Caress of Darkness

by Julie Kenner

  He released her back, surrendering to the urge to brush his fingertips over her cheek. As he did, she closed her eyes, and her soft sigh of pleasure was like ambrosia to him.

  “You’ve had a rough day.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “You’ve been following me.” There was no accusation in her voice. She was simply stating a fact.

  “Yes.”

  She tilted her head, as if surprised by his ready admission. “This isn’t about the amulet, is it?”

  “No, Callie. It’s not.”

  She licked her lips, and he could see the confusion wisp across her features. Confusion, yes. But something more, too. Hope? Recognition?

  He shook himself, afraid that all he was seeing on her was the reflection of his own hope and desire.

  He smiled to set her at ease. “Is that a problem?”

  “No.”

  The immediacy of her answer bolstered him, and he felt a tightening in his groin. He wanted to hold her close, to feel the press of her body against his and let the thrum of her heartbeat mix with his own.

  “It’s just—” She gently withdrew her hand from his, and it seemed to him as if she’d ripped the fabric of the world out from under him. “I—I don't usually—”

  “What?”

  She shook her head as if banishing her thoughts even as a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “If it's not the amulet, what is it you want from me?”

  Christ, what a question. “So many things,” he finally said, because that was the best truth that he knew. “Right now, I want to soothe you.”

  “Oh.”

  Her voice trembled slightly, and he tightened his fingers into a fist, fighting the urge to touch her. There was a storm building between them, making the air crackle and burn, that spark or connection or whatever it was vibrating in the damp night air. If he reached out—if he let skin touch skin—he knew with unerring certainty that she would come with him, submit to him.

  And though he wanted that—dear lord, how he wanted that—he wanted more to have the choice be entirely hers. To come not because she was reacting to the heat, but to him. Not following that thread of connection, but following her heart.

  He watched, holding his own breath even as she drew in hers. “What does that mean?” she asked. “When you say you want to soothe me?”

  “That depends on you, angel. Do you want me to take you back to your father’s house and see you safely tucked away for the night?”

  He saw the small frown curve at her mouth and felt a ping of joy that the thought of simply escorting her home did not satisfy her.

  “Or do you need something different?”

  He could see by the fire in her eyes that she did, and he pressed on, rightly or wrongly using words in the same way that he wanted to use his hands. To caress and tease and pleasure. To bring her close. To make her his.

  “Do you need to forget? To get lost in the feel of my hands upon your skin, my mouth on your breast? Do you want to lose yourself in passion, in submission, in pleasure?”

  He could see the effect that his words had on her. The flush on her skin. The parting of her lips. The way she moved a hairsbreadth closer to him.

  He saw—and he was satisfied.

  “I’ll give you what you need, angel, I promise you that. But not until you tell me what that is.”

  “I don’t know what I need,” she whispered, her head tilted down. “I only know what I want.” She lifted her face to his, her eyes burning, and the words she spoke held enough power to bring him to his knees. “Please, Raine. Right now, all I want is you.”

  * * * *

  All I want is you.

  The sound of my voice hasn’t faded when his hand twines in my hair and his arm goes around my waist.

  In one wild, violent motion, he pulls me hard against him. I gasp, both in surprise and pleasure, as my breasts press against his chest. As my hips grind against his.

  We are well matched in height, and I can feel the hot demand of his erection against my belly, and when he slants his mouth over mine, I cannot help my moan of pleasure from this sensual assault.

  He takes advantage of the sound, using his tongue to tease my mouth open. It takes little effort—I want this, after all. Want his hands, hot and wild upon me. Want his mouth all over me.

  And god help me, I want his cock inside me.

  The thought shocks me out of myself, and I pull back, breathing hard. “We’re on the street.”

  The grin he flashes is decidedly wicked. “Is that a problem?” There’s no denying the tease in his voice, and I don’t fight the smile that tugs at my mouth.

  “I don’t do exhibitionism.”

  “No?” He looks me up and down so slowly and intimately that it feels as though he is making a liar out of me right there by burning off every stitch of clothes simply with the heat of his gaze. “Then tell me, Callie. What do you do?”

  I lick my lips, undone by the sensual images his four little words have conjured in my mind. I have no hope of a comeback. I have completely surrendered. “I—”

  But his finger upon my lip silences me. “No. Don’t tell me. I’d rather find out myself.”

  He traces his fingertip gently along my lower lip, leaving my mouth feeling warm and swollen, as if I’ve been very well kissed.

  It is as if he has flipped a switch in me, making me aware of my entire body. From this sensual tingle in my lips, to the tightness in my breasts, to the tiny beads of sweat that have popped up at the nape of my neck. And let’s not forget the way my sex clenches in both demand and anticipation of his touch.

  In other words, he’s made me a wreck, and right then if he repeated his question, I’d have to tell him that I’d do pretty much anything.

  We are still on the street right outside the bar, and as my senses return, I notice that we have actually drawn a small audience. Despite what movies might suggest, the kind of wild kisses that mimic fucking are not par for the course on the sidewalks of the Upper East Side. I notice an elderly couple, the man looking at us over the top of his glasses with what looks to me like lecherous interest. I clutch Raine’s arm. “If you want this to go anywhere at all, then get me out of here now.”

  “As you wish,” he says, then nods toward the street where a sleek black limo has just pulled up.

  I hesitate because it takes a moment for me to register that the limo and Raine are a set.

  “You look surprised,” Raine says as the driver opens the door for us. I cast a glance between him and the interior. His rough, rebellious looks and sleeves of tats might seem in stark contrast to the pristine leather interior that suggests boardrooms and opera rather than beer and heavy metal. But that isn’t what Raine is about, and I already knew that. He has too much control, too much self-possession. A limo suits him just fine.

  But I have a feeling he keeps a bike for fun.

  “No,” I say as I step inside. “I’m really not. I was just thinking that I was relieved you didn’t bring your Harley. I’m not in the mood to ride shotgun.”

  He sits beside me on the leather bench at the back of the limo. There is a bar along the sidewall, and he turns to it, then casually pours a glass of scotch on the rocks. “Actually, it’s a Macchia Nera.”

  I gape at him. “Seriously?”

  The fact that I have a clue what he’s talking about obviously surprises him. “You’ve heard of it?”

  I take the scotch he hands me, then nod. “My boss is into bikes. That bike is his personal nirvana. He once told me he could either buy the Macchia Nera or a house. When he factored in his wife and kids, he went with the house, but for a while there it was close.”

  “Fortunately not a dilemma I’ve faced.”

  “You’d choose the bike?”

  “It would be hard to be homeless. No roof as with a car. But she’s a sweet bike. It might just be worth it. Then again,” he added, aiming the full force of those brilliant blue eyes my direction, “a man will do most anything to take care of the w
oman he loves. I imagine that your boss didn’t even consider the loss of his bike a sacrifice.”

  I shift a bit in the seat, then take a sip of the scotch. It’s good. Exceptionally good, actually, and I tell him so. “Most men would have offered me wine.”

  “I’m not most men.”

  “Yeah. I actually figured that out.”

  “Clever girl.”

  I smile at him, enjoying talking to him even more than I like looking at him. But right then, I’m not interested in talking. Or in looking for that matter. All I want to do is feel.

  I move to set the scotch aside, but he takes the glass from my hand, then slips his finger into the liquid and slides the digit into his own mouth. My body clenches merely from the sight, and my lips tingle with awareness. “Raine.”

  He shakes his head, then withdraws his finger and holds it over his lips in a gesture of silence. Then he dips into the scotch again, this time painting my lips with his fingertip.

  I almost melt from the contact, and when my lips part on a gentle sigh, he eases his finger into my mouth. I take it greedily, relishing the taste of his skin mingled with the scotch. I draw his finger in, sucking and teasing him with my tongue, and it is easy enough to see the effect that I am having on him reflected on his face.

  I meet his eyes, and when I do, the entire world fades away. There is only the two of us, and passion, and need.

  I draw him in deeper. I’m greedy now, wanting more. Wanting everything. And so help me, I want to make him come. I want to see this strong, magnificent man lose himself in wild abandon—and I want to know that I was the one who took him there.

  Shamelessly, I ease forward, my fingers groping for the fly on his jeans, but he gently shakes his head even as he takes my hand and presses it over the steel-hard length of his erection. “I can’t tell you how much I want those lips around my cock,” he says as he withdraws his finger. “But not just yet.”

  I swallow as he takes my hand from him and lifts it to his mouth. He kisses my palm, then repeats the kiss on my other hand. “Sit back,” he orders, even as he shifts to face me better. “Eyes closed.”

  “I want to see you.”

  “And I want you to feel. Close your eyes, Callie.”

  There is no room for argument in his voice, and my willingness to comply surprises me, as I do not usually give in so easily to a man’s demand.

  Raine, however, is no ordinary man, and he is proving that point even now as he sets my entire body on fire merely by the gentle stroke of his finger along my collar. His finger is damp, and I can hear the tingle of ice as he once more dips his finger into the scotch and then uses that digit to paint my flesh. Then I feel his mouth on me, tracing my jawline, trailing down my neck. His lips tease me. His tongue tastes me. And soon enough his fingers descend to the open collar of my shirt.

  I’m wearing a blue linen button-down, and as his fingers flick each button open, I know that he is revealing the innocent pale pink bra, though I am feeling very far from innocent at the moment.

  He finishes the buttons and spreads the shirt open. I can’t help it, and I open my eyes to see that he is gazing upon me as if I am something holy. “You’re stunning,” he says, and I feel my cheeks heat with the words. “And you broke the rules. Eyes closed, Callie.”

  I draw in a breath, but comply. Immediately, I feel his fingertip, again wet with scotch, tracing from cleavage to navel. “I think this is my favorite way to enjoy my favorite drink,” he says, making me giggle. But my laughter stops when he drips more scotch into my navel, then proceeds to lap it up, his tongue working such magic on me that the muscles in my abdomen quiver with need and I arch my back in a desperate attempt for just a little more contact, a little more connection.

  Then his nimble fingers unbutton my jeans and ease down my zipper. I’m wearing thong panties, and he trails his fingertip along my pubic bone, just at the top of the material. Then it is not his fingertip that I feel, but his lips, and my sex clenches with such intense need that I know I am desperately, hopelessly wet.

  I want him to take me further, and I bite my lower lip in anticipation of where he will go next. Tongue or finger sliding under the waistband. Easing my jeans down. Teasing my clit with soft kisses. Fucking me hard with his tongue.

  My body trembles merely from the anticipation, and there is no denying that he has brought me close, so very close, and I am primed and ready for his next touch.

  Except it doesn’t come.

  In fact, he leaves me entirely.

  I open my eyes, confused, to find him no longer sitting beside me, but on the bench seat exactly opposite me. He is sitting up, his legs apart, and there is no mistaking either the bulge of his erection or the heat in his eyes.

  “What are you—”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  His gaze skims over me, and there is such a feral hunger in his eyes that I swear I almost come right then. “You heard me. I want you naked.”

  I start to shake my head, but he simply holds up a finger again.

  “I want to see you, Callie. I want to see the glow of arousal on your skin. I want to get hard while you touch yourself. I want to bring you to heights of pleasure you haven’t even imagined, and I want to hold you while you scream my name and cry out in release.”

  I am breathing hard, and there is no hiding how fiercely turned on I am.

  “You say you aren’t into exhibitionism? I’m going to make it my mission to change your mind. So take off your clothes, Callie, or everything stops and I’ll drive you home. The choice is yours. But I will tell you that I desperately hope that you do as I say because the night is young, and this is only the beginning.”

  Chapter 4

  Take off your clothes.

  His words flow through me, both dangerous and enticing.

  Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but the bigger part wants to strip bare and get myself off, tormenting him by not allowing him to touch me.

  I want to feel this—want to feel wild. Out of control.

  I want to take it as far as it can go—but only with Raine.

  Across from me, he still sits, silently watching me, his erection so tight I’m surprised he doesn’t burst through his jeans.

  Slowly, I slip off the shirt, then toss it to the side, leaving me clad in only my bra, jeans, and wedge sandals.

  I reach behind me and unfasten my bra, then shimmy it off and drop it on top of my shirt. And then—because I want to run this show at least a little—I cup my own breasts, then pinch my own nipples, gratified at the sound of pleasure he makes. Even more gratified when he puts his hand on his cock and strokes himself through his jeans.

  “The rest,” he says, and I revel in pure feminine satisfaction when I hear the strain in his voice.

  I comply willingly, maybe even too eagerly. I want to be free of my clothes. I want the pleasure of feeling his eyes upon me and knowing that my body excites him.

  But I also want this to be a show, a seduction. I have no illusions about who is in charge here, but I do want to keep a tiny bit of the power to tease and entice.

  With that in mind, I slide my hand down over my belly to my jeans. Since he’s already very considerately unbuttoned them for me, I only have to lift my hips to shimmy out of them. I do that, moving slowly as I free myself from jeans and shoes.

  “You’re stunning.”

  My cheeks warm with pleasure, and I continue this erotic dance, sliding my finger down into my panties and finding my clit, throbbing with a demand for attention.

  “Take them off.” His voice is clear and authoritative, and just the sound of it—of his command—heightens my arousal. “Then spread your legs and tease yourself.”

  I do, not the least bit shy. On the contrary, I want this. Everything he has to give and more. And so I do as he says, following his bold words as he tells me to stroke my inner thigh, to tease my clit, to thrust three fingers deep into my cunt.

  “Do
you like that?” he asks, and I can only moan in assent. “Does it get you off knowing that I’m watching you? That I’m imagining my cock deep inside you? Can you imagine it, Callie? Can you feel me fucking you hard?”

  “Yes.” It is all I can do to get the word out. I am soaked. My body clenching around my fingers, my clit swollen and demanding. And through all of it, I know that he has his eyes on me. That my show is turning him on, too, and that he is painfully aware of just how much I want him.

  “Is it enough?” he asks. “Your hands? Your fingers?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me what you want, angel.”

  “You. Please. God, Raine. Please.”

  “Come here.”

  I practically leap to the other side of the limo even as he rids himself of shoes and jeans and briefs. He still wears that T-shirt, and I remedy that quickly by taking hold of the hem and pulling it over his head to fully reveal his hard, taut body, which is covered in tats. In fact, almost every inch of the man that I can see except his magnificent cock and his face is decorated in wings and talons and the proud faces and beaks of birds that I can only assume are phoenixes, especially with the hint of flames lapping at them.

  It’s not a look I usually go for, but on Raine it seems to fit. As if it’s not decoration, but part of who he is. I don’t understand it, and right then, I don’t care. I just want to feel him inside me. I want it wild. I want it hot.

  Without asking or being told, I climb onto the seat and straddle him.

  “That’s a girl,” he says in approval.

  “Condom?” I’m on the pill, but pregnancy’s not the only thing a girl has to be careful about.

  “I don’t have one. But I swear I’m clean. Do you trust me?”

  I hesitate, because I have my rules. But so help me, I do trust him. Me, who so rarely trusts any man.

  I nod, and I see the fire in his eyes. “Now show me. Show me what it is you want.”

  I can wait no longer. I lean forward, one hand twining in his hair and holding him steady as I close my mouth over his and capture him in a deep, wet kiss. I slide my other hand down my body, sending an electric shimmer running through me when I graze the pad of my thumb over my clit.