by Lucia Jordan
Copyright © 2013 by Lucia Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table Of Contents
Desire Book 1: Love’s Lessons
Desire Book 2: Love’s Disciplines
Desire Book 3: Love’s Trust
Desire Book 4: Love’s Desire
Desire Book 1: Love’s Lessons
Sandra’s gaze looked up from the soaked scrap of material in her hand to his face. He was so damn gorgeous she couldn’t think straight—all long lean angles and dangerously blue eyes under brows as golden blonde as the waves that fell across his high forehead. Sandra, already wet, sent more juices down her thighs. Without her panties there to stop the moisture but right there in her hand instead, it ran in long thin trails to her kneecaps.
“Put them in your mouth,” he rasped.
Her nipples ached from his teeth and tongue, her mouth was bruised from his kisses and she wanted more, much more, but she was afraid.
“I won’t say it again.” His voice deep, and commanding. Sandra knew that if she did not obey he would simply turn and walk out of the hotel room, leaving her standing there soaked and desperate, drowning in her desire.
Her black silk panties touched her lips. Earlier in the evening, while she had been getting dressed, the panties had seemed silly and unnecessary. What would she, Sandra Rogers—town librarian and all around good girl—need fuck me panties for?
“Connor, I have never done anything like this…” her lips trembled with fear as the words spilled from her full mouth. Her dark brown eyes caught his, held, and her body betrayed her yet again, sending yet another hard cramp of lust through her lower belly.
She had not ever done anything like this. Going to the writer’s conference had been a big step, going to the bar, dancing and drinking most of the night away with a handsome fellow attendee was certainly not something she had imagined herself doing, yet here she was. It made zero sense, which was why it held so much appeal.
Connor crossed the short distance between them easily, his long legs and narrow hips combining to create a prowling grace that was as lethally sexy as it was mesmerizing. “I know, and that is why I told you to use the word unicorn if you become too afraid or if something is happening that you do not enjoy. Do you want to safe word out of this?”
No, hell no. Safety was her whole life. What she needed and craved and had to have more than anything else was something that was definitely not safe, not easy. Her hands trembled as the panties pressed against her lips. Her mouth opened and the scrap of material filled her mouth. She could taste the salty sweetness of her own arousal, smell its musky scent mingled with the floral laundry detergent she used.
His fingers flicked across her nipples, the soreness in them increased but so did the pleasure that tightened those peaks. The tips of his fingers had callouses that rubbed against her delicate flesh in a way that was unbelievably rough and sensual all at the same time.
Those fingers moved lower, brushed through the dark brown curls that covered her wet labia. He pressed his thumb cruelly against her clit then pinched her labia shut right above that throbbing nub of flesh, applying even more pressure there. She shrieked into her panties, certain that she would fall down at any minute; just faint dead away if and when he allowed her to come. Two fingers slid inside her, opening her. Her tongue pushed against the silk of her panties as her back arched and her hips jerked forward.
“Ride my fingers,” he said, “let me see how you like it.”
Her face burned at those words. Nobody had ever spoken like that to her before. Shame warred with her passion and passion won out, she raised up on her toes and came back down, rocking her body so that her slick walls took him in and released him time and again.
An orgasm built up once more but again he stopped just as she was on the brink. He had done that earlier too, while she had been straddling his thigh and grinding her wet center along that hard length.
“Oh no, you have not earned your orgasm just yet,” he teased.
She had known that this would be part of the game but it still took her aback when she heard those words coming from his mouth. “What can I do to earn that?” Her heartbeat accelerated, her pulse quickened and her eyes went down, drawn by an inexorable force to his crotch. The large bulge below the neat black slacks made her breath catch in her throat.
“What do you think you should do?”
Why was he leaving it up to her? Until tonight, the wildest thing she had ever done sexually was fucking in the backseat of her high school sweetheart’s old car. She was not prepared to answer Connor, and one look at his face told her he knew it. “I don’t know,” she confessed.
“Well, now—we cannot have that. We are really going to have to work on educating you.”
It is just role-play, she reminded herself as his fingers plucked the panties out of her mouth. His lips sealed hers shut in a fiery kiss that left her gasping for breath and not caring if she ever breathed again. Connor broke the kiss off, his lips trailed down her neck, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh of that long creamy column before they moved lower.
Sandra stared, entranced, at his golden head as it lay against her breast. He nuzzled her almost painfully before his hands came up, squeezed her rounded flesh roughly, and his teeth bit a little less gently at her nipples.
She longed to touch him, to feel his hard body, the smooth skin that covered his muscles, below her fingertips. She reached for him but his hands caught hers and held them down to her side.
A long and agonizing moment passed. Connor was strong, she had known that, but she had not really known just how strong until he caught her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed that dominated the hotel room.
Her back hit the mattress and the air left her lungs in a harsh exhale that made her slightly dizzy, even as the orgasm that had been close to flooding through her for so long, now drew even closer.
Sandra had never been so turned on, her nipples poked up at the ceiling, her legs lay spread and open, her pussy, slicked and slippery with heated oil, was exposed to Connor’s hot gaze and she liked—no, loved—the feelings that he was creating within her at that moment.
“Put your hands behind your head and leave them there, do not move them or I will stop immediately.”
Her palms left sweaty trails in her dark hair, her fingers trembled and her toes curled as his fingers caressed her body again, his lips grazed the skin below her navel and then his mouth moved lower. He paused and said, “Do not move at all, not one inch or a single finger, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Sandra gasped. Instantly her body rebelled, her hips rose as his tongue licked across her labia and then her swollen clit.
Connor had not been joking it seemed. He stopped cold. Her cry of protest was lost in his stern remonstration. He returned to her pussy. Sandra had never realized how much movement she had had until that moment, forced to remain immobile she understood exactly how pleasurable arching her ass up, tilting her pelvis or using her fingers to hold his head to her center would have been.
The slow throbbing in her belly had grown to an intense, demanding ache t
hat could no longer be denied. Her toes curled again, she straightened them, hoping like hell that he had not noticed.
The muscles of her inner thighs tightened painfully and her teeth grit together as his fingers slid deeply inside of her, delving into her wet slit and loosening her walls. The urge to beg for release was nearly irresistible; she would have if she had not been so afraid he would halt the torment once more, permanently this time.
“Now you are behaving.” Connor’s amused voice was carried on a warm breath that ran across her wetness, made her nipples tighten, and caused her to literally whimper.
His fingers moved inside her, stroking and pumping. Friction bloomed and heat blossomed into a fully opened flower of lust. Her mouth hung open in a slack O as her walls quivered around his fingers and her clit swelled and hardened even more under the pressure of his tongue. She was certain she would die from it all, that he would never take any pity at all on her, that he would leave her there suspended on the precipice forever just to do it.
Her fingers itched to rub her nipples, to touch the sleek locks of his hair and to feel the muscles of his jaw moving as his mouth brought her to an even higher pitch of feverish excitement. She had to press her head down on her hands so forcefully that they literally ached from the force required to keep them where he had ordered them to remain.
“I think you may have earned the right to come after all.” Those words shot through her as her body almost instantly began to reply. It responded by surging up toward him but he pushed her down again, his breath blowing against her belly then her breasts as he moved into position between her outstretched legs.
The sound of his zipper coming down was very loud. Her eyes closed and then opened again. Her breath held as his fingers slid the condom down the heavy length of his shaft, so slowly that she feared she would yell at him to just do it already, dammit.
The head of his prick rubbed against the thick oils gathered on her opened folds then he was inside her, driving deep and hard. Her ass clenched with the effort to lie still, to obey his command but it was harder than it had been before, pleasure crashed through her body in long waves.
“Come right now,” Connor ordered.
Sandra did not have to be told again. Her pussy squeezed down, holding his cock tightly within her walls as they opened and closed. Cries exploded from her throat and her mouth hung open, wrenched open by the force of those cries.
She felt his orgasm; his cock pulsed and twitched inside her. His fingers curled into the flesh at the top of her shoulder blades and his teeth nipped at her ear yet again. The ecstasy slowly subsided, replaced by a floating golden languor that left her limp and weak.
Connor rolled away from her, his trim body gleaming with sheen of sweat in the low light from the bedside lamp. Sandra rolled onto her side, studying his face. He was almost a stranger and yet they had just shared some very intimate things, she was not sure what to do now though—throw him out of her room, offer him a drink from the minibar, or just curl up and pretend to be asleep and let him work it all out for himself.
To her relief, and regret, he announced, “I have to go. I am teaching at nine and it has been a late night.”
Her eyes darted to the bedside clock. It was after two and the fatigue she had been fighting earlier in the day came back in, swamping her body with exhaustion. “I have a lot to do tomorrow too,” as soon as the words left her mouth she blushed. It sounded so lame, two people making excuses for why they no longer wanted to spend time together.
He slid his zipper closed. He had never even gotten undressed, that realization made her face heat all over again. He slid out of her room soundlessly, the door opened shortly to allow in a sickly shaft of light from the hallway and then he was gone.
Sandra lay in the darkness, wondering just what she was going to say to him if she saw him tomorrow.
**
It was a mistake, but not one I would take back.
The thought followed Connor as he made his way down the hallway. The long corridor was dim, from behind the doors he could hear the sounds of people sleeping or fucking or fighting. His eyes felt gritty and the taste of the Scotch he had drank earlier had soured on his tongue but the sweetness he had licked from her body covered that just enough.
His own room sat at the end of the hallway on the floor below hers, he opened the door and went in, not bothering with the lights. He shucked his clothes off, dropping them on the floor carelessly. He lay down on the bed and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as he puffed on one of the very expensive cigars a fan had given him earlier in the evening.
Sex at one of these things was not uncommon and it was not as if he had never indulged before but something was different about tonight, for a long few minutes he could not put his finger on it then it clicked. He had wanted to stay.
The thought shocked him. He had not slept next to a woman since his wife had died five years before. Gina’s face floated up before his eyes and he felt that old hollow echo of pain. Cancer had taken her far too early and far too painfully from his life. He had vowed never to love anyone else again.
Sandra reminded him of Gina—not in looks—Gina had been a flame haired beauty with huge china blue eyes and the body of a greyhound; graceful with whip thin limbs. Sandra was rounded and curvy in all the right ways, her breasts had been heavy and her hips had swelled out in a heart attack inducing kind of way, her ass was plump and round, and her hair auburn. Still, there had been that indefinable aura hanging all around her, that sweetness that masked a strength that had called out to him from the moment he had first set eyes on her.
He knew he was playing with fire, a dangerous fire, one that could burn him badly. He was not the kind of man who wanted just a woman’s body, or even to possess her heart, his woman would need to give over herself completely to him and women like that were rare.
“I am going to call it a good night and leave her alone.” The words hung on the air and he put the cigar out, determined not to think any more about her. That proved impossible though.
**
Connor was inside a knot of adoring women when Sandra stepped into the conference’s main room the following morning. She tried not to look at him, and that was really not that difficult either—she could barely see him for the bodies pressed close to his own. Jealousy smote her, surprising her with its intensity.
Connor Beaumont was one of the sexiest men on the planet, and since he was also one of the best suspense writers on the planet, he drew crowds of women everywhere he went. To get him to show up at a conference was a major coup for producers and he knew it.
Sandra had not come to the conference to meet him. She had come to meet one of her idols, Sharon Hampton, another romance writer. Sharon had been giving a discussion on historical romances and the men within the pages of those novels. Sandra had still had ten days of vacation and no plans when she had seen the conference announcement on the pages of the online bookstore she frequented.
The crowd around Connor parted briefly, giving her a brief glimpse of him. He was attired in a black cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned wrists and an expensive watch on his left wrist. His jeans were form fitting and more than one set of eyes were fastened to the hard muscles of his thighs and the terrain of his crotch. His hair hung over his forehead in a slightly messy style and his white toothed grin shone out of his handsome face.
His eyes met hers but there was no recognition in them. She stood there, feeling awkward and silly as his hand rested on the shoulder of a gorgeous blonde woman who had maneuvered herself so close to him that her long slender thighs, clearly visible below the hem of her incredibly short crimson skirt, rubbed against his right flank. He did not seem to object to that touch and Sandra turned away, unable to look at the sight any longer.
Saturday at conferences is typically a blur of activity: classes, discussions, publishers, and writers hawking their latest efforts. Sandra was caught up in the whirl of activity a
nd by nine in the evening, when the formal dinner she had paid to attend began she was not only exhausted from being in the middle of the activity, she was feeling incredibly alone.
That was not a new feeling for her. Sandra had grown up as the only daughter of a solitary man, a professor of ancient literature who spent little time noticing his daughter. He had paid little attention to his wife as well—which was why he had found himself the solo parent to his daughter while his wife took herself off to London to live with a Shakespearian actor. When that failed, she moved to Portugal.
Over the years, Sandra had gotten postcards from all across the globe but she had not seen her mother since the day she had traipsed out the front door with a suitcase in each hand and her daughter crying in the arms of her father.
Sandra had been five then and over the years she had learned to stay quiet, to stay out of the way and to entertain herself. Books were often her only friends, her father was rarely interested in taking his child to activities, and since he was usually lost in some obscure work, he rarely had the time to do much of anything else with her either.
Growing into an adult Sandra had learned that she could get away with almost anything as long as it did not interfere with her father’s study and work habits and she had tried the rebellious route but growing up on a college campus where everyone knew who her father was all but guaranteed her being regarded as off-limits. In town, she found a few local boys who were willing to go out with her but the arm of the college, which employed most of the small town that stretched beyond the campus, was long.
She still lived beneath the long shadow of the campus’s oak trees. She had gotten a degree in French literature, planning to live a life of academia similar to the one she had always known. She taught at the same campus she had grown up in, she knew that she should branch out, grow, but she seemed to be unable to do that. Her life was mostly solitary, she worked and read and kept her small house neat and clean. The men she dated were all so alike they could have been ordered from a catalogue. Nice, safe, well-educated men who opened her car door and paid for dinner, men who never noticed her except when they were offering perfunctory compliments on her dress or hair or perfume. Those men always sort of drifted away after a few weeks or months due to a lack of interest on her part or their own.