She shook her head. “We both know where that leads."
Sex. Lots of hot, desperately passionate sex.
Reed had only one weapon left in his arsenal. “Suppose I asked you nicely."
"Excuse me?"
He turned to her, taking his eyes off the wheel. “Give me one night, Cheyenne, talk to me, help me figure out who you are ... and who I am."
She cocked her head. “How am I supposed to tell you who you are?"
"Because,” he said, not flinching. “Something happens when I'm with you. I feel different. Not like another person, but like ... some deeper part of me."
She made a frown with her pouting lips. He could kiss all that suspicion and doubt away, only it would go much farther, way too fast and they would end up crashing on the side of the road.
After several moments thought, she spoke. “I will agree to talk, but that's it."
"That's all I ask."
His lips, maybe, but what about his body ... and his aching soul?
"I mean it, Reed,” she said. “I am not giving you my body again. I can't go there. It's too hard."
"I understand."
So she wouldn't give herself.
That sounded good on the surface. Of course she hadn't given herself last time, either, she had been taken.
Reed decided not to point out the obvious.
"So where are we going?” she asked. “I don't suppose you managed to find some woods around here with a cabin?"
He smiled slantedly. “Not exactly. I have a hotel room near the Piazza Di San Marcos."
He might have added that it was a suite, overlooking the Grand Canal, with one of the sultriest, most romantic views in the world, complete with shimmering moonlight and gondolas.
She would find out soon enough.
It meant nothing.
This was about talking, not love making.
He said it to himself a couple more times.
A million or so more and maybe he would actually believe it.
Chapter Nine
Reed must have paid a fortune for the room.
Not just one room, but a whole suite in one of the most expensive hotels in the city. Cheyenne vowed not to even look out over the balcony. How could Reed have known it was one of her fantasies to be taken to a place like this by a handsome man and ravished, utterly and completely? To begin with he would strip her, out on the balcony, slowly and teasingly, forcing her to bare her body before the world.
She would whisper, helplessly begging him to bring her inside the room.
"I wish to display my property,” he would say. “You belong to me and you are the most beautiful creature in the world. Let every man envy me."
"What do you think?” Reed wanted to know.
Cheyenne focused on the thick, Persian rug, the elegant furnishings, darkly polished teak and mahogany, the velvet covered bed with the serpentine posts, twisting toward the fresco painted ceiling with its depiction of a lust filled bacchanalia complete with bare breasted maidens and a smirking pan with his goblet of bubbling wine.
"I think this is some kind of joke,” she said. “Or are you just plain cruel?"
"What do you mean?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
Men. Did they always have to be so clueless?
"This is a room you take your girlfriend to, Reed, or your wife, not a loose end from your last job."
"You aren't a loose end,” he insisted.
"No? Then what am I?” Her hands were on her hips. She was ready to settle this once and for all. “You obviously enjoyed fucking and spanking me, though I am sure a call girl could have done just as well."
"You saved my life,” he pointed out. “And you looked after me at the hospital."
Shit. So he had found out about that.
"I didn't want you dying on my watch, that's all."
He approached, inches from her face. She resisted backing up, just barely. “A nurse told me you cried, Cheyenne. What was that about?"
The bastard was trying to expose her, get her to splay her feelings wide while he kept up his little game of cat and mouse. See how you like it right back, she thought. “It was a common reaction from stress, nothing at all personal about you. They even have a name for it."
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” he supplied. “It does explain some things. But not why your nipples are hard at this moment."
"I'm thinking about the Duke. He's a very good lover."
Reed laughed. “I doubt that."
"Jealous?” she asked.
"Not in the least."
"Really? The man who put his cock inside me at the cabin seemed pretty possessive? That was you, wasn't it?"
His gaze narrowed. “You can take it out for a look if you have doubts."
Her lips twitched. She imagined touching him, sucking him. Opening her body exactly as he wished.
Her pussy thrummed in response.
"The only one touching that bad boy will be you,” she informed him. “Maybe if you ask nice, I'll let you masturbate for me."
What was getting into her? She was positively goading the man.
He licked his lips. “I thought you didn't want this turning sexual."
"Women can talk about sex without doing it. They aren't ruled by their anatomy."
"No,” he agreed. “They are ruled by men's anatomy and if you keep talking about mine you will find yourself in a very different position."
She nearly swooned at the implications. “Is that a threat?” she whispered.
"It's a statement of fact. Keep playing with fire and it will burn you. It was my plan to talk but if you insist on pushing me I will turn into that beast you're flirting with."
"I've already been there, done that,” she sought to dismiss him. “I am not sure you could show me anything new."
"I could, Cheyenne.” It wasn't bragging, just pure male confidence. It threatened to melt her on the spot. “I could get inside you in ways you never dreamed. Make you beg for bonds you'll never be free of."
Her breath caught in her throat. She was on the verge of begging now, of falling at his feet, whimpering for mercy from a fate she could not begin to understand.
"My staying here isn't a good idea.” She tried to brush past him. He took her upper arm like he meant it.
"You're not leaving,” he said, his chest impervious as a stone wall, his eyes like blue lasers beaming down on her. “Either you talk with me as we agreed or..."
"Or what?” she whispered, desperate to finish the trailed off sentence.
He spoke with a fierceness and an intensity that made her shiver. In that moment she knew what it was to be inside of a man's lust, to be the eye of his hurricane, the complete and only object of his desire.
"Or you take your clothes off ... and take your chances."
Her knees buckled as she imagined that kind of surrender, a complete stripping of her body, turning herself over to his every whim, to his deepest needs and fantasies as a man.
She did not doubt that his pleasure would bring pleasure to her as well. Maybe enough to blow her wide open.
"I-I'll talk,” she said, trying not to stammer.
In her mind the dress was coming off, the panties and the bra, the high heels, too until she was tremoring finely, nude, a blank tablet.
"Sit on the edge of the bed,” he said.
She tried to remind herself this was not sexual, that she had chosen the chaste, G rated path.
"Yes,” she said, straining not to move with obedience, her body shimmying and swaying, gently attracting the firm control and domination of his powerful love making.
Her bottom tingled against the spread. She felt the velour on the backs of her bare legs. The dress was awfully short. He remained standing, frowning slightly. Did he disapprove?
"This ... this is going to be awkward enough if you don't sit down,” she protested meekly.
"Awkward?"
She nodded, avoiding eye contact.
Please don't make me exp
lain it, she thought. Don't make me confess how this makes me feel too much like your slave, squirming, a living doll.
Reed pulled up a chair from the nearby desk. “Is that better?"
Cheyenne swallowed. He had positioned himself like a man, leaning forward, legs spread wide, elbows on his thighs. The way his fingers were interlaced drew attention to his crotch. He was barely aware of what he was doing to her.
That was what made him so sexy. It all came without effort, unconscious.
"Yes,” she lied.
Cheyenne tried to cross her legs. The dress was not made for such things. It was for dancing and teasing.
Locking her knees together, she put her hands in her lap demurely.
"The first thing I want to tell you is thanks,” he began. “For saving my life."
"You shouldn't thank me,” she said. “I ran away in the first place and got you nearly killed."
He shook his head. “You were justified as a prisoner. Prisoners are supposed to attempt escape. Shame on me for letting my guard down."
Cheyenne didn't know how much of this she could take. “If you want some kind of medal for being the most chivalrous guy on Earth, we'll arrange it. I just don't want to drag it out."
"I'm not chivalrous and we both know it,” he said.
She hadn't expected such honesty. “Fine,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I give you forgiveness, whatever you want."
"You don't forgive me,” he said.
"Actually I do. Neither of us is perfect."
There, let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
"I want to know why you left,” he said, his face bearing an intensity that scared her a little.
"I run,” she said. “It's what I do."
"You weren't running when I held you,” he rasped. “You didn't run when I was loving you."
"I was chained to the bed, remember?"
"You know what I mean, girl."
The way he called her girl made her ache inside, her whole body curling like smoke from her toes up. A part of her really wanted to trust him, to find something normal with him.
"Look, I already said if you want it again, it's no big deal. I fuck a lot of guys."
"No, you don't,” he said. “You think you will push me away by saying it, but the truth is you fall hard, you are sensitive and deep and you get your heart trampled on because of it. Beginning with your father."
"Jeezus,” she snapped. “Didn't I tell you about analyzing me? I'm a fuck up. Can't we leave it at that?"
"Tell me about him,” Reed urged. “Tell me what he's like."
"You met him, you know as much as I do."
"Did he ever hit you?"
The thought shocked her. “No, never."
"But he abused you verbally, he made you feel small."
"I was small, I was a child."
"What about your mother?"
"She's dead,” Cheyenne dismissed. “Another reason to pity me, right?"
Reed frowned. “Maybe I should fuck you. You would be less ornery."
"More wine would help."
He shook his head. “Not an option. We face this sober."
She rolled her eyes. “You make such a big deal of everything. You're the one who needs to get fucked. How about if we go find you someone?"
"I don't want another woman."
Her toes curled again.
He was making it sound like he wanted only her.
"You're fixated,” she accused. “You're into some kind of rescue bullshit."
He laughed. The sound was maddenly masculine, deep and ironic.
"If there's a joke in all this I would certainly like to hear it,” she insisted
"The joke is that rescuing you is the last thing on my mind,” he replied.
"Oh?"
"That's right. You see that balcony over there?"
"It's a little hard to miss,” she quipped.
"I had this dream last night,” he continued. “You were in it, you and me on that balcony."
"Yes?” She tried to keep her voice steady.
He sure as hell better not have pirated her sex fantasy.
"I came up behind you. You were in a long red nightgown, silk or something soft, naked underneath. I told you not to turn around, just to keep looking over the water. It was night time and there were all these gondolas. A café, too, just down the way and all kinds of people walking over the Bridge of Sighs. They could all see you.
"You were so beautiful. Your hair was piled on top of your head, you had these long dangling earrings. I told you I had never seen a more lovely woman. I told you I had to have you, then and there.
"You wanted to go back in the room, but I said I did not want to wait. You felt my hard cock against your buttocks as I slipped it out of my pants. I told you I was going to take you, then and there, from behind. You pushed against me, hot and helpless. I said you had to be naked first. You whimpered a protest but I slapped and pinched your ass. It was my way of owning you, letting you feel what it was like to be my possession, my conquered queen.
"I had you lift your arms. I pulled the material up, sliding the nightgown up your thighs and over your belly. I exposed your breasts, your pussy.
"The nightgown landed softly at your bare feet and then I had you put your hands behind your neck, interlacing your fingers. You were defenseless, people could see your body, men and women envying. I took my time, playing with your flesh, running my hands over your curves, telling you that you were mine, that I wanted you more than anything. I made you moan, pinching your nipples.
"I made you writhe, playing with your wet, hot pussy, you were drenched, Cheyenne, I slipped inside you, fit like a glove, sliding to the hilt, moving in and out until we both came, in a torrent of hot need, our moans blending with the sounds of the city, the smell of pastry and the rippling water that leads straight to the sea. Somewhere in the distance, music played, mandolins or something like that. I thought I had died, right there holding you, my arms wrapped around you.
"You reached behind and grasped my neck. You turned your head and we kissed..."
Cheyenne was lost in his words, sweetly drowned, an orgasm of words that made her belly roil, her sex twitch and hum. “Reed..."
Her lips were so dry, cracked like she hadn't had a drink in a hundred years.
"What is it?” he asked.
"I-I've had that fantasy. It's like you reached in my head."
Something flashed across his face, ephemeral.
She had to know. “Tell me what you're thinking."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does,” she insisted. “It does."
How could she explain the need to know where she fit into his brain, if she made some sort of sense in his life? Maybe then she would make sense to herself. Why had he come after her, really? What was his game? He acted so aloof at times and at others it was almost as if he had real feelings for her.
God, this was confusing.
One thing at least was simple.
"Let me please you,” she said, her voice hoarse.
He sat up straight. She could see his raging erection through his pants. She wanted to touch him, lick him, hear the groans from the back of his throat.
"No, Cheyenne, that's not going to happen."
She slipped to her knees and then onto all fours. “Please?” she said looking up at him.
Reed did not resist her approach, the hot dry press of lips to his knee and then his inner thigh.
"Let me suck your cock,” she re-iterated, back up on her knees.
Reed unzipped his trousers. He fed his shaft through the opening in his underwear and held it in his hand, his fingers gripping the swollen flesh, red and purple and criss crossed with blood filled veins.
For a moment she thought he was relenting to her whim. He quickly set her straight letting her know who was in control. “You're not touching this until you tell me what I want to know."
Cheyenne whimpered, trying to dab the tip of hi
s glorious shaft with her tongue. He held her back, the fingers of one hand interlaced in her hair. “No,” he said firmly.
Cheyenne responded to his power, his self control. Her voice held awe despite the nature of his protest. “You're blackmailing me with oral sex?"
Reed was unabashed. “I will use whatever means are necessary.” He stroked himself in a deliberate tease. “You want this between your lips, between your legs? Then you have to cooperate."
"You're unbelievable,” she told him.
If his cock had been her desire before, now it was her obsession, the proverbial forbidden fruit. She tried to conjure in her memory the taste of him, the salty sweetness of his sweat, the musky aroma.
"So are you,” he replied. “Here's how it's going to go. For every answer you give to my satisfaction, you get a little sample."
"You really think you're all that, don't you?"
"No, but you do."
"Do not,” she retorted.
Reed guided her head forward, letting his cock caress her cheek. She could feel the heat and power. Closing her eyes, she shuddered.
He had her ... right where he wanted.
"Ready to earn your first taste?"
Her head was back again, hopelessly far away.
"Yes,” she hissed. “Damn you."
Reed reached around effortlessly, disciplining her with a crisp spank. It was no effort for him, but the sharp sting reverberated through her already tormented body. “No swearing."
Cheyenne bit her lip.
"If your father could do one thing to make you happy,” Reed began the inquiry. “What would it be?"
She stifled her first answer, which was sarcastic. She wanted, needed Reed's cock in her mouth, not more punishment. “He could ... say something good."
"Like what?"
"That's two questions,” she said.
Reed frowned. His grip slackened and she promptly buried her face. She tried to take him into her mouth completely, a single plunging. Oh, god, it was good, like her mouth had been this wasteland needing filling. He pulsed in her mouth, in time to the beat of her heart.
He moaned and for a split second she thought he might let go.
"You're a vixen,” he complained, forcing her to relinquish.
Cheyenne exhaled, her breath jagged. Her saliva hung from the tip of him. She saw a drop of pre-come. “Will you ejaculate in my mouth?” she whispered, imagining all that semen sliding down her throat.
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