Double Dare

by Saskia Walker

  "Such lovely rooms," she murmured. Space was such a premium in London, this felt luxurious. She was surprised. She hadn't thought about what to expect, but for an arts entrepreneur it kind of fitted the bill. He'd add to it as the business established itself, she supposed.

  "It's a Mackintosh design, isn't it?" She nodded at the tall, thrusting line of the chairs, the dramatic oval of the head rests.

  "Yes, Mackintosh," he replied. "Do you like it?" His voice was so deep and resonant, every word touched her inside.

  "Oh yes, I love his work. The Arts and Crafts movement is fascinating." Her gaze was constantly drawn back up to him. He was still the most attractive thing in the room. As she looked across at his face each bone carved itself into her memory.

  He nodded and smiled at her.

  "Are you a collector?"

  "No." He smiled. "But I know what I like when I see it...and I do my best to have it." His gaze confirmed the inference of his words as he moved closer.

  "Oh?" The tension between them hummed in her ears and sped along her veins. She felt as if they were moving in a slow dance, inexorably closer and closer.

  His fingers stroked her cheek then slid higher, into her hair. He was brooding, passionate. "You're an object d'arte, and I intend to have you."

  Her heart thudded violently. She hooked one finger over his belt. "I'm glad to hear it."

  He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, slowly, subtly, making her lips tremble.

  She was wired. Anticipation had built beyond anything she'd experienced before. He was throwing coal on a fire already pumping out way too much heat.

  "This time," he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear, "I want to savor you. I want to take my time with you, enjoy you." His lips smiled the gentle smile of a classical statue, the secret held in their line.

  She had to fight for her breath. The atmosphere between them was so charged. A tremor ran through her body, a tremor of expectation and arousal. The flame of desire was reflected in his eyes.

  Turning her around in his arms, one arm locked across her torso, the other hand on her opposite hip. He held her tight against him, making her remember how it had been the night before, how he'd bent her over and made her watch.

  She moved her hips inside his, her eyes closing as she absorbed his total contact. His grip tightened. Lowering his head, he kissed her neck, her shoulder.

  "Do you own a bed?" she murmured.

  He chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. "Oh, yes." He moved, freeing her then resting his arm around her shoulders, drawing her alongside him as he led her from the room.

  She had to make a concentrated effort to walk slowly. Her panties were damp and her pulse raced, her nipples chaffing against the fabric of her dress as she moved.

  He led her down the hallway and through a doorway. The bedroom was lit by a tall elegant lamp and housed a large bed with a wrought iron headboard formed into a frenzy of art nouveau swirls. The surface was covered in a black velvet comforter, like a void that invited her to disappear into it. She turned to him and saw the dark energy simmering in his eyes. "It's beautiful."

  He gestured at the bed, one corner of his mouth lifted. "It will be, with you on it."

  And with you over me. He looked so good. She could barely wait to have him inside her. Stepping out of her shoes she walked over to the bed, sat down then laid back, her arms moving across the surface.

  He shook his head as he looked down at her. "The bed fades into significance. The real beauty is here." Leaning over her, he stirred the satin across her abdomen, lightly moving it with his fingertips, watching her face.

  "It's a Roland Mouret dress," she murmured, barely able to speak as darts of sensation shot out from the material moving under his fingers.

  He smiled, gazing into the black pool of satin. "I suspect the beauty that I am referring to lies beneath the dress."

  She sank back into the bed covers, inviting him closer with a pleading glance. "I hope I don't disappoint."

  Slowly, he began to push the material up from around her legs, exposing her body, caressing her skin with the waves of satin. As his fingers passed over her, from shin to thigh to hipbone to breast, they seemed to draw the breath from her body. She swallowed, reminded herself to breathe. When the material gathered on her breasts she slipped it over her head then lay back again, her hands moving restlessly in the abandoned pool of black satin above her head.

  Staring down at her naked body on the bed, it was as if he had touched her, the heat in his expression was extreme. "You look like a beautiful sacrifice waiting to be offered, waiting to be tasted."

  Her sex clenched, over and again. "Please don't make me wait any longer," she begged.

  He bent down to lift one of her feet onto the surface of the bed, opening her legs. His hands moved along the inside of her thighs, his fingers spreading wide around her groin, sending wild flames coursing across her skin.

  Glancing down, she watched his thick black hair as he kissed the inside of her thighs. Each kiss was like a beautiful torture, filled with divine sensation but she craved more than that.

  "Oh please, Zac," she murmured, her body shifting, her hands clutching at the bed covers.

  Chuckling, he sank his mouth onto the mound of her sex and sucked deeply at the flesh, his teeth grazing her while his tongue moved between her folds.

  Arching, she let her head fall back against the pillows. When his tongue stroked over her clit, she moaned and twisted on the bed. He reached one arm up to still her, his hand between her breasts. She covered it with her own hands, squeezing her breasts around his spread fingers. His other hand shot along her thigh and down to her foot, anchoring her. As his tongue moved she breathed ever faster, rasping in time with his movements. Pleasure roared through her whole body, but still she wanted more.

  Her fingers pulled at his hand, her torso moving, suggesting more to his body, suggesting more shared pleasures. He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were black with passion, his lips dripping with her juice. She sat up and reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  "No," he said, pushing her hands away. Humor lit his eyes. "You must learn to take your time, Abby." He pulled his shirt free from his leather trousers. "You're a wild creature and I intend to tame you."

  She growled. "How?"

  "By fucking you very, very slowly." He dropped the shirt to the floor.

  Why did that sound like sheer torture? Because you're so damned horny. Just looking at his muscular shoulders, the strong column of his neck, and the bulge of his cock inside leather made her mouth go dry. Other parts of her were oozing moisture. Her attention was drawn to a tattoo on his right arm, an image that flickered with movement as he undressed. It coiled around the line of his bicep, emphasizing the shape of the muscle.

  A shadowy smile passed over his face, partly hidden as he bent over her body. His breath on her skin and it was like a warm sirocco sifting the sands. "I want to be sure that your body is at its peak before I have you, and I want to find out where that peak is."

  She felt sure that her peak wasn't far away at all, and she was desperate for him to take her to it and force her right over the top. Zac, however, had other ideas. She watched his bare chest, exquisitely masculine, as he moved. He reached for her, yanking her legs apart. Fluid seeped from her exposed pussy. Every ounce of her intimate flesh was on display.

  "So delicious, so ready." His finger, firm and slick with her moisture, probed inside her.

  She clutched and let out a loud moan of relief when he moved it, stroking the front wall of her sex. Shock waves darted through her body. His thumb rested over the hard nub of her clit and she cried out with pleasure.

  He muttered something unintelligible that sounded like it might be Greek as he bent over her, his tongue lapping at her clit. He added a second finger, flexing them, moving them in small circles then scissoring her open. Sensation traveled through her as he sucked her swollen clit, gently, a stark contrast to the
hard fingers inside her.

  She lost sight of the room, her body jerking spasmodically as she came, sudden and hard. In the distance she heard her own voice crying out. He pulled out. When she surfaced, she could see that he was desperately aroused, it sent an after-tremor through her sex, drenched but suddenly bereft.

  "Good?" he teased.

  "Not until I have you inside me."

  He eyed her possessively as he kicked his boots off and climbed out of the leathers. The bulge of his cock sprang up, long and thick, its head beautifully defined and dark with blood.

  She watched as he rolled a condom on then laid over her, his cock resting against the tingling folds of her sex. His closeness overwhelmed her with a new rush of sensations. She was intoxicated by him, absorbed by his presence. She breathed deep the musk scent of his body. It swept through her like a cloud of smoke, immersing her senses in its cover. She whimpered her frustration and a wave of sheer lust took her over. "Please, Zac, please."

  His eyes flashed at her, his mouth in a passionate curl. He nudged, then drove the full length of his shaft inside her. She cried out in pleasure. His cock throbbed, crushed deep inside her and she clasped at him with her inner muscles, relief sinking through her senses.

  He moved, slowly at first then with more impact—and with the precision of a well-oiled machine, each stroke carefully measured for optimum impact. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her hand on his buttocks, where strong muscle drove him deeper into her with each flex. Each thrust was so exquisitely full, and yet bordering on pain, her sensitive flesh a riot of sensation. He had driven her to distraction and now he was moving so in tune with her body that she felt as if she was about to come again, every time the swollen head of his cock crushed against her center.

  "You are so beautiful, and when you come you look like a goddess," he whispered. He moved in deep, even strokes, a controlled movement that brought them mutual pleasures while holding off his final reward. She was powerless to do anything but enjoy.

  When their movements became more fevered she bucked her body up against him. He stroked her torso and he traced the lines of her body with intimate attention. She clung to him, desperate for release. She felt a sob at the back of her throat.

  He slowed and she hovered on the brink. She clutched at him as the imminent release wavered to and fro. His hands roved through her hair then his mouth covered hers. She met his kiss with bliss—and with desperation.

  Her sex was drenched and as his tongue plunged into her mouth she moved with him again, the pressure of each thrust spreading the heat of imminent climax through her body, right up to her throat, where it seemed to burn. She spoke his name to let the heat escape.

  "I don't think either of us can hold back any longer," he muttered through gritted teeth, the tension in his body attesting to it. His cock was rigid, his balls high against her buttocks.

  "No," she managed to reply, her head rolling on the pillows. Her legs moved around his hips, locking him in against her. The mutual pleasure of it shot between their locked eyes. Their bodies were harmonized. They moved in quick, even strides, barely parting but to press home again.

  He turned his face into her breasts, drawing his tongue along her skin. They were pacing, ever faster, towards crescendo. As the orgasm came close his hand slid over her pubic bone, pressing her mons down as he moved against her. His brows were drawn down, his eyes intense. A bead of sweat slid slowly down one side of his face.

  Heat welled from her womb, as if a heavy hot liquid was held in her pelvis. A shock wave released it and it buoyed up against the full head of his cock, where it lodged itself deep and hard inside her.

  "Oh yes...yes." His body arched and bowed against hers, and finally his cock moved alone, their bodies falling still in the moment of mutual climax.

  Abby was still floating weightless, when he stroked the final ripples of pleasure through her with one trailing hand. He kissed her gently, then disengaged. She watched him walk to the bathroom. Never before had she felt so perfectly sated, so complete. She snuggled against the comforter, sighing deeply.

  When he returned he lay alongside her, tilted her head back with a finger beneath her chin and looked into her eyes. "You wear sex so well, Abby." Curiosity spilled from beneath his hooded lids.

  She couldn't speak. She didn't want to break the spell. Her hand coiled round the place where she had seen his tattoo. She looked at the image. It showed a yin yang symbol resting in a bed of thorns. It had a tribal quality about it, but she suspected it was personal to him. The design twined his bicep to meet at the back of his arm. She stared at the image, mesmerized by it, tracing its possible meanings.

  He ran his hands through her hair, spreading it loose across his pillows. "I see the many different colors of the October trees."

  "It's a mess," she murmured, taking off her earrings so they didn't get trapped in the mess overnight.

  "A beautiful mess." He smiled, teasing her lips with his fingers.

  She closed her eyes and let the sensation lift her, the gentle brush of his fingertips against her mouth causing her nerve endings to fly away from her control. He replaced his fingers with his mouth, gently kissing her back down to him.

  She stroked his forehead, pushed her fingers into his hair then trailed them lightly across his face. When her hand dropped he pulled her across his chest, locking her there with his arms. One hand rested against his chest, the other lay over the tattoo etched beneath the skin on his arm.

  Chapter Five

  "Open wide," Suzanne instructed as she reached over to the box of chocolates she had propped up on her spare pillow, and pursed her lips as she selected one. "Here you go." She rested the chocolate on his lower lip until he reached and bit into it.

  Chewing slowly, Nathan looked at her mouth. It was swollen from hungry, lust-fuelled kissing. Her cheeks were pink. Both suited her. She reminded him of a gangster's moll from some old black and white movie.

  "Good?"

  He nodded. "Hazelnut."

  "Right." She poked about in the box and picked one out for herself.

  He watched it disappear into her mouth. He'd never been big on chocolate, but he was learning to love it. So long as she was lying naked on top of him and feeding them to him, he was prepared to eat them forever. He took a deep breath, lifting her with the swell of his ribcage.

  She chuckled, rising up on her arms, peeling her breasts from his chest. They were both sticky from hot sex. They'd been at it for hours. The dim light of early dawn was already showing at the one window in her tiny bed-sitting room. She didn't seem to care that it was a weeknight. She even thought she'd be able to convince him he had the stamina to do it all over. Maybe that's what the chocolates were about.

  He was only just beginning to think straight again. They'd had a lot of fun. He'd lost count of the number of drinks they'd had. All his Motorhead stories had been told, many of his Iron Maiden too. He hadn't let her buy all the drinks though, and he'd insisted on paying for the fish and chip supper. Arguing over it had been fun. She was a playful, hands-on type. In fact it took him a while to muster a come back when she slapped his arse and told him she was calling the cards. And now she had him pinned down and at her mercy. He couldn't have been happier.

  Except the reason why he was here had wriggled to the forefront of his mind, for the first time in hours. Got to get info. "What's it like, working in that swish office block?"

  "It's OK, mostly." She gave a slightly sad smile. "Not my dream, but such is life. You find yourself places in life you didn't think you would."

  "I know what you mean."

  She rested her chin on one hand, her elbow on his chest. Her weight was nothing to him, but her presence—now that was a different matter altogether. He kept trying to keep his mind on what he had forgotten during the course of the evening. "What would you want to do, if you had the chance for an ideal career?"

  "I don't know, something in PR maybe."

  "You'd be good at th
at."

  "Thank you. I agree. What about you, how does being a courier suit?"

  "Oh, I don't mind being a gofer. The guy I work for is sound. He's more like a friend."

  "What would he think if he knew you were using work time to pick up women?"

  He gave a soft laugh. "He wouldn't be surprised, but I'd like to point out that you picked me up."

  "So I did, and you were well worth it." She snuggled closer and bit his chin.

  That sent a jagged streak of interest down to his groin. She played rough and he loved it. His body was strung out under her, exhausted and yet wanting more. He breathed in the heady scent of sex, and chocolates. His thoughts blurred. What is it I'm here for? Struggling, he tried to hold the thread. "So, um, what are the finance people like to be around?"

  "Stuffed shirts." She laughed. "That's not entirely fair. There is one woman I get on with, Abby, the one you brought the documents for, and she's a sweetie. She talks to me and stuff, she's a good laugh."

  "A rock fan?"

  "Nah, not that I know of. Although I suspect she's a bit of a rebel. She's not like the others."

  A rebel, was that a bad sign? "In a good or a bad way?"

  "Oh, a good way, definitely good. Like us, I mean. She's the only one who would stop and give you the time of day, to be honest."

  She leaned to one side, her breasts bouncing free of his chest. Man, he wanted to suck on them. He wanted to sit her on his cock and mold those gorgeous breasts in his hands.

  She ran one finger down the length of the scar on his cheek, then touched his lips. She looked at the smaller scars criss-crossing his forehead. "Where did you get those?"

  He should've expected it. She was pretty direct. He tried not to clam up. "In a street fight."

  "Did you start it?"

  "No."

  She nodded but didn't press him.

  He sensed she was relieved. "Thought you'd brought a bruiser home, did you?"

  "Hey buster, you're the one in the manacles." Gesturing up at the headboard where she had him handcuffed, her eyes twinkled.