by Tracy Wolff
“You know.” She wanted to beg, but some vestige of pride prevented it.
“Tell me anyway.” He leaned over her, his blue eyes burning brightly, darkly. “Where do you want my cock?” He ran his tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “In your mouth?” he asked, before licking his way to her breasts. “Between your tits?”
She whimpered, bucked against him as her need shot out of control. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes!”
He straddled her, his eyes gleaming. “But I haven’t finished listing your choices.” He kissed her breasts, drew first one nipple and then the other into his mouth as his talented fingers rubbed teasingly over her breasts.
He rolled her over, worked his way down her spine one delicious lick at a time. Without warning, his teeth sunk into her ass, nipping her before his tongue soothed away the sting. Straddling her, he grabbed a wrist in each hand, spread-eagling her before she knew what was happening, holding her in place while he explored every inch of her back.
“Is this what you want?” His black-magic voice was darker, more seductive than usual, as he traced the line of her ass teasingly. “Do you want it here?”
He followed the line around until he found her, hotter and wetter than she’d ever been. He pulled her onto her knees, slid his hand under her to get better access to the slick, hidden folds, his fingers running back and forth against her slit over and over again. Dipping inside just enough to make her crazy, rubbing her inner lips just hard enough to have her gasping for breath and pressing back against him.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, bebe? You want me right here, between your thighs.” He thrust one finger inside of her hard, followed it with another and another. Her inner muscles clutched at the fingers greedily and Serena screamed at the pleasure he brought her.
“That feels so good,” she gasped, moving her hips in rhythm with his questing fingers. “You feel so good.”
She looked over her shoulder at Kevin, saw a dark intensity shining in his eyes that she’d never seen before. For a minute he looked wicked, wild, and she knew that she should be afraid. Afraid of the passion and the darkness inside of him. Afraid of those same qualities he brought alive within her. But she was too far gone to worry about it, too aroused to do anything but ride out the unbelievable sensations he drew from her body without any effort at all.
“It’s about to feel better,” he murmured, shifting so he lay beneath her, her legs on either side of his head.
His tongue—talented, terrible—darted out, caressed her inner folds again and again. Serena spread her legs wider, seeking something more, something deeper. With a groan of ecstasy, he clutched her ass, spread her legs as wide as possible and thrust his tongue deep inside her.
She came instantly, screaming and bucking wildly against his mouth. He held her in place, his iron grip unbreakable as he continued to lick and suck her through the first climax and into a second before he relented.
Serena settled herself next to Kevin with a low, satisfied moan. She was focused inward as aftershocks of incredible ecstasy continued to rack her body. She kept her eyes closed as she savored them, one after the other. Sweat gleamed on her brow as she sucked air into her oxygen-deprived lungs and her hips moved restlessly against the bedspread, searching for Kevin.
He was right next to her, smiling, as he reached a hand out to stroke her hair. To toy with the pearl necklace she still wore. “I couldn’t get it off when I undressed.” She answered his unasked question as she stretched against him. Her smile was lazy, her voice content even as she reached for him. “Your turn.”
“Not yet.” He shook his head, his eyes as turbulent and mysterious as the ocean she could see from the hotel balcony.
Her hand found his erection and she pumped gently as she ran her thumb back and forth over the tip. “Now.” She leaned forward and took him in her mouth, savoring his low groan as much as the feel of him against her lips, in her mouth.
His hands fisted in Serena’s hair before he could stop himself, anchoring her in place as she did the most amazing things with her mouth. He watched her lips sliding up and down his cock, watched her tongue swirl around him, pausing to flick at the drop of moisture he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he grew longer, thicker, harder.
He ran a finger lightly down her cheek, marveling at the delicate skin. She was so beautiful, so fragile, that he feared breaking her every time he put his hands on her. Even so, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go. She was his and she would remain his.
Groaning as she took his entire length in her mouth, Kevin couldn’t stop the involuntary thrusting of his hips against her. But she didn’t mind—instead, she reached beneath him, cupped his ass and held him to her as her teeth lightly scraped the underside of his cock.
He took the incredible, mind-blowing torture as long as he possibly could. But when he was as close to coming as he dared get, he sat up abruptly and flipped her onto her back.
She looked up at him with passion-glazed eyes, licked her lips as if savoring his taste. Sweat trickled down his forehead and over his chest as he fought for control of his raging body. This night was for Serena, he reminded himself. There was plenty of time, later, to take care of his own needs. Besides, watching her come again and again was almost more pleasure than he could bear.
“Why did you stop me?” she asked, eyeing the rampant proof of his desire for her.
“When I come, it’ll be inside you.” His voice was harsh, rusty with need.
“Sounds good to me,” she purred, turning behind her to the nightstand and the brand new box of condoms that rested there.
He took advantage of her turned back, reaching up and unhooking her necklace before she realized it. She turned back, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?” she asked.
His grin was wicked. “I have a better use for these.”
“Better use?” She frowned as she mulled over his words. He knew the exact second they sank in because her eyes widened in surprise. “Really? That’s not just a myth?”
“Definitely not. Now lay down.”
She followed his directions, her eyes both wary and excited as he began arousing her all over again. His lips were everywhere at once—her face, her breasts, the back of her knees, her shoulders, her ankles. Every place he touched caught fire and soon she was thrashing against him, as desperate for him as he was for her.
He reached a finger between her thighs, gratified when it came away soaked. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. “Are you ready?” he asked, rolling the pearls slowly over her breasts and stomach.
Her eyes met his, clung, and he saw her trust for him. A trust that at once awed and humbled him as he knew how much it cost her. “Yes.”
He stopped for a moment, lightly kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I love you, Serena.”
And then he began slipping the necklace, pearl by pearl, inside of her, murmuring encouragement until only a few remained outside. “How’s that feel?” he asked, brushing soft kisses over her abdomen and upper thighs. She tasted better than anything ever had.
Serena wiggled her hips experimentally, more nervous and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. The pearls shifted inside of her as she moved and she gasped, shocked by the pleasure the simple movement sent shooting through her. “Really good,” she answered, looking into Kevin’s bold, beautiful eyes.
His grin flashed, dark and dangerous. “Good.” And then thrust a finger inside of her without warning, manipulating the pearls against the walls of her vagina as he did so.
She gasped, arching off the bed as a wave of ecstasy more intense then anything she’d ever felt before rocketed through her. The pearls were everywhere, touching every single spot inside of her. Kevin found her G-spot with his finger and rolled pearl and after pearl against it until she screamed with frustrated abandon.
“I can’t take it, Kevin. I swear I can’t.”
His grin was dangerous. “You want me to stop?” His
voice was low and teasing, his accent dark and pronounced.
“Yes.” Her hips arched against his hand. “No. Oh God, I don’t know. Do something. Do something!” Her hips jerked with each word, her voice getting louder and louder as he continued to torment her.
“How about this?” He leaned down, blew against her clit and she screamed, her hips coming completely off the bed.
“Finish it,” she begged. “Please. Don’t leave me like this. I can’t take it. I can’t—” Her hips jerked against him, again and again, as her head thrashed back and forth on the pillows. “Kevin!”
He grinned, watched sweat pour down her body as she undulated against the sheets, desperate for release. Then he closed his mouth over her clit and sucked until she was at fever pitch. Her hands grasped the sheet greedily, her legs moved restlessly against him and tears poured, unnoticed, down her cheeks.
This was what he wanted. Serena lost in ecstasy, on the brink of an orgasm so fantastic she couldn’t think, couldn’t worry, couldn’t control herself at all. He reached between her legs and slowly, slowly began to pull the string of pearls out.
One bead at a time, letting each slip against her clit as he did so. She began coming with the third pearl, clutching his hair and screaming his name loud enough to wake half the hotel. But he didn’t stop—he continued to draw the necklace out slowly, steadily, making sure each bead rubbed both her G-spot and her clit as it came out.
When the last pearl was removed she was still coming, still screaming. He rolled her onto her stomach and pushed into her from behind. He thrust into her again and again, harder and harder, riding her through the contractions rhythmically milking him. He felt her tension build, felt his own orgasm approaching, and when she spasmed again, he finally let himself go, pouring every ounce of himself inside of her. Hoping, praying, that she could give him just a little of herself back.
Chapter Twelve
Serena took a few deep breaths as she plunged the room into darkness. Her heart raced and shivers danced up and down her spine, but she ignored them as she always did. Today was no different than any other day. The fact that Damien was on the loose would have no effect on her. She wouldn’t allow it to affect her. This was her darkroom and she would damn well do the work that she was trained to do.
She crossed blindly to the high counter where her equipment lay, the path as old and familiar as her own face. Today, she wanted to develop the black-and-white photos she’d taken of Kevin in his studio—the day after they’d made love the first time. Yesterday she’d spent nearly sixteen hours in her darkroom, developing roll after roll of film in a marathon session that she would prefer not to repeat.
But she’d already been away from Kevin for three days and she wanted to get back as soon as possible. He’d tried to stop her from going home, citing progressively more outlandish reasons for why she needed to stay in the bayou. But her work was at a standstill—how could she take any more pictures until she really had a chance to look at what she had?
So she’d ignored his craziness, his pouting, and even his wild, glorious lovemaking, and she’d come home to work—something she’d never had trouble doing before. Work had always been her solace. From the time Sandra had bought her her first real camera, if she had a problem she went to the darkroom with it—either to hide from it or to let her mind work on it as she followed the well-rehearsed steps to developing film. In the last twelve years, she’d developed enough film to do the basics in her sleep. Which was why her darkroom was such a great place to think up solutions.
She reached for the first roll of film, removing it from the 35mm canister with a can opener—a method her first photography instructor swore by. She unwound the film and peeled off the tape that connected it to the spool. Behind her, an old Aerosmith CD played—Stephen Tyler crooning about not wanting to miss a thing.
Her heart beat faster as she ran her fingers lightly over the negatives. This was the roll she’d been dying to see—the one of Kevin working alone the morning after they’d first made love. She’d reveled at the drive and passion pouring from him as she’d taken the pictures. He’d been in his own world, lost in the power and beauty created by his own mind and the challenge of bringing that beauty to everyone else.
Her hands shook at the memory and she fumbled a little as she loaded the film onto the metal reel necessary for developing. He was magnificent—so fiercely private and isolated, yet so willing to open up once his walls were bridged. Where did he get the courage, she wondered. And where could she find some to match?
She placed the film in the tank and covered it out of sheer habit as her mind continued to work on her relationship with Kevin. What was she going to do with him? How was she going to leave him when the book was finished? Could she even if she wanted to?
With the film safely covered, she flipped on the light. Stared at her unsteady hands in disbelief. What was happening to her? How had she let one man turn her so inside out in so short a time? She never stayed in a relationship very long, never let it get serious enough to shake her up. Never, never let a man tell her that he loved her.
Je t’aime. I love you. Kevin’s voice haunted her as she checked the temperature of the soup. She’d let the developing fluid warm a little—wanting it warmer than usual so that she could get a coarser, grainier effect for the roll. More primitive—like Kevin himself.
She checked the thermometer. Seventy-nine degrees. Seventy-nine. The number echoed in her head, again and again. The number of stab wounds in Sandra’s body when Damien was done with her. The number of times he’d plunged his knife into her while she’d screamed.
She poured the soup into the spout and covered it, ignoring the shivers chasing themselves up and down her spine. Seventy-nine. Just a number, she repeated to herself again and again. Just a stupid number. One day she’d be able to see it and not think about Sandra. Someday. Just not today.
Je t’aime, Serena. Je t’aime. Kevin’s words flowed through her as she waited for the photos to develop. He’d said them every time they’d made love since San Diego. He’d said them again as he helped her into her car as she headed back to Baton Rouge.
She’d wanted to return them. Had wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, then tell him how much she loved him too. But she wasn’t ready. Didn’t know if she’d ever be ready.
I love you. I love you. I love you. The last time she’d said those words it had been to her sister. The last time she’d heard them Sandra had been screaming them at Damien as he killed her.
I love you! Why are you doing this? I love you, Damien. I love you! Why won’t you stop? I love you! Why? Why? Why?
Sandra had died before she’d gotten the answer.
When Kevin had said those words, she’d been nearly overwhelmed with the need to run, to hide. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want the pain or the responsibility that came with holding someone’s heart. Didn’t he know this was supposed to be casual? Had to be casual—her relationships always were. Couldn’t he see what a bad risk she was, how she was too screwed up to love anyone?
She poured water into the spout for sixty seconds to stop the film from overdeveloping, then added a fixer so she could view the images in normal light. The second time he’d told her, she’d been nearly as frightened. Scared for him. She was going to hurt him. She didn’t want to, but she would just the same. She was always the one causing the pain when a relationship got too serious and she had to end it. She didn’t want it to be like that for Kevin. Didn’t want to see pain in those beautiful eyes.
She pulled the lid off the tank and ran cold water into it for a few minutes before adding a clearing agent and stirring the mixture around. Then she washed the film one more time, wishing that she could cleanse herself as easily. Wishing she could stand under a shower and just rinse away all the parts of her life she didn’t like—the parts she didn’t want to remember. The parts she couldn’t live with anymore.
She pulled the film out, careful not
to touch the surface of the negatives as she hung them up to dry. As she fastened the last clip, she was caught by the final image on the roll. Kevin walking toward her, his muscles rippling with fluidity and grace. His hands were outstretched and the look on his face nearly took her breath away. He was completely focused on her, love and concern already laid bare for the world to see. She stared at the tiny negative for a long time, until it blurred and she was forced to blink unexpected tears from her eyes.
What was she going to do about him? A headache began to creep up the back of her neck and she took yet another deep breath to try to calm herself down. The sharp chemicals of the darkroom assaulted her nose and the resultant coughing nearly brought her to her knees.
Did she love Kevin? Did she love him the way he deserved to be loved, the way he said that he loved her? The questions chased themselves around her mind throughout the day as she worked at a frenetic pace. Developing film. Looking for strong pictures in the finished project. Even blowing up a couple of pictures of Kevin she couldn’t live without.
When morning bled slowly into afternoon, she still didn’t have the answers.
* * *
She was in there—just a few steps away. He could feel her through the walls, through the closed door. All that passion and life just waiting for him to take it. To take her.
Not yet, he cautioned himself. Things weren’t in order yet. It wasn’t time.
Oh, but how he wished it was.
He ran a hand over the supple leather of her couch, tangled his fingers in the silver throw she had resting across the back. With a groan he buried his face in the soft velvet—it smelled of her. Honey and heat and ripe, warm woman.
Lust slammed through him, made his hands clench against the soft fabric until it was balled tightly within his fists. He took a deep breath and forced his trembling hands to relax before smoothing his careless marks away. The fabric was delicate, easily damaged—much like Serena herself.