"I—Uhm..."
"You're a smart woman, Chloe. You knew that was a yes or no question."
She figured she was good for another ten seconds. Didn't this man know how long she'd gone without? How deprived she was? Hell, he should have figured that out. It had taken her, oh, half a second to invite him into her home.
"Chloe?"
"No one tells me when I can have an orgasm.” She didn't sound very forceful, did she, not with a mouthful of satiny linens and her stinging bottom sticking up in the air.
"Yes,” he said, “they do.” Then he corrected himself, “I do. For tonight, you're mine. You do what I say, and you turn your body over to me. No questions. No hesitation."
And it would be the ride of her life. Forget roller coasters, this was the real deal. She might—about stinking time—get that screaming orgasm she'd always wanted. Well, that was, if she could get out of her own way.
"What will it be? My way? Or my way?"
Chapter Two
So she had a choice, did she? And the real choice was: his way or the evening ended. “Your way,” she said. “Fuck me.” God. She didn't sound like she was begging, did she? Chloe didn't beg. Definitely not. Well, definitely, she'd never begged before.
He stripped off her panties. Actually, he ripped them off. She heard the material shredding in the silence of her house.
She felt exposed and raw bending over the bed, hands outstretched, wearing only a garter belt, stockings and ridiculously high stiletto heeled shoes. She waited. Patiently. Or, at least she tried to. There was a clawing hunger inside her. That didn't sound much like patience.
"Spread your legs even farther apart."
The picture she presented to him had to be obscene.
"Nice. Now move back a little more toward me. I can see your pussy juices glistening on the inside of your thighs."
He teased and stroked, and lightly pinched. “How do your nipples feel?"
She'd forgotten the torture until he mentioned it. Now she could think of little else as her breasts were smashed against the bed. “Sensitive."
He traced his finger up the insides of her thighs. She wondered how much longer her legs would support her.
"And where I spanked you?"
"Hot."
He slapped her again. Her body jerked. “Damn you!"
Adam dipped a finger into her vagina. “You hated that spank."
"I am not into pain.” She felt prim and proper. And in so much heat she could scream.
He spanked her a third time and began finger-fucking her. “No?"
"Absolutely not."
He moved faster, deeper. And then inserted a second finger. A fourth smack fell on her poor, helpless buttock.
The assault on her senses overwhelmed. Harsh smacks, and simultaneous, intense touches were her undoing.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Making you wait. Making you want. Not stopping until you're consumed with it."
Unbelievably, as he continued, she wanted to come. “Adam,” she said, turning her head to the side. Her hips bucked as she rode his exquisite fingers, inviting him in.
"You like to be spanked."
"No."
He laughed. “Your cunt is calling you a liar."
She fisted her hands into the bedcovering.
He stretched her wide with the insertion of a third finger.
She was going to die. She was absolutely, positively going to die. Or come. Without permission. Maybe if she snuck it in...? Could she come quietly enough that he didn't know? Oh, yeah, there was the small problem of his fingers being deep inside her. As if he wouldn't feel her kegel muscles.
The man was a torment.
"I...” She reminded herself she didn't beg. But that was before she'd invited Adam into her life. “Please...” She wiggled her hips, hoping he'd take her over the edge. Instead, he stopped. Totally. You didn't get a woman this close to coming and then stop. Was he out of his small, tiny, man-sized mind? “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck you."
He made a sound that was very much like a tsk. “That wasn't very lady-like."
No. It wasn't. “So what?"
"So what, indeed. Roll over onto your back."
He said that as if he actually thought it was physically possible for her to move.
With his hands on her hips, he helped her. What a hero.
"Now sit up."
Not a problem. Well, until the room swayed.
"I want you all the way at the edge of the mattress."
The knife-edge of the orgasm had receded, but barely. The need was still there, the hunger, the urge. All it would take was a single touch. Right ... There!
She moaned when he parted her thighs, his thumb lightly touching her clit.
"Not yet,” he warned, looking up at her. There were dark streaks of determination in his amber coloured eyes.
She'd never wanted a man more; never needed an orgasm more. “Adam ... I think I'm going to—"
"No,” he said. “You're not."
"I'm not sure you understand."
"Breathe."
Every muscle screamed with the tension of holding back her orgasm. She wasn't just wet, she was slippery.
"Concentrate on each breath. Or on the picture on the wall. Think about anything but your body's reaction to my touch."
He knelt between her legs.
Oh, no he didn't. “You're not going to use your mouth.” Fingers were one thing, but his tongue on her clit...? She'd never survive it.
He didn't bother to argue. “Put your legs over my shoulders."
"I'll lose my balance."
"I want your bottom hanging off the edge."
His whole face was between her legs. She felt the breath of him mingle with her own heat.
He dampened a finger and pressed it against the tight whorl of her ass.
"Ah!” She arched, her whole weight pressing against him. “I've never had, that is, I've never done anything there."
"Anally?"
"I'm pretty sure I don't like it. Very sure, actually."
"You don't know that for a fact, do you? In fact, you were very sure you didn't like being spanked, either."
"Don't,” she corrected. “Don't like being spanked."
He pushed a finger a little deeper inside her.
She dug her fingers into his hair. Oh my God! She couldn't take it.
"You still hate it."
"No. Yes.” Her bottom wasn't on the bed, and she was impaled on his finger. “Of course I hate it."
He pulled out the finger and her sphincter spasmed. She felt tingly and aware. She wanted to try it again, see if it was as bad as she told herself it was.
Unexpectedly, he drove back into her, forcefully opening her most private hole wider.
Yes.
Then he licked her from back to front.
Chloe felt an echo of her heartbeat in her pussy—she'd never felt anything like it before.
She shivered. Sweat dripped from her, and yet she shivered. “Please.” What was she asking? For him to keep going? For him to stop? “Adam."
"Tell me what you want. Beg me for it. Ask permission."
Words. He was expecting her to use words. Coherent words. One right after another, like in a sentence. “I want you to keep fucking my ass."
"And?"
"I want you to suck on my clit."
"And?"
And? “I want a screaming orgasm."
"You'll ask? Beg?"
Would she? Maybe she would. Nothing else mattered. And only her pride stood between her and what she wanted. He wanted her to give up all control, she knew.
It would provide the intensity that had always been lacking.
Using her own juices as lubrication, he inserted another skilled finger up her bottom. She began to convulse.
"Fuck my hand,” he ordered.
Shamelessly, she did.
As she took his hand, she became helpless, her body reacting, rather than her mind dictating, he s
topped the long, intense lick and instead he pressed his tongue against her clitoris.
He sucked.
"I want to come.” Her clit was a painful knot of need. And he'd hold her there as long as he wanted, until she gave him what he wanted. “Please. May I come?” She was on the edge. Nothing mattered. Only the moment. Pride was gone. “Please. Let me come. I'm—"
"Say it."
"I'm begging you. I want—"
"Come.” He gently nipped.
She screamed.
Chapter Three
Over the edge, stars exploding, the last vestiges of control gone, wiped out, as if they'd never existed.
Nothing left.
What she'd always wanted.
He helped her into bed and pulled the covers over her chilled body. And when the bitchy telephone rang at eight o'clock the next morning, he was gone.
Gone.
As if he'd never been there.
Heart thundering, she sat up, dragging the duvet with her.
What the ... ?
The phone continued to ring.
She blinked as the last night's events rushed back.
She and Sarah were supposed to go to Haven, a local nightclub. Well, this was Camden-on-the-Water. The closest thing they had to a nightclub was a tavern with live music. But they'd take it as they could get it.
Chloe said she would prefer to stay home, but Sarah would have none of it. The wench threatened Chloe, actually threatened her by swearing she wouldn't go to London on a handbag shopping spree. Ever.
Those were serious words. Then Sarah had pulled out the big guns, saying Chloe had been working too hard, and she was starting to lose her mind.
Being the brain behind the town's new sculpture park was enough to make anyone batty. And since Chloe was already half-way there to begin with...
Chloe had made a rude gesture to her friend, but the truth was, Sarah was right. All work and no play was making Chloe a very, very dull girl.
So she'd strapped on her heels, spiky, sexy fuck-me shoes, a short skirt and her tightest blouse and headed for Haven. Really, she had. She'd had the best of intentions.
She hadn't made it far, though, when she'd seen his shadowy outline.
Adam.
Interesting that her nighttime lover would have the same name as the statue whose bronzed body lay bare beneath thick canvas.
The bronze was controversial. And that was an understatement ... He actually might be the death of her career. After all, it had been her idea to breathe life into this stuffy, stiff-upper lip town with the creation of a sculpture park.
The garden clubs had been all about it, and the galleries had adored the idea. Sculptors from all over the world submitted ideas and suddenly Camden-on-the-Water was internationally known. Heck, the town had even gotten a listing on Google. She'd been a modern-day heroine. Well, she had been right up to the day when she shouted Yes to Adam.
You'd think no one had ever seen a man's cock before.
All right, so it was ... Big-ish.
Adam didn't have a limp dick. If he did, she might have gotten away with it. Townsfolk would have been more comfortable with a limp-dick man.
But Adam, her Adam, was glorious. Lip-smackingly, outrageously, over the top sensual. Big balls, and all.
A hard man is good to find. That's how the saying went, and she could not agree more.
Which put her smack dab in the minority. Camden-on-the-Water's mavens wanted her boiled in oil or locked in the Tower for her sins.
As long as she was non-controversial, as long as the park was filled with statues of bronzed little boys walking bronzed dogs, preferably the ankle-biter variety—go figure—she could have ridden a white horse through the town square. But now that someone's aunt or grandmother would see a proud, engorged penis on her way to mass ... Horrors!
The local newspaper had lit kindling beneath her soon-to-be martyred feet just last week. The statue should be banned, they'd trumpeted in a banner headline, because it might inspire the town's teenagers toward immorality. Excuse her? As if anything rampaging with hormones needed help from a stinking statue!
And when her Adam showed up, she'd been ready to forget the controversy, ready to be loved.
The incessant phone finally stopped ringing. 'Bout bloody time.
Chloe lay back on her pillow and pulled the blankets over her head.
She thought of Adam. And her screaming orgasm.
It had been exquisite. Delicious. Forbidden, like the apple in Adam's outstretched palm.
She loved the way he'd sucked her clit into his mouth. And then, the forbidden...
The phone rang again; this time she snatched it from the cradle. “Bloody hell."
"Nice way to greet your friend."
Sarah. Was there a reason they were still friends? Chloe cracked an eyelid and looked at the clock. “It's not even half-past eight."
"Where were you last night? You were supposed to meet me at Haven."
"Got distracted."
"Adam?” Sarah's sigh was long-suffering.
"In all his glory."
"Bugger all, Chloe! You've got to stop obsessing over a god-damn statue."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"Him? It's a bronze, not a him."
"Yes, of course.” They'd been round this corner a few times, same argument, over and over. How could she possibly explain Adam to her think-in-the-box friend? “You're absolutely right, Sarah.” Chloe yawned. Right now her fantasies had more to do with a cup of tea than anything else. “I'm done. Over it; over him. You'll never hear his name cross my lips again.” She knew Sarah was rolling her eyes.
There was a long pause, then finally, Sarah quietly said, “I'm worried about you."
"Haven't you ever wanted mind-blowing sex?” Chloe asked. “Damn everything else?"
"I've wanted relationships."
"How's that working out for you?"
"Not fair,” Sarah said.
"You're right. Sorry.” But that proved her point. Sarah put a lot of attachment on the emotional aspects of sex. So when she broke off a relationship, she got hurt, bad.
Chloe touched her pendant. She preferred to live for the moment. Hells bells, you never knew when the ride would end. Why not enjoy every twist and turn and climb and dip? “Listen, Sarah, stop worrying. Only another week and it'll all be over."
"Don't fool yourself. Once the London press arrives for the dedication, the fun will just be starting."
"Thanks, Merry Sunshine. I'm ringing off now."
"Wait!"
Chloe hung up, and then yanked the cord from the wall for good measure. Give her Adam any day of the week. Yummy sex and few words. There was only one thing that mattered, more than the dedication, more than her next breath: Being with Adam again.
* * * *
Her head cushioned by an inflatable pillow, Chloe stretched her right leg and used her toes to turn off the bathtub faucet. Bubbles came up to her chin, popping quietly in the breeze coming in through the opened window.
She had wished away every single moment of the day, she realised. Up until now she'd loved lazy Sundays. But this weekend, not so much. The idea of going to church hadn't appealed to her. In fact, she was probably the topic of the sermon. She would have to pretend not to notice the sly glances and she'd be the subject of whispered gossip. Debauched, they'd say. Leading the innocent astray. She was temptation wrapped in a package of naughtiness. That was her, all right.
If they only knew how much naughtier she hungered to be.
There had been one thing missing from last night's interlude.
His cock.
She wanted to taste it, curl her tongue around a drop of pre-ejaculate. She longed to take its length and width inside her mouth and tease its head with her tongue. Then when it was wet, she wanted it deep inside her pussy.
She wanted to feel the strength of him as he pounded into her, skin to naked skin.
Overheating, she blew out a burst of air, then lea
ned over to pull the plug.
She wrapped herself in an oversized towel and went into her bedroom.
What to wear?
He'd approved of her stockings and garter belt last night. But she wanted to go for something different tonight, surprise him.
Lingerie, lingerie, lingerie?
White? Right. As if she were virginal. Cream? They'd already had mind-blowing sex, so something demure wouldn't work.
Red. Red always worked. She pulled out a red thong. Nope. Just not ... right.
Black. Sexy and sinful. Bra and panties? And just sit around, waiting for him to show up? She didn't want to appear overly anxious.
Frustrated, not wanting to be totally naked if—when—he arrived, she pulled open her wardrobe.
Perfect!
A black robe hung from a hook in the corner, all but forgotten. It was made from a soft satin material and had an elegant gold piping around the sleeves and collar.
And to finish the outfit ... ?
On her last London shopping expedition, she had bought a pair of slippers, and not just any slippers. These were sensational. Black, high-heeled with a full complement of whispy feathers across the instep. Her toes were bare, showing off the dramatic red polish on her toenails.
She fastened her necklace around her neck, and the pendant snuggled against the soft skin of her chest. Finally, she plucked the pins from her hair and fingered back the strands from her face.
Chloe knotted the belt at her waist. She felt deliciously decadent, naked beneath the flimsy material.
Okay, so now it was definitely time for her lover to arrive.
Lucky for her, he didn't disappoint.
She was lying in bed, somewhere in that delicious state between awake and asleep when she heard him.
"'Bout damn time.” She had that thought often when it came to him.
"Anyone ever tell you patience is a virtue?"
"Anyone ever tell you I am not virtuous?"
He joined her on the bed, lying next to her. The mattress sank beneath the weight of his powerful body.
"Last night,” she said, facing him, “You didn't fuck me."
"Tonight,” he said. “I will."
She was trying to behave, not too brazen, but she couldn't help that her gaze kept straying to the bulge beneath his trousers. How had she let him get away last night before he'd had his cock buried deep inside her? Oh, yeah. She'd been too knackered to think straight.
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