternative than agreeing. “I won’t run away,” she said softly.
“Good girl,” he murmured. And this time the patronizing words stung a little—even as some tiny ribbon of naughty pleasure wove its way up her spine.
She chose to stay silent as he worked at the knot behind her back. One wrong word, after all, and he might leave her this way. And the truth was, she wanted to run—the urge to race out of his apartment, out of his life, burned wildly inside her—and she even considered trying. But she was pretty sure by the time she rounded up her clothes, he’d be on top of her again, which in one way didn’t sound awful—Lord, what’s wrong with me?—but in another way she just wasn’t up for more struggling tonight.
When finally the sash around her wrists loosened and her arms eased forward, she let out a low moan. They were stiff and sore.
“Sorry, Ginger,” Rogan whispered, catching her off guard, and it made her turn her head to meet his gaze.
She didn’t reply, though—even if an apology from him seemed out of character, she just continued slowly easing her arms down beside her to rest them for a moment. Then, glancing up, she reached over her head—Ow, so sore, but she knew movement would make it better—and pulled down a crocheted afghan she’d noticed on the back of the couch. She found herself wondering who had made it. Who would crochet something for the big bad wolf?
She rushed to spread it over herself as she rolled onto her back, surprised when Rogan actually helped, tugging the edge down over her thighs.
“A little late for modesty, isn’t it?” he asked anyway—although it lacked the arrogance she’d grown accustomed to from him. She was pleased to see he’d pulled his underwear and jeans back up—even if the jeans weren’t zipped—and he sat at the other end of the couch.
“I suppose,” she said. “I’m just . . . not comfortable being this, this . . . open with someone I barely know.” And upon realizing how silly that might sound, she added, “No matter what we just did.”
Lowering his chin, he flashed a knowing look. “Anybody ever tell you that you could stand to relax a little?”
She let out another huff in reply. “I can relax just fine—when I’m in a relaxing situation. This is not a relaxing situation.”
He shrugged. “Most people would argue an orgasm usually relaxes them a lot. And you had a good one.”
She ignored the rise of heat up her chest and onto her neck and worked to hold her gaze on his—just to prove that she could. She might not have done very well with that at times with Rogan Wolfe, but she was a lawyer and such skills came with the profession—and she’d do well to get tougher around him. And right now, in particular, it felt important to exhibit some strength. “These are still unusual circumstances for me.”
He cracked a grin. “Never been tied up during sex before?”
The heat rose higher, warming her cheeks. “I think you know I haven’t.”
He raised his eyebrows teasingly. “Well, now you’ve got something new in your repertoire, something else you know you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—I didn’t like it.”
He gave his head another tilt—and she hated finding his arrogance so sexy. “You didn’t make it easy,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t like it.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she reiterated.
“Liar,” he said calmly, surely.
She sensed her blush deepening, giving her away. And finally broke the gaze, since she was pretty sure her eyes were betraying her at the moment anyway. Glancing down at the afghan, she said, “Who made this?”
“Huh?”
“The afghan? Who made it?”
“My old neighbor. Back in Michigan.”
Hmm. Not a mother, or a grandmother, or an aunt. Not that that meant anything or told her any more about his personal life. “Were you sleeping with her?”
Another laugh erupted from him. “No. She was old enough to be my mom.”
“Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like
the sort of guy to get chummy with the neighbors.”
“I’m not,” he said, looking more serious. “Haven’t said more than two words to anybody else in this building yet. But guess she had a soft spot for me or something. Who knows? Maybe I reminded her of somebody.”
So it hadn’t been a close relationship. That made her much less interested in the afghan. And a little sad. Both for his neighbor lady and for him. Heck, maybe for her, too. She wondered again what was she doing here having sex with this guy. Maybe she’d been hoping to find out there was more to him than she’d seen so far, something warm and fuzzy, something sweet and endearing. So far, she’d uncovered evidence of a neighbor he’d barely known. “Tell me about your family,” she said.
“No family. Not anymore.”
She challenged him by raising her eyebrows. “Everybody has a family. What happened to them?”
But he simply shook his head. “Just not in my life, okay?”
No, not okay. But even as entitled as she felt to ask, she didn’t have the guts to say that at the moment. The look on his face warned her to drop the subject. “Okay,” she finally said.
“So what’s your story, April Pediston?” he asked, eyes narrowed and inquisitive.
“I’m an attorney at Granvers and Associates downtown, specializing in corporate law. I got both my undergraduate and law degrees at U of M.” Given the University of Miami’s location right in Coral Gables, it had been an easy, obvious choice—allowing her to live at home with Gram and her sisters at the time, who had all needed her.
“What else?” He looked a little bored, and she wondered why she should tell him anything more, under the circumstances. He’d told her nothing, after all.
“I have two younger sisters—who are both real handfuls, each in their own way—and a grandmother in Coral Gables. She raised us,” she added, wondering why, again, she was telling him anything about herself at all.
“Why? Where were your parents?”
April let out a sigh. This part was never easy—she hated the look of horror and pity that entered people’s eyes when they first found out, even if they meant well. “Car wreck,” she said, leaving it at that. And tried to give him the message with her eyes not to pry further.
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