Sinful (Undone)

by Jennifer Dawson

I’m jealous he gave her the answers I stubbornly refused her.

  But most of all, I’m jealous he gave her a taste that has only whetted her appetite.

  Watching her talk, she’s animated. Those unusual green-gold eyes of hers brilliant, her cheeks flushed, and she’s clearly excited. She can’t sit still and she shifts restlessly on the couch as she tells me the story of Carolynn and the night I laid her on the table.

  Brandon has seen me do a lot of things to a lot of women, and I know why he picked that story in particular. Carolynn was a firecracker. She was smart, fierce, determined and a shark of a lawyer.

  A sharp contrast to the woman I’d painted a picture of last night.

  The kind of woman Jillian could certainly relate to.

  A woman whose shoes she could walk in. Which she clearly does as Jillian tells me how she pictured herself there on that table.

  Her brows furrow. “I don’t know why I could see it that clearly. It’s not something I’ve thought about.”

  “Go on.” I clear the strain from those words.

  Jillian blows out a breath, and licks those lips I want to do depraved things to. “You’re not mad?”

  “No. Keep going.”

  I’m not mad. I’m fucked six ways till Sunday, but I’m not mad.

  I know Brandon is bluffing about Jillian. He wouldn’t touch her—well, unless I said it was okay. Michael, Brandon and I have a code of honor we all stick to and Brandon’s not about to piss off both of us over Jillian. But even though he’s bluffing, he knows the image is enough to push me toward her, to propel me into action, and to force me to confront what I’ve clearly been missing.

  Brandon is right.

  Jillian is a woman on a mission. She’s taken my assertion she has to come to the conclusions about her own nature to heart, compounded it, and set it to the hundredth power. It’s written all over her. It’s in her expression, in the animated way she talks, the brightness of her eyes, and twist of her long legs.

  She’s unsure, almost convinced herself she doesn’t like it, that this morning, when she felt that stirring inside her talking to Brandon, was an aberration, but her curiosity has gotten the better of her.

  She’s determined to figure it out. And she’ll do it with or without me. She needs to know. To discover the truth.

  I can fight it all I want.

  But that guy is going to be me.

  Jillian

  After I’ve told Leo everything we talked about, the mix of heat and terror. The confession I saw myself on that table, lying between them, Leo’s hands on me, I fall silent.

  He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t interrupted to ask questions, he’s done nothing but sit there and listen. I have no idea what he’s thinking, or how he feels about my conversation with Brandon, but I don’t varnish the truth.

  I don’t lie and pretend there wasn’t a moment Brandon held me captive with the possibility, or that I was on the edge of my seat. It’s not the same—and I’ve only seen a hint of that from Leo—but I can’t deny it stirred something.

  Leo’s watching me with a curious expression on his face, his eyes intent, his skin pulled tight over his cheekbones. “Tell me, Jillian,” he says, and the way my name falls from his lips makes me shudder. “What was the dark fantasy that crossed your mind?”

  I blink, taken aback by the question. It’s nothing I anticipated. I’d expected questions about Brandon, but of course, Leo never responds to anything as I imagine. I sputter, “That…out of everything I said, that’s what you want to know?”

  His jaw firms. “For starters.”

  I don’t want to tell him. It’s embarrassing, and I don’t know why it crossed my mind at breakfast, it’s not something I like to think about. “But why?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “But—”

  He holds up a hand and cuts me off. “Lesson one, evading my questions is not advisable.”

  I frown, but I experience a kick of heat low in my belly. “But…there’s no agreement between us.”

  He raises a brow. “Isn’t there?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You said you wanted to figure this out, how do you propose to do that? By chitchat, or by doing?”

  I bite my lower lip. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  He strums his fingers along the edge of my couch. “I’m not asking for anything hard.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “How?”

  My cheeks flush. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  He gives me a sharp nod. “That’s what submission is. The sweet spot where your fears and desires intersect.” He meets my gaze, with a steady surety that makes my breath catch. “The choice is yours.”

  Now he’s calling my hand and it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. Heat infuses my face and I look away. With a pounding heart, I shrug. “Sometimes I think about being held captive.”

  “I see,” he says, but I don’t look to see his expression. “Tell me more.”

  I clutch my hands tightly together and suddenly wish I had a lot more clothes on. Some sort of barrier between myself and the words I’m saying. “Not all the time, but sometimes I’ve had thoughts of being held captive, in…like a basement or something.”

  “And in these fantasies are you forced?” His voice doesn’t sound the least bit distressed.

  My pulse is a rapid beat in my throat and I swallow. “It’s hard to explain. Yes, but in a good way. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

  “It does.” He’s quiet for a bit before he says, “Jillian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Look at me.”

  I raise my head and force myself to meet his gaze, and there’s a fire there, glowing hot. I nibble my bottom lip.

  His gaze tracks the movement like a predator. “How do you prefer your sex?”

  “Ummm…” This isn’t the kind of question most guys ask.

  He seems to take pity on my distress and his lids hood. “Hard or soft?”

  “I, um, don’t think I’ve thought of it in those terms.”

  “And what terms have you thought about it?”

  “I like passion. And intensity.”

  He nods, his attention drifting once again to my mouth. “Are you up for a little experiment?”

  Yes. No. Yes.

  The words war in my head, confusing me. Last night I felt like I was in control—tonight I don’t—it’s uncomfortable, hot. Erotic and mystifying all at the same time. I manage to croak out, “Like what?”

  “Not sex, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ll take that off the table tonight, but I do have something in mind if you trust me.”

  I want sex to be on the table, but there’s something terrifying about the prospect as well. I experience a tiny surge of relief. Maybe it’s because all those years, all those fantasies, being faced with the sudden reality is as daunting as it is exciting.

  “Do you trust me?” Leo’s tone is like a vibration across my skin, resonating deep in my stomach.

  I nod.

  He crooks a finger. “Come here.”

  I crawl across the sofa and he groans, although I’m not sure why.

  I don’t have time to think about it because he leans in and kisses me, capturing my lips with a ruthlessness that demonstrates just how much he held back.

  I loved everything about last night’s kiss, but oh god, had he been holding back.

  His hand tightens in my hair, holding me close, making me understand why, in all those bodice rippers I’d read growing up, they used the word ravished. Because that’s how I feel.

  Ravished. Taken. Claimed and possessed.

  I turn off my brain. I don’t want to think right now. I only want to experience.

  I surrender, letting him suck me under.

  I climb the rest of the way on top of him. I clutch at his shoulders, and drown in the very essence of him. They way he tastes on my tongue. His hard breath. The feel of his lips. His hands in my
hair, fingers digging into my neck. The hard flex of muscles under my touch.

  The chemistry between us strains to get free. To be unleashed and wild, and I want it. Want to feel that delicious chaos racing through me, stripping away all of my civility until I’m nothing but need.

  I moan, pressing farther into him, melting into his mouth. Just as I’m about to straddle his hips he stops, pulling away from me. He brushes his lips softly against mine, his tongue flicking over my wet lower lip, before he nips me with his teeth, making me jump.

  My lashes fly open and I find he’s watching me. I flush, and he smiles. “Sit back and listen to me.”

  I kneel on my haunches, resting in the place between his legs.

  His expression flashes with what I think might be satisfaction. “We’re going to try something simple, okay?”

  I nod. “All right.”

  “You’re going to lie between my legs, your back against my chest, and I’m going to play with your breasts. Follow me so far?”

  This seems easy enough, although a little tame after the dangerous promise of his kiss. “Okay.”

  I go to move but he stops me with a grasp of my wrist. “There’s a catch.”

  I raise a brow.

  “You have to stay still. If you start to move, I’ll stop what I’m doing.”

  “Not a problem.” Because it’s not. I mean, I like getting my breasts played with as much as the next girl, but it’s not like I can’t stay still because of it.

  He laughs, the sound tinged with evilness. “We’ll see.”

  I squint, my lips curving into a cocky smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

  His dark gaze roams over my face before he shrugs. “It you want to perceive it that way, and it makes you more determined to stay still, then by all means consider it a gauntlet thrown.”

  I grin, feeling more confident now. “All right then, I will.”

  I twist around and fall back against his strong chest, closing my eyes to savor the feel of him. How many times have I dreamed of lying like this with him? I’m going to enjoy every last second of it.

  He cups my arms, and I look at his fingers against my skin. His darker olive tone against my paler one. It looks right. He rubs up and down my arms and shifts before he settles. He scrapes his teeth along my earlobe as he continues to stroke my bare arms, sending goose bumps everywhere. My nipples tighten into hard points.

  “Cold?” A whisper against my ear.

  I shake my head.

  He kisses my neck. “You can think of it any way you want, but I only care about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” My voice is already breathless.

  “That you do what you’re told.”

  The words make me shiver and I let out an involuntary gasp.

  “Hmmm…” he murmurs. “That’s a good sound. Let me see how much discipline you have, girl.” His hands slide over my ribs. “Impress me.”

  His talking is making me hot enough to light a match off of, but I really don’t see how this is going to be all that difficult. I silently vow to blow him away with my abilities to control myself.

  His thumb sweeps the underside of my breasts back and forth, over and over until they grow heavy and full. His movements are smooth and slow, cascading, but he never touches my nipples, despite the fact that they strain under the fabric of my tank top. My lashes drift closed. It feels good, almost hypnotic and I relax into him, my hands resting on his thighs.

  I’m here. He’s here. I’m with him and he’s touching me. Finally, after all these years it’s happening. I’m going to capture every moment, in case it’s the last one I get.

  His fingers are skilled as they move over me, making me tingle. His palm finds the hem of my top, and slips under my shirt. I gasp as his hand brushes over the hot skin of my stomach. He plays over my ribs, seeming to trace each individual bone.

  A kind of restless ache builds deep in my belly and I bite my lip, silently urging him on.

  His thumb brushes the underside of my breasts and it’s like a jolt to the system and I jerk, shifting my legs. He laughs, and it’s low and wicked. “Remember, no moving.”

  I grit my teeth as he runs a finger up and down the clasp of my bra, over and over again, not touching, but making me want it so badly I think I might scream. With deft movements, he flicks the clasp and it springs open as if by magic.

  In my ear he murmurs, “Lift up, let’s slip off this bra.”

  I arch my back, expecting him to slip my top off as well, but instead he pulls the straps through my tank top, and the bra under the hem, tossing it to the floor before smoothing down the cotton.

  I groan in frustration.

  “Where’s your patience?” His words a teasing low rumble.

  Reflexively my hands clench on his thighs. “I’m patient.”

  “Mmm…good.” He begins again, his hands playing over my stomach, along my ribs, before drifting back down.

  Arousal thickens the air, hot and heavy.

  His erection insistent against my back, letting me know he’s not unaffected, despite the leisure of his touch. He strokes down my stomach, his fingers running along the waistband of my shorts. For a fraction of a second, I think he’s going to dip farther, to where I’m wet and needy. In anticipation I hold my breath, only to be disappointed when he retreats to safe territory.

  He presses an open-mouth kiss to my throat and I crane my neck, allowing him better access. His tongue brushes against my skin and is gone. I clutch at his legs, digging my nails into his thighs.

  “If I slip my fingers into your panties, would I find you wet?” His voice is a rasp against my overheated flesh.

  I dart my tongue over my lip as he climbs up my ribs again and I manage to gasp out, “There’s one way to find out.”

  He chuckles. “Not how this works, darlin’. Answer.”

  There’s a hardness to his tone that I respond to like a drug. It amps me up, stretches my skin tight, and makes my stomach jump. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing, considering he hasn’t really touched me anywhere good yet.

  “Yes.” Is that me? That breathless little sound?

  He scrapes his teeth against my neck. “Maybe, if you’re a good girl, I’ll make you come.”

  I want to protest, but my lips stay firmly closed except for the little pants I can’t seem to contain.

  His palms cup my breasts as his thumbs sweep over my nipples, wrenching a keening gasp from me, before moving away.

  How is he doing this? Drawing out every sensation? It’s like all my senses are on high alert. I’m more hyperaware than I’ve ever been in my life.

  His fingers dance over my nipples again and I arch and moan. My head rolls against his shoulder.

  He squeezes the hard peaks between his fingers. I cry out, the longing so intense it borders on the edge of pain. Of being too much. The desire is like a rushing freight train and, if I were standing, I would have been knocked to the floor by its power.

  I’ve wanted before. I’ve lusted. I’ve craved.

  But it pales in comparison to right here, right now.

  His touch is like electric shocks. I twist, unable to help myself.

  “No moving.” The words are a shock in my ear.

  It enflames me. The desire builds, hot and demanding, and I clench my thighs, needing friction. I lift my hips.

  He stops. “Stay still.”

  “But…” I can hear the pleading in my voice.

  He runs his hands over my bare thighs and it sends an explosion of tingles over my skin. “Open your legs.”

  “But,” I say again, incapable of saying anything else, despite the torrent of thoughts racing through my head.

  He grips my thighs. “No buts, just do it.”

  I want to protest, to argue, but something stops me. I lick my lips and open, my thighs resting against his.

  “Good girl,” he whispers and it sets me on fire.

  He begins again, working his way over my stomach and ribs. Teasing me
by running his fingers just under the edge of my shorts, before retreating. His thumbs rub insistently over my nipples, ruthless, despite my low moans and sharp cries.

  A sort of needy, desperateness takes hold of me, and my hips rise of their own volition, seeking a contact he never delivers. Frustrated, I grind my ass against his erection.

  He stops, saying nothing, doing nothing, until I calm and settle.

  Only then does he begin again.

  I start to sweat with the strain and effort to keep still. I am one big mess of lust and desire, my focus shrinks to one overriding thought—I must come.

  He bunches the fabric of my tank top into his fist. “Lift.”

  I don’t hesitate, and my top is over my head, joining my bra on the floor.

  The hard peaks are pulled so tight it boarders on the most exquisite type of pain. Sharp and keen and biting. It feels so good, he feels so good, it’s almost too unbearable to continue.

  His teeth scrape against my neck. “If I touch you just right, pull your nipples in just the right way, you’ll tip over the edge.”

  As hard as it is to believe, he’s probably right. I nod, or maybe it’s more a thrashing of my head, I don’t really know.

  “Have you ever come that way?” His voice is a low growl in my ear that only increases my desire.

  “No,” I gasp out. Before tonight I would have said that was impossible.

  His lips graze over my jaw and he tugs, in such a way, sensation races like lightning through my entire body. My core clamps down, insistent and demanding. I tremble, my hips coming off the couch as I whimper.

  He stops and I dig my nails into his jeans-covered thighs.

  When I once again settle against him, he cups my breasts and the torture starts again.

  “Another day I will, but tonight I want you to come on my fingers. I want to feel how wet you are and how goddamn much you want it. I want a taste of what you’ll feel like coming around my cock.”

  “Oh god.” My head rolls to the side as my breath comes in hard pants. I can’t take it anymore. “Leo.” His name on my lips, desperate and pleading, isn’t even a tenth of what I actually feel.

  “What do you need?” His fingers play over my skin.

  “I-I—” I lose my train of thought and unable to gather them, I settle for, “Please.”