by Lora Leigh
She arched, her leg lifted against the pressure slowly easing between her thighs, and she gripped warm, muscular shoulders as she lay against him on her side. She needed to be closer, needed the clothing that separated them gone. She needed to be skin to skin, nothing between them.
It had been so long.
So long since he touched her, since he’d taken her.
She couldn’t still her moan at the feel of his lips against her sensitive neck. The rake of his teeth, his tongue taking little tastes of her skin. The slow sipping kisses along her neck alternated between sharp, heated tastes of her and lingering caresses that had her trying to get closer.
Delicate nerve endings rioted with sensation. Static pleasure weakened her senses, left her trembling, gasping for more as he rolled her to her back, his hands sliding beneath her shoulders and lifting her to his kisses.
Her head tipped to the side, her lips finding his shoulder as one of those heated, rougher kisses sent arrows of sensations to tighten on her nipples, causing her sex to clench demandingly. Her nails flexed at his shoulders as the incredible pleasure built, increased with each kiss, each lick until the need was clawing her.
“Riordan.” She buried her fingers in his hair, clenched them in his thick strands.
Then those incredible, too-knowing lips were on hers, parting them, his tongue owning her mouth, his kisses suddenly greedy, deep, ravenous.
Flames erupted over her body, burning beneath her flesh as the most delicious heat sizzled through her senses. She lived for these dreams, she thought distantly. Lived for the moments he held her again, touched her again.
Arching beneath him, her thighs parted as he moved between them, his hips settling between hers, the hard length of his shaft pressing against the silk that separated her from him.
Why had she worn anything to bed? She knew if he joined her after she went to sleep he’d torture her with pleasure before he ever removed them.
The torture was so good though.
She ached for it, longed for it. For the kisses that dragged her into that place of complete sensual abandon and pure sensory delight.
His lips moved to her neck again, hungrier, hotter. Hard, heated caresses had a cry spilling from her lips, her hips writhing beneath his. The friction against her clit stole her breath. The rising desperation for more of his touch, for deeper kisses, wild hunger, was growing by the second.
“Yes,” she whispered, her head pressing deeper into the pillow, arching closer as she felt his teeth rake her skin, felt the hot, suckling kisses he placed along her neck. “It’s so good…”
It was incredible.
It had been so long since he’d touched her, so long since she’d felt this fiery lash of arousal tearing through her system.
A low moan left her lips as he pushed one hand beneath the camisole top of her pajamas, pushing it up, his fingers curling around the mound of a breast, cupping it, as his lips covered the sensitive peak.
“Riordan,” she cried out, twisting, writhing beneath each sensation.
Spikes of shattering pleasure tore through her senses, raced from her nipple to her womb as he sucked on the peak with firm draws of his mouth. His tongue licked, his teeth scraped against sensitive flesh as he pushed the hunger inside her higher.
Oh God she needed him. If he would just stop with the torture and take her like he used to. He could tease her to death later. Instead, his lips moved to her other breast, drew that nipple in his mouth and treated it to the same intense pleasure.
She couldn’t bear it. She needed more. Wanted more.
She’d waited too long …
The thought was hazy in her mind. There was something she should know, something she should remember.
“Amara.” The sound of her name on his lips as his lips pressed to the curve of her breast had a shaft of denial tearing through her. “Are you awake, baby?”
She didn’t want to wake up, ever.
She didn’t want to face the fuzzy memories that still whispered through her mind. She didn’t want to face the fact that she’d lost so much.
“I don’t want to wake up.” She couldn’t still the hitch of her breath, the sob that threatened to make itself known.
If only she could force whatever she was remembering into focus, make the blurring images within her mind make sense.
Her hands dropped from his head as he pulled back, his hands gently pulling the material of her top over her breasts before he lifted himself off her.
She wanted to tell him she was dreaming, that she was unaware it wasn’t a fantasy as she turned to him, but she knew it wasn’t just the dreams that had her turning to him in the dark.
Since she’d come home from the hospital, she’d awakened to the sense that her bed was empty, that something within her was also empty. Until tonight. Until she’d felt him holding her. Until she’d awakened to the knowledge that it wasn’t just a dream, but he was really there, touching her, warming her.
And her bed didn’t feel empty.
Damn him.
She watched him as he lay on his back, one hand against his chest, staring up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable in the shadowed light of the room. That hard, golden bronze body was sheened with firelight; his erection straining beneath the cotton material of his pants was easy to make out, even in the low light.
She liked to think she wasn’t a stupid person. A little naive sometimes, far too innocent other times, but she wasn’t stupid. This man was far too comfortable in her bed, and she was far too comfortable with him being there than she would be with a stranger.
Those barely there memories weren’t drifting away as they had each time she awoke from one of the erotic dreams in the past. They were there, not exactly clear, not enough to be certain, but enough to suspect that the truths being held from her were far more important than she’d imagined.
She sat up in the bed, turning to him as she crossed her legs and tilted her head to watch him curiously.
Was that suspicion she saw flicker across his expression? Perhaps a bit of wariness?
“Why are you in my bed?” she asked him curiously.
His brow arched slowly, mockingly.
“Are you going to tell your father?” he asked, making no effort to leave her bed. “I hear Resnova has any guard that so much as flirts with you fired.”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, he does. You should see what he does to those bold enough to actually touch me. It would no doubt be interesting to see what he does to one who’s found to be in my bed.”
Was that a hint of amusement at the edge of his lips as he settled more comfortably against the pillows? One hand lay against the center of his chest while the other curved under his pillow as he stared at her.
“It would be interesting,” he agreed with far too much arrogance. “Are you going to tell? Or should I?”
Oh yes, that was amusement tipping his lips. And that arrogance, the sheer confidence wrapped around him, wasn’t as misplaced as it should have been under the circumstances.
“Do you take advantage of your clients’ weaknesses often then?” Somehow, she knew better though.
“Want to try again?” the suggestion was made with an undercurrent of a warning.
“So, I was just lucky that way?” she asked him, enjoying the byplay perhaps more than she should.
Oh, he and her father were in so much trouble if what she suspected to be true was actually true.
“You could say that,” he drawled, his sapphire gaze definitely amused. “I can be rather picky which clients I take advantage of.”
This one was definitely in trouble.
She narrowed her gaze on him before staring around the bedroom for a moment, taking in the darkness outside the French doors, the flickering gas logs, and the air of intimacy that lay over the room.
When she turned back to him, she saw he was watching her closely, his gaze far too familiar.
“You can go back to your own room,” she informed him, r
ather put out with him at the moment now. “As we’ve established, it’s only sleeping clients you take advantage of and I no longer fit that description. Good night, Mr. Malone.”
Perhaps if he left, she could at least masturbate and ease the aching need a little herself.
“You like to live on the edge, don’t you?” Dark sexuality edged at his voice as he watched her. “You could get more than you bargained for there, sweetheart.”
There was something about that look that had her body more sensitive than ever. Something that warned her that pushing him could come with unexpected results.
“My bed, Riordan, my rules.” She shrugged as though the warning didn’t mean much. “And I think I’m ready to go back to sleep now.”
She was uncurling her legs and preparing to do just that when he suddenly moved. Faster than she would have expected, he was on his knees, one hand gripping her hair, holding her in place as he knelt in front of her.
“Your rules?” His voice was rough, far too sexy. “Not this time, baby. This time, we play by my rules.”
Would they now?
She allowed a knowing little smile to tip her lips before she leaned forward and pressed them to the hard, flat plane of his abdomen. The muscles clenched then flexed, and a hard breath hissed between his lips.
“You’re playing a damn dangerous game,” he warned her a second later as her tongue licked over his flesh. “Sure you wanna go there?”
“Do I want to go there?” she mused. “Let me try and find out.”
* * *
Let her? Let her make him crazy? Let her drive him insane with her touch?
Gripping the hair at the back of her head, Riordan watched as her lips pressed to his lower stomach again, her heated little tongue licking over the area, and felt every muscle in his body clench in anticipation as her lips and tongue delivered heated, hungry caresses.
“God, Amara…” The groan tore from his chest as her lips moved along his flesh to the elastic band of the cotton pants he wore.
She’d kill him.
There wasn’t a chance in hell that he could maintain control if she got his dick in that hot little mouth of hers. He knew from experience just exactly what her innocent wonder and desperate hunger would do to him.
He’d fuck her. He’d lay her back on that bed like he’d done so many times before and lose himself in her. In her sweet cries, in the tight clasp of her pussy gripping his cock, her arms holding him.
He knew this, but still, he couldn’t stop her. She was like a drug he’d never stopped withdrawing from, one he craved every breathing moment since his last taste.
Her teeth raked over the hard planes of his abs as her fingers moved to the band of his pants, instinct and unconscious knowledge converging as he watched her expression become dazed and so filled with arousal that his balls drew up tight to the base of his shaft in reaction. That look on her face had always mesmerized him. The flushed features, her lashes lying against her cheeks.
“Look at me.” His fingers clenched in her hair, pulling at the shortened strands just enough to pull her head back as her eyes opened, the cloudy depths meeting his gaze. “If you’re going to do it, then watch me. Know who you’re doing it to, by God.”
Silky, slender fingers tucked beneath the elastic.
“The head jackass,” she whispered, some vein of amusement creeping into her voice as she eased the material lower. A breath later she eased it lower, revealing the painfully erect stalk of flesh awaiting her touch.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he ordered as they began to drift closed again. “I said you’ll watch me.”
Her gaze on his, sensuality and arousal filled her expression as she gripped the shaft. Her head lowered, her tongue licking slow and easy around the throbbing, mushroomed crest.
Sweet Jesus have mercy on him.
His hips jerked at the heated caress, the need to fill her mouth almost overcoming what little control he had left.
Oh, he knew the brazen little sensualist kneeling between his thighs, even if she didn’t remember. And he knew exactly what she liked, what she longed for. How she loved that harder edge, the dominance and sheer force he could take her with. How she’d tease and taunt until he made her take what he knew she wanted.
His eyes narrowed on her as her fingers trailed down the shaft, the uncertainty, instinct vying with lack of memory and driven by the same hungers that tormented him night after night.
Curling her fingers at the base, unable to completely circle the wide flesh, she held the throbbing shaft steady, licked her lips, and stared up at him with a silent plea.
Lack of memory versus subconscious knowledge—which would win? he wondered.
“You’ve come this far.” He had to force himself to speak, force himself not to push the throbbing crest past her parted lips. “Finish it, or stop torturing the hell out of me.”
* * *
Finish it.
Oh God, she wanted to finish it. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into that place where hunger overrode everything, even the confusion and fear.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he demanded as her lashes lowered once again. “If you’re going to drive me fucking crazy, then you can watch me while you do it.”
Demanding and forceful, he wasn’t going to let up, wasn’t going to allow her to hide from the knowledge that somehow she knew she’d done this before. She’d done him before.
Keeping her eyes on his, she did as he demanded. She watched him. Kept her gaze on the sapphire depths, parted her lips, and surrounded the thick, heated crest she was so hungry for.
As his hips jerked, burying the full length of the mushroomed head in her mouth, taste exploded on her tongue. Earthy, tinged with a hint of a hot summer night, and all male. The hardened flesh clenched, throbbed, and another taste—subtle with a hint of male saltiness—touched her tongue. And she wanted more. She wanted that taste filling her senses and locking her inside the sensuality of it.
“That’s it,” he groaned as her mouth tightened on it. “Suck it inside. Suck me, Amara. See how crazy you can make me.”
Could she make him crazy? She was certainly going to try her damnedest.
Stroking the heavily veined shaft, she drew the blunt width as deep as possible, stroked it with her tongue, sucked at it, and found she could become as lost in his gaze as she could in the darkness if her eyes were closed.
Teeth clenched, his expression stricken with lust, his fingers clenched in her hair, sending tiny darts of pinching heat through her scalp as she sucked him and tugged at the hold each time her head lowered to take him deeper. It eased as she lifted, her tongue swiping, licking, and tasting, only to burn again as she took his iron flesh deeper.
She loved this. Loved watching the flush that mounted his cheekbones, the way his nostrils flared, the way the muscles at his jaw clenched.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispered as her mouth tightened on him, her tongue rubbing beneath the crest as the moist sounds of her sucking pleasure filled her ears. “Oh baby, that’s it. Sweet God…”
His hips jerked as she took him marginally deeper and a breathless moan vibrated in her throat. The cords at his throat tightened, a rivulet of sweat drifted down the side of his face.
His gaze narrowed, something too knowing, too hungry flashed in his eyes as his fingers clenched her hair tighter and began pulling, releasing, forcing her head back, then pushing it down.
“Deeper,” he demanded as another moan left her throat. “Let me feel that hungry little sound on my dick. Swallow me baby, and when you get done…” A throttled growl rumbled from his own throat as she did just that.
She took him deeper and moaned, felt the warning clench of his cock and knew it wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge.
“I swear to God, when I get between those pretty legs, I’m going to shove my tongue so deep up that tight little pussy you won’t have a choice but to come from it.”
The vision ripped thro
ugh her senses. The thought of him holding her to him, his tongue pushing inside her was too much. Her body tightened, the heated slide of her response between the swollen folds of her pussy a caress, a torturous touch of hungry need.
Her mouth moved on him, sucked him as deep as possible as another moan tore from her. She wanted it. Wanted the taste of his release. Wanted to find her own as he pushed his tongue inside her. Consumed her with his lust.
He was moving her against him faster, the tug and release of her hair making her crazy with the burning pinch of sensation to her scalp, over and over again.
Would he be as forceful as he took her?
Would he give her what she dreamed of? A hard hand delivering firm taps to her ass, to the wet folds between her thighs? Would he …
“Damn you. Fuck…” He tightened, the curse a hoarse groan as she suckled him harder, taking him as deep as her mouth allowed, her moans rising, her hunger for him growing as her tongue lashed beneath the head.
“Amara…” His voice was almost strangled, desperate, as she loved the taste, the feel of him in her mouth.
It was like a drug, potent and overwhelming, the power she felt as she pleasured him. The male taste of him, each throb of his cock and shallow thrust of his hips, pushing the crest inside her mouth, sent her senses spiraling deeper into the hunger building inside her.
She didn’t know the woman kneeling in front Riordan, working her mouth over the male flesh and loving every harsh groan that left his throat. She didn’t know the body burning for him, slick with her own wet heat and dying for his touch.
And amid the desperate breaths and his hard growl came a strident, eerie sound …
“Fuck no!” Riordan snarled.
One moment he filled her mouth, the next he was off the bed and jerking his phone from the table next to the bed. Features that were tight with lust were now savage with fury.
“Riordan…?”
“Come on.” In a single move, the pants were at his hips and he had ahold of her wrist, dragging her from the bed. “That’s the alarm. Someone’s managed to get past the main wall.”