by Pamela Clare
“What I want,” he whispered warm onto her nipple. What? To lose himself in this woman who’d squeezed his leg like they were partners. This woman he could feel confident about. He’d been performing for so long, and now this. Even this. He needed solace. Succor.
She bent her head over his. He felt her lips form a soft kiss at the upper edge of his forehead, a soft little kiss and he wanted to collapse into her. That’s when he knew he was dangerously tired, dangerously raw.
He yanked aside the other half of her bodice, freeing her other breast with far less delicacy. Another gasp.
“What I want is to tear this dress off you. I don’t want any scrap of anything keeping me from you.” He pressed his hands over her hips, sucking a little on her neck. He felt her pulse drum through his tongue and he almost lost it right there.
He pressed another hand under her breast and plumped it up, and then he closed his teeth over her nipple and sucked in a cool rush of air.
She gasped. “Please.”
He slid his hand onto her belly. “Are you thinking about the flower magnets?” he asked. “On your refrigerator?”
“Yes,” she said.
It was cruel, but this would play well for the recording.
“What are you thinking about them? What part?”
“You know what part.”
“Say it.”
“The kneading,” she said.
He sucked in her nipple now and she gasped again. Briefly he wondered if he could make her come just off this. It would be very chaste and certainly the best he could do for her, though she’d hardly agree. None of this would be okay with her.
He straightened up, kissed her, taking her nipple in his fingers now and rolling it between his thumb and his finger.
“What about the kneading?” he asked.
“Just that.” There was a little pleading in her voice. She wanted him to do it now.
“Not just that,” he said. And then he reached around the back of her head and took hold of her hair. She let out a grateful breath. For the hair. It made him all the hotter for her. He tightened his grip. “What about it?”
“Your rough callouses. You had to hold me up.”
He tightened even more. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, regarded him with a drugged look.
He had to do something more for the recording. “You want to know what I’m going to do next?”
“What?”
“I’m going to bend you right over. Maybe on the bed, I haven’t decided. Somewhere in this place.”
Feverish breath. He could come just off hearing her so aroused.
“I’ll touch you gently at first, sliding my fingers through your dripping-wet pussy. And then a little less gently. You know what I’m saying?”
She was panting now. His glasses were fogging.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“And when I’m satisfied you’re completely under my total and utter control, I’ll let your hands loose.
“You will?”
She didn’t like that, but the fantasy was spinning on its own now. “You’ll need them for clutching the bedspread, darling.” He lowered his voice seductively. “Those callouses you felt in our refrigerator encounter will feel so much more intense when you’re bent over and completely wet for me. You’ll need to hold on hard. And then I’ll take you. I’ll push my giant cock right into you, filling you completely.”
“Oh,” she panted, “good.”
“It will be. And do you think I’ll stop touching you when I push my cock into you?”
“No,” she panted.
“You’d be right in that. Because I will fucking own you when you’re bent over for me. Totally and completely.”
He slid his hand downward along her belly. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Yes.”
His thoughts exactly. Yes. He was losing control of himself a little bit.
Her panting got rhythmic.
“Don’t check out.” He fixed on her eyes. “Feel this.” He slid his hand lower. He could do this—make her come fully clothed. “You can’t do anything about it now. It’s just going to happen.”
He watched her as he pressed his hand to her crotch, pressing clear through her dress and panties, right between her legs, rubbing just enough. Then he closed his fist on her hair, twisting to tighten it. She cried out. He felt her break apart under his touch and he stayed, kept the pressure there as she came. He rode it with her, lost in the sweet sound of her breath. Gently then, he removed his hand. He yanked her bra and the bodice of her dress back up over her breasts before he let her slide to the floor.
She gave him a sated, sexy look, and then she smiled. “And now for the fucking,” she said.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. He’d told her the whole thing to wind her up, like a spider immobilizing his meal in a seductive web. But yes, the fucking. Her, bent over in front of him. His hands on her perfect ass. The way it would feel to enter her, to bury his cock deep inside her warm, tight pussy.
He did have callouses on his fingers. He did know how to use them, and she’d love it. He was more fixated on his little story than she probably was.
Focus.
He reached down and drew her up, hating that he’d fooled her as he had. Well, she’d hate it more. She’d be livid when she found out—it was quite a performance he’d gotten out of her.
He shut his eyes and buried his face in her neck, forcing himself to remember the mission. What the hell should he care if she was mad? She’d been mad at him the whole time. Because he was fucking blackmailing her.
Would there be a camera in the bathroom? It was possible the bathroom was clear. It would look less suspicious to go in there now. He could bring her in there and at least check. If it was clear, he could close the door and tell her about the cameras.
She kicked off a shoe and rubbed her knee on his thigh, regarding him with a heated gaze.
He looked down at her. He was losing sight of his mission—the steps to the end result had been so clear before. He needed coffee, he thought. A cold shower. Something.
“Come here, Cole,” she said in her breathy, lovely way, dark hair falling over her shoulders, rich and deep against the purple of her dress. She pulled her hands free, grabbed his belt, and pulled him to her. “Come here.”
He did one better—he encircled her with his arms and picked her clear up. It was as if he was watching himself do this thing, go outside of the sensible parameters of his mission.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he carried her across the room to the bathroom.
“Where are we going?”
“Bathroom,” he grated out.
“Why are we going in there?”
“You’ll find out,” he said, like it was something dirty.
He brought her in there and slammed the door with his foot.
She turned and kissed him, unbuttoning his pants as he scanned the room for a camera.
Focus.
There were limited places you could put a camera in a bathroom. And moisture was bad for the minute parts, especially the lens. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the shelf, jarring it, which enabled him to determine that a dot was just a dot. Nothing else suspicious on the shelf. His bathroom was pretty spartan. He tipped his head up as she bit his earlobe.
She’d remembered.
Concentration waning, he examined the ceiling, the light fixture. She got his zipper open. She grabbed his cock with a touch that was sure and strong.
“Oh, man.” He smoothed his hands over her arms, willpower wavering.
Focus.
The light fixture was clear of cameras. The bathroom was clear.
He could tell her now. He really, really did.
She kissed him, stroking him, pressing against him.
“Angel,” he whispered. “When we were out there…”
She looked up at him, stroking him firmly. “Yes?”
“When we were out the
re…”
“When we were out there you said you’d bend me over.” Lust blazed in her eyes as she tightened her grip on the base of his cock. His train of thought derailed.
He took off his glasses, trying to collect himself.
She let him go—she was kissing him, fumbling around with the skirt of her dress. The next thing he knew, she was holding something out to him.
Her panties.
Like a trained monkey, he put out his hand.
She dropped them in with a saucy smile.
He closed his hot fist over the cool silk, tightening his grip as he imagined her bare under there. Supply and demand. A woman naked under a dress. A bullet in the brain. What did anything matter?
He dropped them and pulled her roughly to him, kissing her with all his life, sliding his hands down the smooth fabric and over her ass, back up, down her arms, frantic to cover every inch of her.
She melted to him, biting his ear again. “Own me, baby,” she said.
He pulled her off him and looked into her eyes, cupping her cheeks. He kissed her once, softly. Then he slid his hands to the crown of her head and down over the silken strands of her hair—slowly, so she’d know what was coming.
The angular planes of her face suffused with hunger as he closed his fingers over the thick mass of hair at the nape of her neck. He gripped it in one hand like a rope, twisting it a little, using it to haul her closer.
Her breath hitched, and the sound nearly broke him apart. He had her in his grip, but his power was gone. His slid his hand downward and doubled her dark locks around his fist, hauling her even higher. She’d be on tiptoes now.
Her eyes glittered and a shiver ran through him.
With his other hand, he fumbled with her dress, pushing it off her shoulder. “Get it off,” he said, like a madman. “All of it.” He released her hair and thumped back on the wall, watching her peel off her dress, then her bra.
Her nipples were a rosy brown, skin like silk. He wanted to fall to his knees and worship every inch of her with his lips and hands and tongue—the puff of her belly, the short dark curls between her legs, the birthmark on her thigh, and a million other discoveries he’d just made, but she wouldn’t like that. And it wasn’t what had drawn her in here. It wasn’t the promise that he’d made.
“You know what to do,” he growled. “Turn around. Bend over for me.”
She turned around and braced her hands on the sink, looking heatedly over her shoulder.
He slid his hand over the smooth skin of her ass, then up, pressing his palm to the center of her back. “I need you lower, baby.” He pointed at the tub. “Grab onto the edge of that.”
Chapter Eleven
She moved to the tub and grabbed the edge, loving that he’d demanded it. The ceramic calmed her palms, but the rest of her body felt wild and electric. This was so wrong. And she was so crazy into it.
He moved behind her, pulling his pants the rest of the way off, from the sound of it. The wisp of air caused by his movements kissed her heated core and, oh, air had never felt more delicious, and she’d never been so turned on.
He slid his hands up to her shoulders and she felt the drag of his callouses, as advertised. She swallowed as he lightly dragged his fingernails in the opposite direction, down her back, dragging along a trail of shivers. She arched in response to the intensity. Her sex felt lit up as a Fourth of July sky.
“Angel,” he breathed.
She was right on the edge of coming, out of control. She’d never liked being fucked from behind—it had always seemed slightly demeaning, but after his sexy story, it’s the only thing she wanted. Him inside of her, his fingers on her, him everywhere, fucking her, demeaning her, anything, everything. She wanted him to own her like a god. She wanted him to consume her until every magnet in the world fell off of every refrigerator.
She pressed her fingers onto the edge of the tub as his nails traveled down farther, over the curve of ass and down her thighs, to her calves and then her ankles.
He knelt behind her and planted a kiss on the back of her thigh. And then another, kissing up, up to her ass. She felt his warm breath between her legs.
Then he grabbed onto one of her ankles and lifted slightly. “Spread for me. Nice and wide.”
She spread her legs wide, trembling with need. He gripped her thighs, and then, like a miracle, the tip of his tongue poked into the folds between her legs. She gasped as he licked her.
“You are so there,” he whispered into her core, licking her again, again. Long strokes, then small. It was the small ones that nearly broke her apart.
This was all so wrong. He was blackmailing her. Forcing her to do this job.
And there was no place she’d rather be.
He stood up behind her, kissing all the way along her spine, covering her, then gone. A crinkling noise. A condom.
“God, you are hot,” he whispered. “You are so fucking hot.” Silence. Then, “I’ll hold onto you. I won’t let you fall, Angel. If it comes to that.”
He gripped her hip with one hand and guided the head of his cock into her wet heat with the other.
“I won’t let you fall,” he grated out.
“Okay,” she said, with the vague sense that he wasn’t talking about fucking. But nothing mattered now except the thick head of his cock stretching her entrance. She arched her back, trying to coax him further, thinking she’d die if he stopped. She made a sound of frustration, just needing more of him.
As if the sound spurred him on, he dug his fingers into her hips and pressed into her in one dizzying slide, filling her.
“Oh man,” she said as the sensation transformed from discomfort to perfect fullness.
She wanted him to pound into her—more, more, more, just to get that discomfort back again, just to feel.
He didn’t pound, though. He thrust into her long and strong, on his own sweet time, owning her as he said he would. She breathed in response to his every move—he commanded even her breath now. And then he slid a hand around her hip and touched her clit, lightly rubbing his finger around her nub, invading her with feeling, forward and backward with one slick and perfectly calloused finger.
She felt like he was breaking her open. It was as if he knew things about her that he couldn’t possibly know, and he was filling her up with all the danger and beauty the world could hold.
“More,” she panted.
He reached down to grab her hair and pulled her up to standing, never losing contact with her clit, never pulling out. He pressed her against the door, sandwiching her up there.
Slowly, relentlessly, he fucked her. In and out. In and out.
She panted, delirious with the pleasure of him. And oh, the hair. She never knew she’d enjoy something like hair pulling, but that was Cole—he dug out your secrets, even the ones you didn’t know you had. He took everything.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“Nowhere.”
“Stay with me.” He gave her hair a yank and she nearly saw stars as she came in a wild explosion of feeling.
And he thrust into her again, one last time, hard and final. His cock pulsed inside her as he came.
He leaned his forehead onto her shoulder, breathing deep and heavy, sliding his hands all around her skin like he had to relearn her every contour now that the fucking was over. Then he went still. He pulled out of her.
She turned to him and kissed him, enjoying the feel of his skin and just everything about him. There was a curious lightness in her head, and she realized with cautious surprise that it might be happiness.
Just plain old happiness.
How sad that it was so rare for her that it should be a surprise.
“Cole,” she said, settling her hands onto his chest, looking into the bright gray of his eyes.
He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. Then he turned away from her and flipped on the shower.
“A shower?” she joked. “Well, I must say, you are quite dirty.” She ran her fing
er over a series of fat cigar-shaped scars on his upper back. Bullet wounds? Knife wounds? They looked old.
When he turned around, she knew something was wrong. “What?”
He concentrated on testing and adjusting the shower temperature. “This too hot or anything?”
She stuck her hand in. “Good.”
He flipped on the fan. “Get in.”
She got in, and he got in with her. What was wrong?
He let her be under the hot first. He soaped up a washcloth and washed her, reverently, and then washed himself in a slightly less lavish way.
“What?” she said again, moving so he could be under the shower more.
“I’m fine where I am,” he said.
“Come on.” Playfully she nudged him under.
He clutched her shoulders and whispered, “There’s a camera out in the bedroom. Maybe two. It’s been picking up everything out there.”
“What?” And then she thought of all that had happened. “What?!?!”
“Shhh. Not so loud, baby.”
Anger descended over her. “Don’t baby me.” She eyed him furiously.
“There’s no camera in here,” he whispered. “But I don’t know what that one out there can pick up as far as sound. Okay?”
“Okay? How the hell long did you know?” she whispered furiously. “All that time?”
“Pretty much since we got into the room.”
“And you let me be like that? You played me like that?”
“Shhh,” he said.
“What the fuck.”
“If you recall,” he whispered, “you had quite the reaction to the cameras out in the hall. If I’d told you in there you would’ve blown it. I couldn’t risk him knowing I know. It’s an advantage.”
“So instead you played me.”
“I needed us convincing.”
“You couldn’t trust me to be convincing?”
“No, Angel, I couldn’t, and I think you know that. You’re obviously rock solid on a job, but you have some kind of hang-up being the focus of attention. That part is hard for you.”
“Is that how it is, Sherlock?”