Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1)

by Lara Archer

  Pushing with her knees and straightening, she jerked back out of his grip. “No more,” she murmured. “Not until you slide yourself up. Head on the pillow, like I said.”

  He swore under his breath, nostrils flaring, all his muscles tensing, and for a moment she thought the tentative control she had was going to evaporate all at once, and he was going to seize hold of her and flip her over and pin her to the bed. Something in his gaze told her he was definitely considering it.

  But then he seemed to come to a different decision. He flashed her a small smile, a centimeter short of a smirk, and said, “Okay. Your game, your rules.” And with his elbows he shifted himself up towards the headboard enough to lay his head on one of the pillows. “This more what you were looking for?”

  The tight-in cameras would have a good shot of his face now, and that was the whole purpose of this project. She moved up with him, her hips over his hips again, making sure to angle her body carefully so she wouldn’t block the cameras’ view. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I was looking for.”

  “Good,” he said gruffly. “Now take off the damn jeans.”

  His voice sent a thrill through her. This push and pull of power with him was something new between them, and it excited her more than she could have imagined. Her breasts ached with the need to be touched, and the flesh between her thighs was so hot and wet and throbbing, it wouldn’t take more than a flick of his thumb to make her come.

  “Don’t move,” she said, trying to sound calm and controlled, fighting against the urge to rush to what she wanted most. “Just lay there and watch me.”

  “I’m watching,” he said, his gaze licking over her. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

  And she rose up on her knees again, making a show of popping open the button on her jeans, easing down the zipper, working the fabric inch by inch down over her hips.

  And that was about the limit of Nick’s patience—the heels of his hands cupped the base of her ass, the tops of his fingers digging into the waistband, and he yanked her jeans down to the tops of her thighs.

  She loved the feel of his hands on her, and she wanted the stiff denim barrier gone, so she didn’t warn him off again. As long as he kept his back on the mattress, and his face where the cameras could record it, it didn’t matter whether she was clothed or not. And she wanted the feel of his hands on her skin. Everywhere on her skin.

  She had to climb off of him for a moment to get her jeans down past her knees, and they both grabbed at the legs to tug them down over her calves. Once the jeans were off, he flung them halfway across the room—hitting one of the light stands, and making it rock precariously on its base. She probably should have been alarmed for the equipment, but it was getting harder for her to care, or remember what her true purpose was.

  She wore just her panties now, though he still had on his jeans, and she wanted more of him, urgently, right away. She sank back down onto him, grinding her crotch against his, the flimsy cotton covering her doing nothing to dull the sensation of the rough fabric against her sensitive flesh. He pushed up to meet her, the feel of the rising bulge beneath his button fly making her throb. She threw back her head and moaned.

  A vague thought of the watching cameras teased at her mind, a thought that everything they did was being captured there, but self-consciousness was fading faster moment by moment. There was only Nick, with her, beneath her, his body warm, his breathing hoarse.

  His eyes were on her breasts again, and then so were his hands. Oh, Lord, his touch sent electric shocks through her, shooting pleasure down through her belly, weakening her knees. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, making them peak. His fingers cupped the full roundness of her breasts, pressing upwards, kneading, squeezing, and the pressure went straight to her clit. She ground against him again, thinking she might go over the edge at any moment.

  He pinching her nipples lightly, rolling them, making her gasp and arch her back harder.

  Then suddenly he took hold of her arms, and was drawing her down on top of him.

  “Come here,” he said. “I want to kiss you again.”

  Her lips all but burned with the desire to do just that, and she had to fight for the self-discipline to pull away again. “Not now,” she said, as sternly as she could manage. “You’re supposed to be laying back.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. But apparently you’re not very good at it.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not.” He lifted his shoulders off the bed so he could bring his mouth to her breasts.

  She sighed as he licked and sucked and nipped where his fingers had been shortly before. His hands gripped her ass, kneading at the flesh beneath her panties, pulling her down against him as he heaved his hips upwards, increasing the rough, delicious friction.

  The lights and the shining lenses of the cameras were always there in her peripheral vision, and it was hard to shut them out completely from her mind. It was unsettling to have them there, but exciting, too—to think of them capturing everything that was happening between her and Nick. She was seeing him with her own eyes, the long line of his body, the carved muscles, the beautiful curve of his jaw as he drew one breast deeper into his mouth, the bright green of his eyes as he glanced up at her, gauging her reaction to each new pleasure. And she knew the camera saw all that too, ready to reflect it back to them, adding a new dimension to what they did, something deep and rich and satisfying.

  She was getting closer to exploding, and becoming desperate to remove the layers of fabric still between her and Nick. Raising her hips, she pulled at her panties, and in a moment, his hands were helping too. Thankfully his mouth never left off its attention to her breasts, even as she shifted hips and legs and knees in blind contortions to slide the elastic down.

  He flung the panties across the room, too, following the same flight path as her jeans. She was vaguely aware that they hooked around a clamp on the light stand that had nearly been toppled before, and stayed hanging there. The scene was taking on a certain Frat House Girls Gone Wild feel, but she was past caring.

  She was naked, her legs around Nick. He was so hard underneath the layer of denim confining him, she thought he must be in agony by now, and she reached for the buttons of his fly.

  This time it was his hands that stilled hers, his fingers clamping tight. “Turn the damn cameras off, Amber.”

  Their gazes locked, his green eyes insisting, but she shook her head again. She couldn’t give up now. She had to take this all the way to the end—to show him what he wouldn’t allow himself to see. “Cameras stay on,” she said.

  “Jesus,” he swore. “Then come here….”

  He settled his shoulders back down on to the pillows and used his hands to urge her up high on her knees, until her hips were positioned over his face, straddling his mouth. His fingers gripped her ass, holding her up, keeping her steady there, pressing her to him.

  And he feasted on her. The firm wedge of his tongue swept over her slit, up over her throbbing nub, exploring her, finding all her secret, most sensitive places. His lips caressed, too, sending sensation rippling everywhere, making her melt. He wasn’t rushing. He was taking his time, bringing her along slowly. She felt—cherished. Worshipped.

  As waves of heat and pressure began to build low in her belly, she had to hold onto the headboard for dear life to keep from collapsing. And still he caressed, and still he explored.

  Her eyes wanted to squeeze shut, but she also wanted to look down at him, watching what he was doing to her. Everything felt doubled by the presence of the cameras—the feel of his hands and mouth on her, the warmth of his gaze. Everything turned in towards them, as though they truly were the very center of the world, and all existence was made just for her and him.

  He was so tender with her, so focused on her pleasure. She found it almost impossible to resist touching him more, to resist stroking his face and digging her fingers into his thick, dark hair. But she couldn’t block the camera’s view of his face—that was
the most important thing, the thing he himself needed to see, his eyes, his expression, the emotion in them.

  To give her free hand something else to do, she reached behind her, trying to get at his button-fly. Her arm was in the wrong position to let her accomplish much, but she did manage to stroke his rock-hard bulge through his jeans. He groaned violently, and one hand that had been grasping her hip let go to flick open his buttons one by one. Now she could caress him for real, feeling his heat, pushing down his boxers far enough for his cock to spring free, so she could caress the shaft and the already-slick head.

  Arching backwards, she got her hand more fully around him, stroking and squeezing, to drive him as mad as he was driving her.

  Of course, bending back canted her hips so she was more exposed to him now, more open, and he took full advantage of it. He plunged fingers into her, a delicious assault on her swollen, soft tissues, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and she rode him, his hand and his mouth, faster and harder, gripping the headboard now like it was a saddle horn and she was riding a stallion.

  “God, Nick, God.…”

  He pulled his mouth away for a moment, though one thumb took its place as his fingers kept thrusting inside her. “Look here,” he said. “Look at me.”

  His gaze was hypnotic as she stared into his eyes. She felt a sensation like a wave build between them, like an undertow, strong and buoyant, sweeping her up and drawing her toward him. The world softened around her, swirled in bright, wild smears of color made of fluid light, and she felt she was dissolving into it, coming apart at all her edges, even as the pressure built at her core.

  Nick watched, and he knew. His eyes were alight. “Come for me, Amber,” he murmured. “Come now....”

  And his mouth sealed against her again, and his lips drew her clit in against his tongue. And it was all too much. Lightning was shooting across her nerve endings, making her whole body shake, and the waves of color rose and took her under—she shuddered against him, her hips bucking, as she came hard.

  His tongue gentled, but even then didn’t leave her flesh. It kept pressing warmly, pulsing against her clit, while tremor after tremor ripped through her.

  “God, Nick,” she gasped. “I can’t stop coming—I just keep—Oh….”

  He pressed his lips tight to her again, and sucked, a long, pulsating tug, and this time she couldn’t keep herself upright against the force of the pleasure that shook her. No matter what she had planned, she went down on her elbows, her arms and her spilling hair blocking the camera’s view of Nick’s expression.

  It didn’t matter, though—his arms went around her, drawing her close, pressing kisses against her belly and her ribs, and his voice was raw with feeling. “God, Amber,” he said. “You don’t know what you do to me....”

  That’s what I’m trying to see, she thought. That’s what I want you to see.

  She gave herself a few moments to relish the feeling of his hands caressing the lower groove of her spine, of his mouth caressing her skin. Though her legs felt boneless, she managed to shift herself backwards enough to bring her chest back in line with his, and let herself sink down against him. She curled into him, pressing kisses of her own into the waves of his dark hair and over his ears and along the tendons of his neck. She did just barely remember to keep her head on the side away from the cameras, so even as she kissed him, his face could still be seen.

  He tipped his head back at her touch, exposing his throat to her. And sighed.

  She loved the energy flowing between them, the easy way they fit together, moved together. Would he be able to see it, too? Would this be enough?

  She had to make sure he did. She had to take him higher, to the very edge, strip away the last of his control.

  So she eased her way down his body, kissing his chest as she went, then his ribcage, then the hard muscles of his abdomen. And lower still. She kissed the crisp mat of fur that began at the lowest tapering of his belly. And at long last, the hard cock jotting out at her from the open fly of his jeans, desperate for attention after all this time.

  The thought of the cameras watching what she was about to do sent a mix of fear and excitement sizzling through her, but there was no stopping now.

  “Your turn, cowboy,” she said.

  * * *

  Nick thought he might actually, literally explode.

  It felt unbelievably good, what she was doing to him.

  Amber was kneeling down, naked, with her head between his thighs, her golden hair brushing softly over his skin, and she was finding every possible way to stroke and lick and kiss him there—his balls, his inner thighs, his shaft. Everything, slowly, maddeningly slowly and thoroughly, even scraping the most sensitive places gently with the edges of her teeth until he gasped and his hips bucked upwards.

  She did everything, that is, except take his shaft fully inside her mouth, which he was growing increasingly desperate for her to do. He was trying to comply with what she said and keep his back on the mattress and let her have control, but that promise was getting harder and harder to keep. His cock demanded that he thrust upward, seeking her heat and her slick, wonderful mouth. His hands reached down of their own accord to bury his fingers in her hair and twist her curls around his knuckles, gripping tight.

  “Take it easy,” she said, her voice rich and teasing. “Just lay back.” And she began to drive him mad again. She ran her tongue between his balls and the curve of his inner thigh, then pursed her lips and blew a stream of air along the damp flesh.

  The sensation went through him like an arrow, and he jerked up off the mattress, giving a strangled cry like nothing he’d ever heard coming out of his own mouth. Jesus, no fantasy he’d ever had in his horniest teenage years could ever have matched the reality of what this beautiful woman was doing to him right now. The throbbing in his cock was becoming a thunder in his blood, echoing through his chest and guiding the rhythm of his pulse more surely than his beating heart.

  She was driving him straight to the brink. Consciousness was getting hazy around the edges, the last vestiges of good judgment slipping away, but he pulled his rational self together just long enough to grip her forearm urgently, and tug at it to make her look up at him.

  He gestured at the cameras with his chin. “Do we really need to do it this way?” he gasped. “With the cameras?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling a little sphinx-like smile. And damn it, she still sounded so calm, so in control. “The cameras are the whole point.”

  He stared hard into her eyes, trying to puzzle her intentions out. “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t need to,” she said, and lowered her head again, and this time, thank God in heaven, took him fully into her mouth.

  He groaned at the feel of the wetness and heat closing around him, almost blacking out from the feeling of relief.

  And another feeling, too—one he didn’t even have a name for. He wasn’t fighting it anymore, whatever it was, the thing she must have had planned when she set up all these cameras and lights to record everything they did together. He felt seen.

  Flayed, even.

  Stripped bare in every sense. No defenses left.

  There was nothing he could do to resist it now, so let it all be out there for the cameras to record. What he really was.

  As Amber worked him sensuously with her mouth, he began panting like an animal, and a slick sheen of sweat broke out over his chest and stomach. The muscles of his abdomen and his thighs, his shoulders and his fists, all squeezed harder and harder by the minute, the pressure in his body building to an almost overwhelming intensity.

  He had no control, it was true. He’d never had control where Amber was concerned.

  That was the whole point—what he’d been trying to tell her all along. When it came to desire, his will had never been under his command. It could take him anywhere, make him lose himself.

  Intensity like this was dangerous. It made relationships implode.

  But he couldn’t pu
ll himself back from it now if he tried. As her warm, slick mouth laved him up and down, sucking on every pull away, his balls tightened, concentrating everything in him towards his center. The whole surface of his skin hummed, crackling with a blazing white energy, and against the force of that sensation, his mind began to go blank.

  Only one vague thought remained to him: he didn’t want to do this alone. He wanted her with him when he came.

  “Amber,” he growled, tugging at her arm again. “Please—come here.” His eyes met hers, urging her, begging her to come to him. “Please. If this is the last time—let’s do it together.”

  Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled around his hard cock. With one last, devastating swirl of her tongue around the head, she pulled her mouth away and crawled up towards him on her hands and knees, her breasts and hair swaying and her lips bright and lush and wet.

  She was so beautiful, so perfect in every way, breasts and hair and lips and her blue, blue eyes, and he didn’t wait, he took hold of her hips and pulled her down towards him and sank himself deep inside her hot, slippery sheath.

  He slid one hand across her thigh and down into her curls, finding her nub with his thumb, and flicking it up and down as she gripped his shoulders with both hands and rode him. And nothing in his life had ever felt so goddamn good.

  Amber threw her head back now as she moved up and down atop him, her slick, tight walls gripping his shaft and driving the last shred of control from his grasp. She tossed her hair fitfully and bit her lip, driving herself down harder and harder against him, until they were both moaning and gasping, and she was saying over and over and over, “Nick, Nick...my Nick.”

  And he answered her just as fervently, “Amber, my Amber.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Nick woke, he was alone in his cabin, tangled up in his own sheets and blankets. He scarcely remembered staggering back here last night after he’d left Amber’s bed. Apparently he hadn’t even had the presence of mind when he collapsed here to set his alarm, because the sun was high in the window—damn it, eleven o’clock in the morning.