Total Surrender

by Cheryl Holt

  She was hunting for a hero, and he didn't aim to disavow her of her perceptions. He had no desire to inform her that he thought faithfulness impossible, loyalty absurd, and long-term commitment nonsense. He couldn't fuck and love conjointly, and he never misconstrued the two. Sex was a method of assuaging his erect cock, and he fornicated" in order to achieve mitigation for his masculine drives, but she didn't need to be apprised of his convictions.

  Her thinking that he was a better man, a different man, was positively enchanting. What could it hurt to humor her? If it bothered her that he might carry on with his licentious

  Total Surrender 19I

  distraction in the Viewing Room, it was simple to placate her. Appeasement justified the consolation it brought.

  "I won't go again." Not while she was in residence anyway, but he figured he wouldn't advise her of all his awful truths. A few lies were permissible between lovers, weren't they?

  "It would break my heart if you did."

  When had anyone ever cared about him so much, admired him so much? They were barely acquainted, yet she was so assured mat virtuous character lurked deep within him.

  That he could be the man she visualized! Instead, to his shame and consternation, he was without scruple or restraint, beyond redemption, a ne'er-do-well who used women for his own despicable purposes. Didn't she see? Didn't she recognize him for who and what he was?

  The agony of confronting his faults, of having them so distinctly displayed, was too excruciating. She dredged up his imperfections and failings without even mentioning them. Just by lingering in her presence, he found himself questioning his entire mode of living, focusing on his individual defects as though they could be corrected or transformed.

  He didn't have the patience for perpetual self-assessment His pride couldn't take the immutable recrimination and evaluation, yet since he'd met her, he'd been besieged by old memories, forgotten grief, foibles and fiascoes, and he wasn't going to waste any effort contemplating the varied paths he might have chosen. This quagmire of indecision and perplexity in which he was enmeshed was pointless, and he had to shift them back to a realm he comprehended.

  Hoping to accomplish only one thing—that being carnal pleasure—he sought out women to grace his bed. A gifted, skilled lover, he could dally to maximum effect, and women flocked to copulate with him because of his seductive abilities. Sarah was the same as all the others. She'd chased after him, seeking an erotic relationship that she

  192 Cheryl Holt

  presumed—with misguided design—would turn emotional, but she was too inexperienced to realize the improbability.

  By debauching her, once again, he could bring their rendezvous back to safer ground, to where he would be honed in on the only important goal: satiation. If he was lucky, perhaps he'd be so involved in his quest that he'd manage to slake his infernal preoccupation with her before it drove him mad.

  Innocently, he brushed against her lips, not tarrying as he'd love to do, but refraining as was most wise. Kissing her was dangerous. Better, saner, to employ his mouth in more fruitful, innocuous endeavors.

  He declared, "I thought about you all evening."

  "And I, you."

  "Did you enjoy our afternoon encounter?"

  "Every second of it." She winked wickedly. "I came back for more, didn't I?"

  "So you did."

  Feeling grand, he laughed and flipped them so that she was on top. Spreading her thighs, he adjusted her till her tantalizing pussy was directly over his cock, then he braced his hands on her hips and painstakingly flexed along her cleft.

  "I've been so hard for you ever since we parted." He nodded toward her body. "Remove your nightgown. Show me what you learned today."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sarah glared at him, dismayed by his cool command. In her naiveté, she'd fantasized that they'd forged a new understanding and would now come together with kisses and professions of devotion.

  One corner of her mouth twitched with a smile, and she bit it back. How imbecilic of her, assuming that a simple afternoon romp would have altered their relationship. He wasn't the sort prone to poetic prose or flowery welcome. He was who he was. A complex man, he'd never cuddle or coo, but then, his rough edges and belligerent attitude were what attracted her so desperately.

  As usual, he was being crude and demanding, but surprisingly, she realized that she could easily tolerate his high-handed manner. While she might have bristled had they been elsewhere, in this secluded situation, poised on the brink of sexual ecstasy, she was thrilled by how he ordered her about.

  Regularly, he sought out women who were predisposed to decadency. By his own admission, he had strong manly drives that demanded routine alleviation. Though he'd favored her for his partner, he hadn't ascribed any specific significance to the selection, but she wasn't about to consider his lack of deference an indication of defeat. He'd returned—after incessantly debating as to whether he should—which she would take as a sign of progress.

  She harbored no illusions about why he hadn't been overly enthused about dallying with her, once again. No doubt, due to her inexperience, she'd failed to fully satisfy him. Yes, he'd spilled his seed, but as far as she could discern, she'd had very little to do with it. She'd simply

  194 Cheryl Holt

  been present and available. He'd toyed with her, and his ardor had spiked, but he might have engaged in the behavior with anyone, be it she or another. Given his wanton habits, any naked female would have sent him over that climactic precipice.

  Yet despite his professed confusion, he'd come back to her. He'd kindly conceded that he'd enjoyed their interaction, but she was acutely aware that their tryst had been limited in quantity and quality—a circumstance she proposed to rectify as soon as she was able.

  She was eager to please him in every fashion, for him to view their assignations as magical and enchanted, but perhaps she was expecting too much. For the time being, she needed to be glad that he'd arrived, when she'd been so worried that he wouldn't.

  After leaving his room earlier, she'd scarcely made it through the interminable evening of socializing without dissembling. When she'd pleaded fatigue and sped up the stairs, she'd burst into his room, confident that ie'd be waiting, as impatient as she for what lay ahead. Initially, the fact that he hadn't been pining away had been an incredible disappointment, but after she'd shrugged off her fit of pique, she'd stood in the middle of his bedchamber and chuckled aloud.

  Of course, Michael Stevens would have better things to do! What had she been thinking! She'd calmed herself, then agonizingly paced. Each creak of the old house, every crack of the smoldering logs in the grate, the infrequent footstep in the hall, had set her heart to racing.

  As the hour had grown late, and he still hadn't appeared, her self-assurance had flown out the window. She'd envisioned the places he might have gone and what he might be doing. When she'd braved a glance at the peephole, and discovered it shuttered, she'd sagged with defeat, certain he was on the other side of the wall with an anonymous lover. All her scheming and planning had been for naught!

  Disheartened, but incapable of remaining in her lonely, solitary bed, she'd proceeded to his chamber and lain on

  Total Surrender 195

  his pillow, instantly pacified by his smell. Drifting between despair and sleep, she'd stayed, resolved to hash it out. He could protest and complain and deny, but they shared a destiny, and he belonged with her—at least for the next few days.

  After that, what might transpire was anybody's guess, but she'd always been an optimist. Any marvelous occurrence was conceivable.

  Physical intimacy would bring them closer than words ever could, so she reached for her nightrail, yanked it up and over, and pitched it on the mattress. She straddled his lap, naked but for a pair of the exotic French underdrawers that amused him. His eyes locked on her bare chest, and her nipples responded, the tips constricting.

  "Your body is so fabulous."

  Ir
reverently, he pinched one of the elongated nubs between thumb and finger. The move had her squirming as did the comment, and her cheeks flushed She wasn't accustomed to compliments, especially such indiscreet ones. Spurring her hips, he tipped her forward, and her hands steadied on either side of his head, her nipples dangling over his enthusiastic mouth.

  "I'm going to make love to your breasts."

  "Yes ..." she gasped on a rush of air as he sucked at the enlarged crest. "Whatever you want."

  "I'll keep at it until you can't stand any more. Until you're begging me to stop."

  "No, never. I'll never ask you to stop."

  "Until you're crying out my name."

  Now that was a definite possibility!

  Pinning her to him, he worked atrociously, and he suckled till she was raw and distended, then he detached and shifted to the other, rummaging across her bosom like a nursing babe. He located the delectable morsel, taking it with his searching, zealous lips.

  Below, his cock was rudely insinuated between her legs, and his hands descended to her bottom, squeezing and manipulating the rounded globes, and utilizing them as lev-

  196 Cheryl Holt

  erage to stroke his aroused member. His hot flesh tantalized her silky undergarment, pushing it into the heated cleft, causing her body to weep.

  His hands were at her thighs, spreading her so that her swollen mound was titillated by his slightest movement. Exhaustively, his cock massaged her, every delicious inch, so that when he fumbled with the tie on her drawers, when he glided inside with those resourceful fingers, her entire being was adjusted for the pleasure she now fathomed to be winging in her direction.

  With a few flicks of his devious thumb, he led her to the yawning crevasse and shoved her over. Cognizant of the pending tumult, she freely leapt into the void, the jubilant anguish staggering. He swallowed her cry of delight, kissing her thoroughly to consume some of her rapture as she soared to the heavens then floated back to earth.

  As he'd invariably seemed reluctant to kiss her, she'd thought he would end it abruptly, but for once, he didn't He treasured and sampled, and she relished the attention he'd suddenly decided to lavish on her. This was kissing as she'd always visualized it, at its most magnificent and exciting. Their breath mingled, their hearts beat in unison, his very essence flowed through her. The embrace went on and on, and she savored the display, letting him feast for as long as he was inclined.

  Gradually, the interlude spiraled to a conclusion, and their lips separated. He gazed at her with such an intense, dangerous expression mat she was completely unnerved.

  Struggling for levity, she smiled and queried, "How do you do that to me so easily?"

  "I take it milady was ... satisfied?”

  "Yes, you bounder," she grumbled. "Don't look so damned pleased."

  Unrepentant and overconfident, he was positively lethal to someone of her limited ability, and she heartily wished she'd steeled herself against his onslaught. A mere woman could never successfully contend with such potency.

  He chuckled, then stole another stormy kiss. "I adore

  Total Surrender 197

  how I make you come," he said impudently. "You call out for me... right at the end."

  "I can't abide such arrogance in a man!"

  "Get used to it, love."

  Once again, he'd tossed out the endearment as if it was of no import. Handsome as the devil himself, his sapphire eyes blazed with desire, an abominably alluring dimple creased his cheek, and she pondered how she'd let her poor heart get into this fix. After she left for home, she would never be the same.

  "You are horrid. I don't know why I permit you to abuse me."

  "Because I'm irresistible?"

  'Too true," she retorted. "More's the pity."

  "Oh, Sarah ..."—he chuckled again—"you are so good for me."

  "Am I?”

  "Absolutely."

  The air was charged as before a lightning storm, full of promise and foreboding. Powerful emotions roiled through her, and she was unable to ferret out a suitable rejoinder.

  "I am so hard for you," he ultimately said.

  He pressed his phallus against her, and it dawned on her that whenever their verbal repartee became too intimate, he reverted to talk of the sexual. She didn't mind, though, because she wielded the most authority over him when they were naked. The more he lusted, the greater her chances to lure him toward the bond she hoped would eventually develop.

  She partook of a slow flex 6f her own. “I like feeling you close, but it's not enough."

  "No."

  "Why?”

  "The normal conclusion for your orgasm would be for me to penetrate you." He cupped her, fondling the silk crotch of her pantalets, then a finger slid underneath the hem, easing into her animated cleft. Sounding pained, he huskily noted, "You're so tight."

  198 Cheryl Holt

  "Will you ... ?" She didn't possess the necessary vocabulary to interrogate him as to whether he would make love to her there. Now that he'd explained her emptiness, she recognized that her body was anxious to be relieved of its virginal condition.

  "Not today. Maybe not ever," he asserted. "I don't know..." Appearing baffled and bewildered by his reticence, he let his voice trail off as he rolled her onto her back. "I'm going to put my mouth on you."

  "What?" He caressed her moist pantalets, leaving no doubt as to his purpose, and her eyes widened in shock.

  "When I come, I want to have the taste of your sex on my tongue."

  "You're not serious."

  "Oh, but I am."

  Before she could prevent it, he was tugging her drawers down her thighs, and he had them over her toes and on the floor. He dropped down and centered himself, geared to advance, and she squirmed, flustered by his bizarre request.

  "Michael!"

  "When you say my name like that, you sound like an expensive whore."

  The odd compliment grated; she didn't care for the coarse comparison, at all. "Whatever you're up to ... I'm not ready for... for..."

  The tip of his tongue dipped into her navel, and she writhed with trepidation, and he halted. He wrenched his torrid gaze up her torso, his blatant assessment calculated to remind her of her previous acquiescence, of how promptly she'd succumbed, of how overwhelmed she'd been.

  "You trust me, don't you?" he asked.

  "No, I don't!" She didn't trust him any further than she could throw him.

  He had the audacity to laugh at her candor, then he continued with his ministrations. Lower, past her navel, to her feminine hair. He nuzzled his cheek in it, rubbed his nose

  Total Surrender 199

  in it, rooting and sniffing as though implanting her scent in his consciousness.

  "Michael..." she tried again, "this is too personal."

  "I told you"—he lifted up from his precarious perch— "that nothing is forbidden. Nothing, Sarah."

  "But I had no idea you'd contrive something so... so..."

  "Depraved? Outlandish? Improper?"

  "Precisely."

  He merely shrugged. "Having you in mis manner will make me happy. Isn't that why you're here?"

  As he was unerringly correct, protest seemed futile.

  Somehow, despite her objection, he'd managed to inflict himself betwixt her legs, and he settled her thighs over his shoulders. When he spread me mysterious folds, she arched up, seeking escape, but he was holding her down, and she couldn't get free.

  "Relax," he murmured soothingly. "Close your eyes and just feel."

  "I don't like it."

  "You will," he insisted, cheeky knave that he was.

  Baldly, he scrutinized every aspect of her feminine opening. Then ... his tongue. There and meddling and invasive, and she flung an arm over her face, hiding, longing to disappear. She felt humiliated, ravished, yet strangely intrigued by his thrust and parry.

  He kissed her leisurely as he had her mouth, piercing her in an unremitting rhythm, and the unyielding seduction began to tak
e its toll. Her thighs parted further, offering him more space in which to perform his devious, tricky assault. Try as she might not to enjoy the maneuver, she couldn't resist being drawn in. Her traitorous body reacted until she was straining against him—not in an attempt to get away, but in another skirmish toward carnal release.

  "No, I can't," she wailed, when she detected where he was leading her. "It's too soon."

  "It's never too soon. Do it again. Just for me."

  200 Cheryl Holt

  The invidious rogue! He acted as if she was doing him a courtesy by finding sensual gratification.

  His lingers were at her breasts, furiously kneading her ravaged nipples, as his tongue focused on the sensitive protuberance that he finessed with such devastating effect. With minimal effort, he—once again—hurled her over the ledge of desire.

  As the stimulation abated, he was towering above her, imperious cock in hand, and he guided the ample crown across her cleft. "Can you imagine how it would be if I entered you now? I would ride you so hard."

  For the longest time, he didn't move, poised on the brink of a terrible impasse, and she bit against her lip, incited, prepared for the next, but it never ensued.

  Sweat pooled on his brow, and he meticulously fondled her, her bodily moisture wetting the tip, then ever so slightly, he inserted himself. Vividly foreseeing what could transpire, he stared at the spot where they were barely connected. She looked down, too, agitated and aching, contemplating that his presence seemed so appropriate.

  Her hips clenched, and he jumped back as though burned, but he'd been forced beyond his limits of restraint, and he demanded immediate satiation. He clutched her to his chest and stroked his cock against her, twice, thrice, then he spewed himself on her stomach and leg, the fiery liquid blanketing her, its pungent aroma filling the air.

  "Oh, Sarah..."

  Moaning, he collapsed on her, and he held himself motionless as his breathing and pulse slowed to tractable levels. Finished, he strove to slip away, but she wouldn't let him, snuggling him to her bosom, his beautiful face nestled between her breasts.