Truth Or Dare

by Lori Foster

  “Really?” At least she wasn’t crying now. She was such an inquisitive little ex-virgin. “And you had this all planned so well.”

  She snorted. “Obviously not well enough.” A hard tug on the restraints proved her point.

  George dropped the condom into the bedside waste can. “You have more rubbers on hand?”

  She sniffed, sounding very put out but also curious as to what he intended to do. She bobbed her head. “I bought a whole box. They’re in the drawer.”

  “I like a woman who thinks positive.” George retrieved a few more of the little silver packets—and noticed the wooden ruler in the drawer. “Ah, what’s this?”

  “What?”

  George lifted it out, pleased that she had started to relax enough to converse. He waved it under her nose. “Planned to do your own calculations, did you?”

  “Yes.” She glared at him and her face was hot. “Before you ruined everything.”

  George dropped the ruler and rubbers on the top of the nightstand. He turned and rested his hand on her belly. “Ruined things how, babe?”

  For long moments, she simply stared at him, utter defeat clouding her gaze.

  “Come on, Becky,” he encouraged, knowing he couldn’t pull back now. “Explain it to me. Maybe things’ll turn out way different than you expect.”

  “I don’t want you—any man—to see me.”

  That totally took George off guard. He wasn’t at all sure what he’d been expecting, but modesty over her body? It didn’t make sense. He glanced at her sprawled form, which looked beyond delectable even in the dark shadows. Thank God for the night light or he wouldn’t have been able to see her at all.

  Her long skirt was twisted around her legs, her ankle socks were bunched, but the rest of her … well, she was naked.

  She was his.

  “Why the hell not?” Her pale breasts and belly showed up just fine. “You’re beautiful.”

  “No.” She shook her head, mussing her hair once more. For a woman who starched her pillow-cases, she sure had a problem keeping her hair in order.“I don’t … don’t look how you probably think I look.”

  “Is that right?” George cupped her breasts. Even now, when she was frantic to get away from him, her nipples stiffened under his touch and her heartbeat lurched.

  “Let’s see,” he murmured, while playing with her pretty breasts. “These are real, not enhanced. A gift from Mother Nature, and they look even better than I’d imagined.”

  “George! I didn’t mean that.”

  He slid his hand to her waist—and felt her stiffen. “No girdle,” he said, watching her closely. “You’re not bone skinny, but your curves are all perfect.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  George moved his palm lower, over her hip and then under her to cup one round cheek through the corduroy of her skirt. “There sure as hell isn’t anything fake about this great ass. So that leaves, what? Your belly button? Do you have two? An outie, maybe? Hell, Becky, I like outies. No? That’s not it?”

  “No.”

  He’d never heard so much misery in one word. George stroked her right thigh through the skirt—and heard her catch her breath against a cry. He knew he hadn’t hurt her, so that had to mean her embarrassment was over her legs. But why? She did always wear long skirts, and even now, when they were in bed together, she had her legs covered. He frowned in suspicion.

  Whatever bothered her, it wasn’t going to be easy to convince her that he didn’t give a damn.

  He decided it was best to bypass that topic fornow, and instead reached beneath her skirt and between her legs.

  She went rigid, but for different reasons.

  “You’re awfully tight,” George admitted, and pushed his middle finger into her.

  She squirmed, gasped. Moaned softly.

  “I like that, Becky. I really do. You squeezed me and I lost it.” With gentle care, he pressed in and out, rasping against already sensitized, swollen tissues. She was so wet, still excited. He kissed her open mouth. “You were a virgin, weren’t you?”

  She groaned.

  “I like that too, babe, though how the hell you kept your virginity for so long amazes me. A woman as sexy and sweet and beautiful as you is just made to be fucked.”

  She made a small sound of dazed excitement. George smiled. Becky liked it when he talked dirty to her. He’d noticed that early on, and right now, he wanted her insensate with lust. He wanted her to forget whatever inhibitions remained, whatever troubled her, scared her. He wanted her to trust him.

  He wanted her love.

  Looking at her with new insight, he asked, “Does this feel good, Becky?”

  “Yes.” That single word shivered almost as much as Becky did.

  She was so precious, so hungry for physical contact and yet such a sweet innocent. The contradictions drove him wild, and made it impossible not to love her. “If I’m going to squeeze back into you again—and you can be damn sure that I am—we need to prepare you a little more. Let’s try two fingers, okay?”

  Her head tipped back, exposing her pale throat where her pulse raced. “Yes. Okay.”

  He smiled at her immediate, husky reply. She held her breath as he began working the second finger into her, not roughly, but with insistence. “Take deep breaths, that’s it. A little more.” Her feminine muscles squeezed his fingers as he pushed forward until he had them completely inside her. “I told you I’d fit.”

  Her eyes closed. “But you didn’t.”

  “Only because you didn’t let me get you ready. Remember me telling you that women need to be touched?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Especially here.” He found her clitoris with his thumb and pressed.

  “Ohmigod.”

  “Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He watched her, loving the way her face, her chest and breasts pinkened. Satisfaction flowed through him as she began to tense. “Next time I slide deep into you, you’ll be so wet and ready, you’ll be begging me to hurry.”

  She opened one eye to stare at him in doubt George grinned and kissed her again. “Now, I’m going to scoot down just a little bit—no, don’t get all antsy on me. I only want to get to your breasts. You have very soft, heavy breasts. They turn me on, and I especially love how your nipples taste.”

  “Oh.” She arched, offering herself to him.

  George tested her self-control by kissing just below a nipple, around it, touching with his tongue.

  “George?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Will you … um …”

  “What?”

  “Suck on me again?”

  He’d already come not more than five minutes ago, and with just a small request, she had him painfully hard once more. “Yeah. You can bet I will.” He went back to teasing her.

  “George?”

  Hiding his grin, he said, “Hmmm?”

  “When?”

  He curled his tongue around her and drew her into the wet heat of his mouth. Her moan was nice and deep and real. He liked it. He liked helping her forget her silly qualms about her body. What, did she have freckles on her legs? A birthmark? He’d show her that it didn’t matter—after he had her mindless with lust and limp from a screaming orgasm.

  Within minutes, Becky was squirming and gasping and George knew she was close. He wanted to be inside her when she came, but decided he could be generous. She deserved a lot of pleasure, and he’d enjoy giving it to her.

  He kissed her ribs, down her belly.

  Becky groaned. She jerked and pulled against the handcuffs, then flopped back in defeat.

  “Sorry, babe, but you’re not nearly strong enough to free yourself.” He dipped his tongue into her navel.

  “What … what are you going to do?” She sounded both anxious and worried.

  He wanted her to enjoy her first orgasm with him, so he didn’t push the issue of her skirt Instead, he spread the skirt out across her wide-opened legs. Becky tried to brin
g her knees together but the footcuffs stopped her.

  “None of that. You’re open to me, and I can touch you, taste you, and look at you, as much as I want. Just relax and enjoy.”

  He ignored her continued struggles, her rasping breaths, and raised just the middle of the skirt, keeping her thighs hidden but revealing her mound. She went perfectly still.

  Being the master of understatement, George said quietly, “Now isn’t this pretty.”

  Becky groaned, but otherwise didn’t reply.

  He fingered the dark blond curls decorating her sex; they were damp with her excitement “Very, very pretty.”

  Her heels pressed into the mattress, but she still didn’t say anything. Unable to wait a second more, George carefully parted her. “All sweet and pink. You’re beautiful, Becky.”

  “You’re looking at me!” She sounded scandalized—and aroused.

  “Hell yes.” He stroked his fingers over her, opening lier more, teasing her. “I love looking at you.” He leaned down and kissed her deeply.

  Her hips shot off the bed. “George.”

  He held her steady, keeping her poised high, and continued to taste and tongue and nip at her.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”

  The taste of her, her spicy female scent, filled him. He held her tight so she couldn’t lurch away from him, found her clitoris—and suckled.

  In that moment, George knew she forgot all about her worries. She thrashed and cried and pressed herself against his mouth, as much as she could, considering she was tightly bound to the bed.

  She begged him with words and actions to continue. He stayed with her, carefully attentive to her reactions so he’d know exactly what she liked the most.

  “Back inside you again,” he whispered against her hot flesh when he felt her begin to tighten, felt her legs tensing. He pushed two fingers deep, out, in again—and she came.

  It was pretty damn special, George thought, watching Becky come, tasting her release, hearing her low cries.

  When she finally quieted, her body going boneless against the mattress, he reared up, grabbed another condom, and in record time, he was over her. She didn’t have time to accustom herself or gather her objections.

  George shoved her skirt aside, but kept his gaze locked on her face. Her eyes opened in startled alarm, met his, and went soft and vague as he thrust into her.

  “You can take me, Becky,” he ground out from between his clenched teeth. “All of me.”

  Her hands curled into fists, her head tipped back. George kissed her throat, bit her shoulder, and rocked into her. “More,” he said as he felt her hips lift, shift in an effort to accommodate him. “More, more, more … ah, yeah.”

  Becky panted, her whole body dewy, drawn taut. He knew he filled her, that she felt strained. She was young and virginal and stretched tight around him, squeezing him, gripping him.

  George slowly pulled out, moaned with her, and just as slowly drove back in. “Perfect,” he said. “Fucking perfect.”

  Becky whispered, “Yes,” and amazingly enough began to shiver in another release.

  He wanted her to come again, with him this time. He slipped his hands under her satiny bottom and helped her to meet the rhythm that would drive them both over the edge.

  “Faster,” she begged, then, brokenly, on a whimper, “Harder.”

  George shuddered. The bed rocked with his thrusts. He felt Becky tense, felt her body go rigid, and it was enough. He held her closer, drove deep into her one last time, and they both shook with an explosive release.

  George collapsed on top of her. Her body was small and soft and damp beneath his. Her hair tickled his nose. Her gentle breath brushed his sweaty shoulder. Her plump breasts cushioned his chest. He wanted to stay this way forever, the two of them still connected, their hearts beating together.

  For the moment, Becky wasn’t shy or apprehensive. She was sated. She was his.

  He dreaded moving because he didn’t want her to start shying away from him again, but he knew he was too heavy for her, and he knew her arms had to be tired.

  Forcing his muscles to work, George braced above her. “Mmm,” he teased, and kissed her slack mouth. “You’re something else, lady.”

  As if by a great effort, her eyelids lifted. “George?”

  Her love-soft voice made him smile. “Did you enjoy yourself, sweetheart?”

  Her gaze roamed over his face, finally settling on his eyes. “You’re incredible.” Her sigh brushed his throat. “And very big.”

  “But not too big to fit.”

  “No.”

  George regretted what was to come. He drew a breath to prepare himself, then cupped her cheek. “Now, let’s see what has you so shy, okay?”

  All the sleepy satisfaction left her face. Instinctively, her arms jerked, trying to be free. She glanced up at the handcuffs still around her wrists, then back at him. She cried out. Her legs twisted and tugged, shaking the bed.

  Disregarding her futile efforts, though they tore at his heart, George sat up. Knowing she watched him, he disposed of the second condom much as he had the first. The sound of her strenuous breathing filled the air between them.

  When he finished, he turned on the bedside lamp and faced her. She squinted against the light, tried to twist away from it, from him. Her voluminous skirt was now bunched and tangled around her thighs.

  “George, please …” she said, without much evident hope.

  Her pleading tone ate at him—and strengthened his resolve. He shoved her skirt aside—and froze.

  Becky gave a soft sob.

  Her entire right thigh was marred with zigzagging scars, some deep, some shallow. The skin was puckered, pinkish in places, roughened in others. They feathered out around the front of her hip, then got worse, uglier, down her leg, her knee, and partially onto her calf.

  Acting solely on emotion, George cupped his hand around her knee and bent closer. “Jesus, what happened?”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  Her flat voice brought out his frown. “Don’ttouch you? You’re naked in bed, Becky. I’ve just finished making love to you, twice. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known, and regardless of what you think of me, I care about you. Of course I’ll touch you.”

  “Go away.”

  “Not on your life.” He was angry at her for not trusting him, for evidently considering him a shallow ass. He was angry that she’d hidden herself for so long, that she’d let it matter too much. Angry that she didn’t know what a beautiful, amazing, unbelievable woman she was.

  She didn’t even realize he loved her.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Devoid of feeling, she said, “A car wreck.”

  He caressed her, from the inside of her knee to her groin then back again. Bound as she was, she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Surgery?” His heart threatened to break, thinking of his Becky at the tender age of twelve, so hurt, so emotionally wounded, too.

  She managed a shrug despite the handcuffs. “Some. It helped me to walk again, but there was nothing they could do to make it look better.”

  Very gently, George said, “They’re just scars, Becky.”

  “They’re hideous. Kids … they used to make fun of me at school. The ones who weren’t mean, who didn’t tease, just stared instead. They’d look at me with pity.” She spoke with no emotion at all. “My mom started buying me long skirts to hide my leg, but by then, everyone already knew.”

  “So you never dated? Never gave a guy a chance?”

  She looked at him, her face almost blank. “I dated a guy once. When he saw my leg, he got sick.” Her laugh scared him because it didn’t sound like his Becky, didn’t sound sweet and shy and innocent. “Needless to say, he never asked me out again.”

  George floundered for a proper reply, but all he could think to say was the truth. “I’m not him, you know.”

  “No?”


  “Nope. It doesn’t matter to me, Becky.”

  She laughed again.

  George decided he’d just have to show her. He gave her a friendly slap on the hip. “You know what I want to do?”

  Her gaze turned wary. “What?”

  “I want to turn you loose, first. Much as I enjoy seeing you like this”—he leered at her, to make his point—“I know your arms must be getting tired.”

  “They are.” She still looked doubtful.

  “Okay then. We’ll shower, probably fool around a little more, then I’d like to spend the night.” He put his hand back on her belly, this time under her skirt. “Will you let me stay with you?”

  “Why?” She appeared genuinely perplexed by his request.

  “You mean other than the fact that I haven’t gotten nearly enough of you?” He grinned at her expression. “All right, I’ll bare my soul again. I’m a man in need of reassurance. I’ve got that damned reputation to live up to, but you only came twice and then only after I’d already acted like a pig andlost control. I need to know that you still respect me.”

  “George,” she said, almost laughing but not quite.

  He tickled his fingertips down her leg to her ankle, back up again to her hipbone. “I need to know that you haven’t lost hope, that you’ll give me a few more chances to show you that I can be a considerate lover. A great lover. A lover worthy of an awesome reputation.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “I can’t have you running back to work with tales of my shortcomings.”

  “Shortcomings?” She smiled past her tears. “You’re a nut. You already know you’re awesome.”

  “Awesome enough that you’ll let me spend the night?”

  The laughter was replaced with hope. “You really want to?”

  “Damn straight.” He unhooked her legs and massaged them in case they were stiff. He ignored her rigidity when he rubbed over the scars, pretending he hadn’t noticed. “Feel better?”

  A hot blush colored her face. “Yes.”

  George unhooked both her arms and went through the same process, rubbing and stroking. Then he looked down at her breasts. “I feel like Pavlov’s dog.”

  She folded her arms around herself. “What do you mean?”

  “I see your breasts, and already I’m conditioned to drool.” He shook his head, a little stunned, a lot chagrined. “Damn, I want you again. Already. I’m insatiable.”