by BETH KERY
She couldn’t read his expression as he watched himself lightly massaging her shoulders. For a stretched moment, he didn’t speak.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“Don’t be,” she replied stiffly. “They hardly ever caught me. I owe my quick reflexes and ability to take care of myself to Sissy and the Reed brothers. I could dodge a fist or a palm quicker than a fly by the time I was seven, and as for taking care of myself—better me than them. I did all right.”
“No. You did fantastic,” he growled softly. His gaze moved over her face. He must have noticed her defensive expression. He shook his head. “Jesus, you’re prickly. I’m not feeling sorry for you. I can relate. I just thought it was better to know for certain.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Were you abused? Is that why you like to tie up women? Did someone tie you up or something?”
His face went blank. He exhaled sharply after a moment. “I guess I deserved that,” he muttered under his breath. “No. I was just telling you some of my sexual preferences. They aren’t related to anything from my past. I was never sexually abused. But who knows where this stuff really comes from? I just didn’t want my preferences to …”
“Damage me? It’s okay,” she said. She started to suspect she might have an idea from where this all was originating. “I’m not going to shrivel up on you or curl into a hysterical ball, despite how you saw me in the stables this morning. That guy in the woods just freaked me out. I’m not usually like that,” she assured with a hard glare.
He rolled his eyes. Guilt slinked through her. She had no doubt she tried him at times with her defensiveness. She just couldn’t seem to control her reaction sometimes. Her defensive armor was practically hardwired in her brain.
“I don’t think you’re hysterical. I’m just trying to be clear about some basics, that’s all.”
“I don’t know if I’ll like what you’re talking about or not. I’ve never …” She faded off, her face scrunching up as she tried to imagine it: being tied up or restrained while Dylan made love to her. She wasn’t sure the idea sat well with her. Or part of it didn’t. The part about Dylan touching and pleasuring her, that part was great. She wouldn’t have any control, though.
But you loved it, the way he dominated you in the stables.
“I only want to make you feel good, Alice. If it doesn’t feel good or right, just say so.” Heat rushed through her. Having Dylan roughly murmur those words with that hot gleam in his eyes? Well … that sat with her just fantastically.
She nodded in agreement.
“One other thing,” he said quietly. “I’ll use a condom with you, if that’s what you want. I’m healthy, though. I haven’t been seeing anyone for the past two—no, not since April eighteenth, in fact. Over three months,” he added, his brows knitting together as he reconsidered. “And I just had my yearly physical.”
He knew the exact date? That didn’t bode well, Alice thought. Whoever he’d been in a relationship with must have meant something to him, to have abstained all this time from sex. Surely celibacy wasn’t a natural state for a man like Dylan. She swallowed thickly, trying to bring her ping-ponging thoughts under control.
“I haven’t been in a relationship since I was in undergrad … if you want to call it that,” she mumbled, her cheeks coloring at how lame that sounded. Numbers had been Alice’s lover for the past two years in graduate school. Lovely, safe, predictable numbers. Dylan was the opposite of predictable, but at least he was trying to be honest from the first. “I just had a complete physical when I had the drug screening done for this job at Camp Durand. I’m healthy. And I’m on the pill.”
He nodded. “There. That’s out of the way. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She returned his small smile. He was right to have brought it up. She wasn’t so thrilled about what he’d said about him restraining her sometimes, but she wasn’t afraid, either. And she was curious.
Maybe she was too far gone, her attraction to him an unbreakable, compelling restraint in and of itself.
He caressed the skin at her nape with blunt fingertips and cupped her neck. Reacting on instinct, she lifted her face, and his mouth was on hers, his lips moving hungrily, forcefully … and again, she felt that thrilling edge to his lust.
His arms went around her, and her feet left the ground.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked her gruffly a moment later as he mounted the stairs, Alice in his arms.
“It’s just …” she glanced around at the elegant, sweeping grand staircase and back at his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s happening all right.”
“I feel a little like Scarlett O’Hara. I always wondered what Rhett did to her when he got her behind locked doors,” she said distractedly.
He looked somber as he kept his gaze trained at the top of the stairs. Determined. “Now you’ll be the one behind the locked door. No more wondering,” he said, and Alice’s heart paused before it surged, resuming its race.
She strained to look around a moment later when he shoved open a wood paneled door with his foot and threaded her body through the opening. It was a large, handsomely decorated bedroom. The bed was right in front of her, while to the left was a sumptuous living area situated around a carved mahogany fireplace. Alice noticed two crystal chandeliers as Dylan spun and kicked the door shut behind them. The chandeliers were stunning, one at the foot of the four-poster bed hovering over a long gold damask bench, one over the luxurious sitting area before the fireplace. The sumptuous crystal stood in direct contrast to the beige, dark blue, and gold décor, the masculine bold prints on the fabrics, and the hearty suede accents in the rest of the suite. Over the bed was a handsome painting of a black horse.
“Lock it, Alice.”
His low, rough voice brought her out of her rapt admiration of his private domain. She leaned down, twisting the brass knob on the door.
Locking them in. Sealing her fate.
He held her stare as he carried her over to the bed. He laid her against a mound of silk and suede pillows.
“This room is amazing,” she croaked as one of his hands slid down her bare leg. He unceremoniously whipped off her canvas slip-on tennis shoes and tossed them onto the floor. Her eyes widened when he just as casually slid his fingers beneath the waistband of her canvas shorts and unfastened the top button.
“Thanks. It’s newly decorated. I just moved in a few weeks ago,” he said as he lowered the zipper of her shorts. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“But … I thought you’d lived at the castle for a while,” she managed in an unnaturally high voice as he tugged her shorts down over her hips. He drew them off her bare feet, and the garment went the same way as her shoes.
“I’ve lived in this house for six years,” he said, his attention on her bare legs. He stroked her calf with his palm, his fingers caressing the back of her knee. Alice shivered. He glanced at her face. “I just switched suites, that’s all,” he said, continuing to watch her closely as he skimmed his fingertips across the sensitive patch of skin. He really had incredible hands. Big. Warm. Knowing. She felt herself growing damp at his touch in combination with his focused stare. He had the look of a man who was anticipating a feast, and Alice was it.
“Why did you switch suites?” she whispered numbly. The daily life of a gorgeous bachelor tycoon seemed inexplicable to her.
He shrugged and his hand trailed up her leg. He experimented, palming the muscle first, then sliding his fingertips against the skin between her slightly parted thighs. Her clit twinged with arousal at his nearness, her flesh prickling beneath his touch.
“I wanted a change,” he said idly, watching his hand stroke her. Alice stared, too. It was impossible to look away. “I like the view better in this room.”
She cleared her throat, liking the view very much herself at the moment. He continued to stroke her inner thigh, as if he
enjoyed the sensation. Her skin color had deepened to a golden peach color. Despite the fact that he didn’t look as if he’d spent as much time in the sun as she had for the past few weeks, his hand was still darker than her thigh.
“And so you just had a whole new suite redecorated? Everything in here is new, isn’t it?” she asked, glancing around.
“A lot of it, yes,” he said, meeting her stare. He moved his hand, boldly cupping her sex through her cotton panties. She gasped softly in surprise. He began to move his hand in a subtle circular motion. “I suppose you think that means I’m spoiled?” he asked calmly.
“I … No,” she said in a choked voice. She wasn’t thinking much of anything.
His heavy-lidded stare lowered to her mouth, his hand continuing to stimulate her sex in a knowing, possessive manner that was making it hard for her to draw a full breath of air. He pressed.
“Mmm,” he murmured, sounding pleased. “You’re getting warm. And wet.”
Arousal tore through her. As if to prove his point, his massaging hand moved across her belly as their gazes clung. She felt the subtle humidity on her skin. Her abdomen muscles leapt. His touch set her nerves alight, creating a webwork of prickling pleasure. Her nipples pinched tight. His gaze flickered downward to her chest, as if he’d known precisely what reaction his touch was having on her.
“I’m going to finish undressing you,” he said, his voice a rough, rich seduction.
She nodded, her tongue suddenly feeling very thick as a strange combination of languor and sexual arousal weighted and warmed her muscles.
He slid his hand under her cotton shirt over her belly button, his fingers gliding over her ribs. The shirt bunched around his forearm. His fingers moved over the catch at the front of her bra and she felt the elastic give. Then he was scooping the shirt beneath her armpits and lifting it. Alice instinctively put up her arms, and he whipped the shirt off her. When she lowered her arms, she looked downward, stunned. Knowing what was coming tonight with Dylan, she’d worn a regular bra, not the restraining exercise bras she usually favored. The cups of her bra slid across her breasts, exposing her nipples.
“Smooth,” she joked through a tight throat, referring to how he’d bared her with a few effortless, quick moves.
He flashed her a quick grin, but his gaze was steady on her as he pulled back on the cups of her bra and she lifted her arms one at a time, freeing herself from the straps. She lay back on the mattress. He cupped her breasts gently, and his small smile faded.
“I kept thinking of you all day. It wasn’t my imagination. You really are exquisite. It’s not that common, for a woman as slender as you to have breasts like this … to have such sensitive nipples,” he murmured. She wasn’t so sure she liked the idea of him being such a breast expert, but her body seemed less discerning. Her nipples tightened even more, as if to prove his point. He gave a small smile and swept his hands downward, his thumbs still on the underside of her breasts, his fingers bracketing her rib cage. He paused, holding her firmly. It felt so good when she inhaled choppily to feel the security of his hold.
His smile turned tender, and he met her dazed stare. “I can feel your heartbeat.”
“Dylan,” she mouthed. She reached for him. He turned his face and kissed the underside of one of her forearms when she grasped his head. Liquid heat surged at her sex at the simple, profoundly erotic gesture. He gathered her arms and placed her wrists gently above her head on the mound of pillows.
“Keep them there,” he said. His tone was gentle, but there was a glint in his eyes that told her he meant business. She frowned, but nodded. His hands slid beneath her panties, drawing them down her legs and off her. He palmed the inside of the thigh closest to him and spread her several inches.
“Is it one of your ‘sexual preferences’? To remain dressed while the woman is completely naked?” she asked, still scowling a little despite the electrical effect of Dylan’s fixed stare between her thighs.
“Not particularly, no,” he said distractedly. “But right now, I want to play with you. I told you I wanted to watch you come.”
EIGHT
She felt heat rush into her cheeks. Play with her? Her brain didn’t like the sound of that, but her body reacted as if it possessed a different mind than the one in her head. She had a sudden urge to place her hands between her thighs to stanch the ache there.
She glanced aside when suede fabric brushed her hip. He’d just pulled down a pillow from beneath the mound of them at the head of his bed. Her brows drew together in puzzlement when she saw it wasn’t a typical small, decorative pillow. It was nearly two feet wide and wedge-shaped, one end about ten to twelve inches thick, the other only a few inches wide. “Lift your bottom and back a little,” he directed. She followed the urging of his hand and directions uncertainly. He slid the thin end of the pillow beneath her, pushing until it rested at her middle back. Because of the wedge shape of the soft cushion, her hips had rolled back and were suspended above the rest of her body. Dylan gently pushed back her knees toward her chest.
Her ass was curved at the edge of the high part of the wedge. Her buttocks and the back of her thighs were completely exposed, her legs suspended in the air.
“Now stretch your arms back over your head, Alice,” he said, his voice sounding a little rougher than before. Tense. Did he like seeing her like this? she wondered dazedly as she straightened her arms. The possibility struck her as strange, and yet excited her, too. It was an awkward position, because she hadn’t been in it before—unless she counted the exercise pose where one rolled one’s legs and feet over the head to stretch. But this was only partially that pose. With the wedge raising her hips and ass, her legs bent toward her chest. The soles of her feet felt strangely naked and vulnerable, suspended in the air the way they were. Thanks to the soft, but firm suede wedge pillow propping up her hips, it might have been an unusual pose, but it was comfortable.
If one could call this mounting feeling of vulnerability and arousal comfortable.
“There. Are you okay?” he asked, running one hand along the back of one suspended leg. He reached between calf and thigh, and stroked the back of her knee. A shiver tore through her.
“Yes,” she admitted in a choked voice. He was studying her face, his hand wedged beneath her bent knee, rubbing that patch of sensitive skin there. He grimaced and suddenly pushed aside some of the pillows where her head and shoulders rested. Her spine straightened and her head fell onto the mattress. “There. Is that better?” he asked. She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. “Good. Now reach for the headboard,” he instructed. “Stretch your torso tight. Your nerves will be more sensitive that way.”
Oh God. It must be true, because as she straightened and tensed her arms above her head, he stroked the back of her arms, and the side of her ribs and her breasts. She couldn’t control the shudder of pleasure that went through her.
“Why are you making me do this?” she asked breathlessly, because he was awakening her body with his hands, stroking her like he was slowly building a fire in her flesh. He caressed one breast lightly, his fingertips feathering her nipple, while his other hand stroked her sensitive, exposed side. She had a wild, savage urge to beg him to grasp the mounds in his molding, demanding hands like he had in the stable earlier, to treat her not roughly but firmly. Thoroughly. Then he opened his large hand along the back of her thigh, and he was parting her legs. He palmed a buttock.
“Because I like having you at my mercy,” he replied.
Her stare darted to his, her mouth opening to ask him what kind of answer that was. His fingertips touched her outer sex, and he was deftly penetrating her pussy with his finger.
A cry flew past her lips instead of a protest.
“Nice and warm and wet. God, you’re soft,” he muttered darkly as he watched himself pierce her. She winced, pressing back with her hips to increase the pressure. He still sat at the edge of the bed, one knee bent and resting on the mattress, his torso twisted slightly. A
lice realized hazily she was displayed like some kind of sexual buffet for him, pussy and ass in the air, her legs suspended and spread …
Naked, wet, and willing.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan at the volatile yet strangely arousing thought.
“You look incredibly beautiful, Alice,” he said, and she had the odd impression that he wasn’t just speaking of her physical beauty as his hot stare ran over her. He was talking about her pose … her nudity … her availability to him. Her pussy tightened in longing, undone by the thought.
“Oh yeah,” he grated out, thrusting his finger faster in and out of her. He’d felt her tighten in desire. “You feel so good.”