Damn. Damn. Damn! As he locked her in the room, she swore silently, calling him every foul name she remembered. Why had he spoiled her mood? The precious feeling of arousal he'd worked so carefully to create vanished in smoke.
How dare he build up her expectations, then dash her hopes? Why was he even making her go through all this if he didn't intend to make love to her?
She kicked at the boxes in fury, toppling them over. One of the boxes opened and a pair of black stiletto-heeled shoes fell out. A rush of excitement filled her, replacing the anger. Perhaps he'd left her clothes after all. Unable to sit on her sore bottom without wincing, she knelt and opened the other packages. One-by-one, she withdrew luxurious, sensual garments, lace silk thigh-highs from France, a butter-soft black leather bustier, and thong leather panties.
Knowing she'd delayed too long, and Craig could return at any moment, she quickly rolled the silk hose over her calves, past her knees until they hugged her thighs. The thong-backed panties felt
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strange with the tiny piece of material clinging to the crease of her rear. As soon as she shrugged into the bustier, she realized what she hadn't seen in the dim light. The strapless cups didn't cover her nipples, but served to lift her breasts to beg for a man's attention. When she slipped into the elegant heels, her breasts lifted higher to compensate. The clothes Craig had picked out enhanced her nudity, and she understood that bare flesh was more modest than what he'd asked her to wear for him.
Tracey had delayed thinking about the inevitable but could put if off no longer. If Craig unlocked that door right now, she wouldn't be able to assume the seductive pose he'd asked for quickly enough to fool him that she'd been waiting. He wanted her seductively dressed, posed, and ready for him when he walked through that door.
Sitting on the couch or chair was out of the question. That left, kneeling—out of the question—standing, or draping herself upon the couch. If she chose the couch, she'd have to settle on her side or stomach. She considered the possibilities for a moment and wondered if he'd consider them sexy. She'd hate him looking down at her and decided to remain an her feet, facing the door.
Perhaps if she enticed him, she could even change his mind about making love. Tracey bent one knee, turned her hips, slightly and lifted her chin, wanting to see Craig's expression when he walked through the door. Odd how she didn't consider disobeying him, realizing she was having too much fun.
As she stood waiting in anticipation, her discovery that her feelings of arousal hadn't disappeared after all sent another flood of excitement washing over her. Since she hadn't been satisfied, the sensations surged back with surprising strength, and she wondered if she should have chosen the couch.
Too late to move. The soft tread of footsteps outside the door alerted her to Craig's presence. The lock clicked, and she stood straighter, tilting her chin to avoid the diamonds on the necklace.
The dancing light in Craig's eyes when he spotted her more than made up for her hesitancy, and a toasty thrill of exhilaration ricocheted from her breasts to her core. As he crossed the room toward
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her, his voice turned husky. "Don't move. You're gorgeous."
She trembled at his compliment, taking pleasure in his enjoyment of her newfound bravery. While wearing such exotic under garments, she couldn't help but think of where he'd touched her and how. Her exposed bottom, tilted high due to the heels, throbbed with a pleasurable tingle. As Craig walked around her slowly, her breasts ached for his caress.
His gaze stroked every inch of her, and her stomach tightened in expectation. What would he do next?
"Hold still," he ordered, at the same time taking her hand. From his pocket, he removed another velvet box, snapped open the lid and removed a bracelet to match the diamond and gold collar around her neck. This time when he clicked the clasp tight, she welcomed another symbol of his love.
"It's beautiful," she murmured.
"Not half as lovely as you. I'd like to sketch you like that. Then I'll never forget this moment."
Heat rose to her cheeks. Tracey didn't need a visual reminder to remember. She'd never forget the dark, dilated glimmer in Craig's eyes. Or the way the candlelight glinted off his high cheekbones, a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw. His jacket emphasized his squared shoulders, his proud carriage, his determination to sketch her.
Yet it was one thing to pose for his gaze alone but entirely another for him to commit what he saw to paper. And with the heat boiling inside her, she didn't know if she could remain still while he sent sizzling glances her way.
"I don't think—"
Opening his briefcase, he removed pad and pencil. "Don't argue. I have to sketch you. It'll just take a few minutes."
Pages rustled. He pulled up a chair in front of her, and she stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable with his nearness. He was close, so close she could feel the heat of his breath, hear him suck the pencil's eraser in deep concentration. Then she imagined his lips on her breasts and relaxed.
"That's better. Relax. Think of something besides sex," he teased.
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If only she could. She watched his hands sketching in circles and recalled his fingers caressing the insides of her thighs. She'd wanted more. For the first time in her life, need, like grains of sand piled one atop another built a fragile castle of desire. Waves surged inside her, washing up more sand until she thought she would topple from the pressure. She shifted a bit, squirming at the realization that only Craig could satisfy her—and he had no intention of doing so.
From his position on the chair, Craig leaned forward and gripped the elastic panty band at her hips. He tugged her panties higher so the band no longer was horizonal but formed a deep V. As her flesh tingled, her lips parted in surprise. She could barely stand still with the exquisite sensations racing through her. Her breasts swelled. She wanted him—wanted him now.
"Yes. That expression is delightful. Don't move or I'll have to start over."
"Please Craig. Hurry."
"I'm almost done."
She no longer cared what he would do with his drawing. Her flesh had become so sensitive, his every glance darting a ripple of need through her until she almost writhed where she stood.
"All done." Craig's pleased smile drew her like a magnet, and she hurried to his side, pretending to want to look at her picture when she wanted him to touch her, take her. Every nerve ending screamed for release.
He turned the picture so she could see, stopping her forward progress before she reached him. "What do you think?"
It took a moment to recognize the sensual creature staring back at her. Craig drew only her face, with her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A raw sensuality dominated the drawing, making her more beautiful than any mirror. "Is that how you see me?"
"That's how you look."
He led her over to a mirror. She walked across the room and the panties slipped back and forth over sensitive areas. While she stared at the strange woman in the mirror, Craig came up behind her, and his hands cupped her breasts, flicking her nipples.
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She squirmed, trying to face him. If she could have clawed off his clothes she would have done so. But when she attempted to turn, he tugged lightly on her nipples, effectively holding her in place.
"Look at your face, the full bloom of sexual excitement. I find your passion, your sexiness exciting."
She leaned her back to his chest and his arousal nestled against the crease of her rear. His face wore the expression of a hunter about to sight prey. And all the while his thumbs flicked her nipples, shooting tiny shocks inside her.
She had to have him. Knowing he found her so desirable set her hips wriggling against him. She received two light smacks on her bottom for her efforts. The sting brought back hot aching need.
"Please Craig, enough. Don't make me beg."
He took pity on her then, only not the way she wished for, gesturing to a chair by the door. "Put t
hat on, and we'll go."
While he carefully put the sketch in his briefcase, she hurried to the chair, hoping the clothes would be decent. As she pulled the exquisite Chanel lace-over-silk cocktail dress from the tissue paper in the box, she sucked in her breath in appreciation, sorry she'd doubted him for a moment.
Like the other garments, the dress fit as if custom made. And although the strapless black left her shoulders bare, it would have been perfect for a night at the opera.
After she slipped the dress over her scandalous under garments, Craig picked up his coat and held out an arm to her. "That's how I want to think of you. Cool and discreet, a lady on the outside. And your insides are a bubbling cauldron with needs and fantasies only I can fulfill."
They walked through the lobby of the building, past the doorman, and no one suspected she was on fire for Craig's touch. Her jutting breasts, her stinging bottom, the tight panties wouldn't let her forget her newly awakened sensuality—not for one moment.
Craig opened the car door for her, and she gingerly settled into the seat. When he flipped the back of her skirt up, she gasped in surprise. The bare skin of her bottom rested on the cool leather, sooth-
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ing her stinging flesh, yet another reminder of the evening ahead.
He drove to his apartment in silence, one hand on her knee, drawing indolent circles, a maddening hint of what might come next. He placed his hand on her waist as they walked the steps into his apartment building, and her blood simmered at the contact.
She couldn't wait to reach the privacy of his apartment and remove her clothes. With every step, her skirt swished against her bare bottom, her panties teased flesh aching for Craig's special brand of attention, and the tips of her breasts grew taut.
She had never been so aware of her body. She could think only of Craig, wanting him, needing him, hoping he would soon satisfy her need.
After a swift elevator ride to the penthouse, Craig unlocked the door and held it open wide. She grinned in delight at his new decor. Hundreds of bright neon helium balloons nestled against cantilevered ceilings. He'd strung a banner of glittering silver coins across the room. Gold kruggerands spelled the words, "Marry Me, Tracey."
Stained glass lamps emitted a soft glowing ambience, and the scent of jasmine wafted to her through the twelve-foot glass doors that framed the city's skyline and led to the balcony. Candles lit the hallway, and her gaze followed a path of rose petals to the bedroom.
He'd gone to so much trouble to make this night special and warm feelings of love made a lump rise in her throat. "Oh Craig, how romantic."
"There's a present for you on the sofa," he murmured huskily.
"But you've already given me the necklace and the bracelet."
"I intend to spoil you. Let me enjoy it."
She hurried into the living room, threading her way between the strings dangling from the balloons. Another jewelry box. She opened it, half expecting a pin or matching earrings to the exquisite pieces he'd already given her. But two delicate chains of diamonds were inside, each with a gold key, one set with rubies, the other emeralds.
Puzzled she turned to face him for an explanation. He'd strode across the thick carpet in silence and dropped to his knees at her feet. Taking the chain of diamonds, he snapped one onto each of her ankles. "These are the keys to my heart."
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The collar around her neck, the bracelet on her wrist, and now the diamonds with the tiny dangling keys from her ankles marked her as his. She reveled in the special moment, knowing meeting him was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
If she lost him, it would be like losing a part of her soul. And as much as she wanted to make love with him, she feared she might disappoint him. Her stomach clenched. This time would be different. Craig would see to it. All she had to do was follow his directions and trust him.
Craig rose to his feet with the grace of a cat, and turned on his CD. Upbeat music flooded the room. "Would you like to dance?"
"Yes."
Craig grinned hot enough to ignite a brush fire. "You're overdressed."
She gave him a flirtatious wink and turned around so he could help with her zipper. His fingers grazed her neck, throwing a switch that jolted flutters of excitement through her. After the dress pooled around her feet, she began to step out of it.
"Don't move," he ordered.
She remained standing with her back to him, and he planted tiny kisses on her neck and shoulders. His fingers unfastened the leather bustier. Her breasts sprang free, aching and swollen for his touch. Craig's hands went to her hair, pulling out the pins holding her neat chignon in place.
"While we sit across the board room table, I imagine taking your hair down as you stand pliant and ready to do my bidding."
At his words, reminding her she'd agreed to obey his every wish, a shiver of fear made her quiver. As lock after lock fell against her shoulders, teasing the peaks of her breasts, her legs trembled.
"What is it you wish me to do?" she asked hesitantly.
"Answer me truthfully. Is your bottom still hot?"
"Warm." She suddenly recalled how he always collected on his debts, and she tensed her bare bottom that was conveniently turned toward him.
He pulled off her panties. "Not hot?"
"Warm," she repeated, refusing to let him intimidate her.
Craig patted her rear. "Bend over and pick up your clothes. Do
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it slowly."
The undercurrent of tension was strong enough to drown an Olympic swimmer. She stood in the middle of his living room for all intent and purposes naked, while he remained fully dressed. From his words, she expected his hand to strike her. As she bent over, she offered him a prime target. But she no longer required a slap to stimulate her arousal. Just the thought of what he might do combined with the memories of what he'd done and what he still might do to her brought waves of desire surging up from the deepest pool of her emotions.
She retrieved her clothes without Craig so much as touching her, and yet every yearning cell in her body acted as if it craved his touch. She wanted his hands caressing her breasts, her sensitive rear, assuaging the ache between her thighs. She longed to turn around and throw herself into his arms. Instead she placed her clothes on the back of the couch.
His hands spun her, and before she caught her breath, his lips claimed hers; at the same time he danced her around the room. As he hungrily kissed her, her head spun. She clung to him for support, closed her eyes, and floated on the savory sensations.
She tried to press her breasts to his chest, but he prevented this with an unyielding hand on her waist, allowing only their mouths to touch. He tasted of mint, and wine, and pure maleness. His steps became faster, bolder, and she opened her eyes to find herself dancing down the hallway of rose petals into his bedroom.
Soft indirect lighting cast his king-sized bed in shadows. Champagne rested in a silver ice bucket on the night table. Black silk sheets with matching pillows and an Italian lacquered headboard dominated the room.
"Take off your shoes," he instructed, and she gladly kicked off her high heels, leaving herself clad in the stockings with his jewelry around her throat, wrists, and ankles.
"Climb into bed," he invited.
She scrambled onto the cool, crisp sheets. Finally, he would stop teasing her and give her what she wanted. But then she turned around to find him at the foot of the bed staring at her, and she
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wasn't sure of anything.
She had to remind herself this was the same man who had strewn rose petals across the room. He seemed taller and sexier, more domineering, more sure of himself than she'd ever seen him before. When he didn't undress, a shiver of anticipation made her both eager and hesitant.
She lowered her gaze in confusion. "What about you?"
"Lie back and bring your knees to your chest," he ordered.
She shimmied onto he
r back, and brought her knees to her chest, keenly aware of his scrutiny. Keeping her features deceptively composed, she glanced at his mocking smile and saw she hadn't fooled him for a moment. He was well aware of her unease but would accept nothing but her total obeyance.
"Now point your feet at the ceiling and support the backs of your calves with your hands."
"But—"
"Do it," he snapped. "Open your legs wider."
From between her parted legs, she watched him standing at the foot of her bed while she held herself open and ready for him. The position he demanded lifted her bottom off the sheets, exposed everything to his gaze, left her open, vulnerable, wanton.
He'd made her feel both decadent and like a lowly beggar. She was comfortable but miserable, alternately flushing hot with embarrassment and anger, then alternately eager for him to do something, anything to end this prolonged waiting. Within a few minutes she'd ceased thinking of anything except the burning ache between her thighs.
Craig removed his clothes slowly, walking around the room, yet always returning to stare at her. Each time he neared, she tensed. Finally the mattress at the foot of the bed sagged, and he kneeled between her widespread feet.
She'd never thought a man could look so beautiful. Craig's wide chest tapered to a rock-hard stomach. But his erection held her attention. He was large, thick, and more than ready. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to urge him to take her.
He ignored her spread thighs and caressed her breasts. She groaned
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in disappointment. Damn him for never giving her what she wanted. He made her present herself to him then refused to take what she offered. His calculated teasing would soon drive her mad.
"Is there something you'd like?" he murmured, his tongue tracing a path between her breast and naval.
"Make love to me."
"You aren't ready yet."
"I am," she insisted, wiggling to brush against him.
"You're not even close. We're going to do this my way. You have no say when we begin. No say in what we do. No say in when we stop. You have to remember only one thing."
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