by Wicked Ties
Jack knew better. Knew it. And he’d prove it to her.
“I didn’t know what half of that . . . equipment was,” she added.
“And that, along with missing me, made you feel like an idiot?” He tried to smile softly, tried to reassure. Her answer sure elated the hell out of him. “Tsk. I’m a much bigger idiot than you. I didn’t just miss you, I ached to hold you. I burned to touch you, in any way you’d let me. With or without toys.”
That need inside him was rising, amplifying, drowning out all else, including good sense. His hand tightened around her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. Normally, his self-control was anywhere between stellar and legendary. With Morgan . . . resisting a woman he wanted this badly seemed not just pointless, but fucking impossible.
Slanting his mouth over the soft pillows of her lips, instinct charged through Jack. With a barely leashed passion, he alternately demanded and pleaded his way inside, coaxing her mouth open, relieved and revved when she let him in to steal both her objections and her breath.
He claimed her, pouring the need blazing through his gut and firing his soul into the kiss. Just touching her drugged him. Cradling her face in his hands, Jack was amazed anew by the silken warmth of her skin. The raspberry scent of her nearly drove him out of his head.
The sweet taste of her kiss hit him. Cinnamon sugar, hot silk, female want. Jack sank into her mouth, her essence. With every breath, he tasted her confused passion and reluctant need. Jack dove deeper still into her mouth, determined to lap up every bit of her doubt and warmth and uncertainty he could and give it back to her in reassurance and devotion. With purposeful sweeps through her mouth and soft nibbles on her lower lip, he fed her a taste of his greedy lust and declared his determination to get her close and keep her there.
In his arms, her breath caught. She clasped him tight, pressing her breasts against him. The tears drenching her cheeks moistened his own face, kick-starting his heart all over again.
Jack worked a hand through her silky tresses of fire and kissed a hot path across her jaw, working his way to her ear.
“I . . . Oh, Jack! I can’t be what you want.”
“You already are.” He nibbled on her lobe. Beneath the onslaught of his lips, Morgan’s breathing picked up speed. Her heartbeat pounded at the base of her neck, chugging with arousal. He covered the spot with his mouth, laving it with his tongue. She rewarded him with a moan, arching her throat to him in invitation.
Jack could smell the desire on her now, could tell she was wet. The realization made him hard as hell. So hard, it was as if he hadn’t been balls deep in her in weeks or months.
Utterly, sublimely crazy.
Pulling her into the unyielding iron of his erection, Jack groaned. He’d intended to wait, woo her, cajole her. No. He had to get inside of her. Anything less wasn’t an option. He needed to feel the hot grip of her sweet pussy closing around his cock as he swallowed her cries with his mouth. He had to see her submission in the softening of her body, the lowering of her gaze, the invitation of her creaming slit.
With a single yank, he ripped apart the tails of the shirt covering her, halfway down her belly. Jackpot! Her firm, pale breasts bathed in golden light beckoned him. Jack didn’t fight it. Instead, he bent and captured one puckered nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and strong.
Morgan gasped. But she arched to him, silently encouraging him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to anchor him. No need; he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. With his other hand, he squeezed the plump tip of her other breast, turning, plucking.
“Yes!”
He loved her responsive cry, but with a nip of his teeth across her sensitive flesh, he reminded her of her lapse.
“Yes, sir,” she corrected.
“Parfaite,” he said, rewarding her by laving his tongue across the rapidly swelling nubs. “So fucking perfect.”
Jack moved his fingers on her turgid little nipples. Damn, he was hungry for another taste of them. But the man, the dominant in him, craved something else even more. She smelled like heaven, got wet for him in a heartbeat. He’d bet money she tasted of pure wicked delight.
“Sit on the railing, Morgan.”
With only a hint of reluctance, she hopped up on the wooden edge of the wraparound porch. Logic told him not to push her. But his need wouldn’t allow him to back away.
He reached around with a light stinging slap to her ass. “Who do you obey?”
Confusion and yearning clashed in her tear-drenched blue eyes. Morgan was struggling to process the needs of her body, align them with her independent streak. She was overthinking things . . . but that was Morgan.
Using his other hand, he slapped the other cheek of her backside.
“You, sir.”
At least she hadn’t denied it. If she had . . . Jack thought he might have gone out of his fucking mind. As it was, his control slipped as dangerous determination to drive Morgan to sweating, screaming orgasm slammed into him.
With a grunt, he tore the rest of the shirt Morgan wore apart, exposing every delicate, pale curve of her body. Excellent, no panties. The wet, pink folds of her sex were covered by a thin dusting of hair. But he wanted to see more. Needed to.
With one hand at her back to steady her, Jack spread her legs wide with the other. A quick glance down told him she was drenched in her cream. Yes! Her slick folds swelling and flushing pink with each passing moment. Gorgeous.
Mine! the instinctive beast in him snarled silently.
“Steady yourself,” he ordered, placing her hands on the edge of the rail on either side of her hips.
“Sir?”
“You don’t question, Morgan,” he growled. “You take what I give you. You do what I say. You come when I tell you.”
“We’re outdoors. If anyone came by in a boat, they . . . they would see us.” She eased her legs closed.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, but that’s irrelevant. Your well-being is my concern. I will keep you safe. Put your trust and your body in my care. Can you do that?”
Morgan wanted to. Jack could see the need in her turbulent blue eyes conflicting with her modesty in her anxious expression. It wasn’t lack of trust in him . . . but herself.
“Nothing bad will happen,” he assured her. “Let me take over.”
A ragged breath and a long pause later, she sent him an unsteady nod.
It was all he could do not to let out a whoop and devour her on the spot. She’d said yes, not because he’d surprised her or taunted her into it. She’d simply said yes. To him.
“Good. Steady yourself. Spread your legs for me.”
With trembling hands, Morgan acceded to his demands, leaning back to brace her hands on the rail. Slowly, so damn slowly, she drew her thighs apart again.
Fucking beautiful. Perfect.
Mine!
Jack dropped to his knees and kissed the inside of each of her thighs. Her breath hitched, body tensed. With a smooth glide of his palms up her thighs, he held her still, anchored her hips to the railing. Then he just stared, breathing in the addicting musky-sweet scent of her. She was all blushing, slick flesh and trembling limbs.
It took every ounce of Jack’s self-control not to dive into her like an all-you-can-eat buffet. He wanted to taste her everywhere, along the glistening folds hiding her deepest secrets, up high where her clit played hide-and-seek under its delicate hood, inside the hot, tight channel that held her cream.
“Show me where you like to be licked. Point for me,” he demanded, already knowing and planning to save that destination for last.
“I . . . I don’t know. Anywhere.”
“No one has ever made you come this way.” Jack didn’t make it a question. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.
Morgan shook her head.
Amazing. Another intimate act he would be first to introduce Morgan to. The exhilarating thought went straight to his cock. Was every guy she’d dated a eunuch? He loved this, the intimate taste, the immediac
y of knowing exactly which touch affected a woman most. No quicker way to make her putty, to make her beg.
To make her his.
Jack dropped his gaze to her swollen sex. Maybe . . . maybe he could coax her to connect him and pleasure together in her mind. That alone wouldn’t be enough to keep her, but it would be a start. The rest he’d work out hour by hour, day by day, until she agreed not just to leave Brandon but to become his.
“You’re going to come for me, Morgan. But not until I tell you to. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Her breathy, perfect reply made his cock tighten to the point of distraction. Soon . . .
“Ma belle, si douce,” he whispered over her clit. “Sweet, beautiful woman.”
MORGAN’S heart raced as she stared down her mostly naked body and saw Jack kneeling between her shaking thighs. The want coursing through her made her limbs feel heavy, her head feel light. Her sex clenched, ached. Something was different about Jack’s touch, something between the two of them. God, what was happening to her? She swallowed against a whimper of need.
He gripped her thighs, pushing them wider, exposing her even more. Then, with his thumbs, opened her sex to his gaze.
Trembling, Morgan had never felt more vulnerable—or aroused. She dripped, arched to him, held her breath, waited. Jack could have no doubt that she responded to his demands, to the way he forced her legs apart, then stared at her sex as if he intended to eat it like a ripe peach.
Sanity—where was it? She was supposed to be engaged, for heaven’s sake. She was not supposed to like his rough brand of domination. She wasn’t the depraved woman Andrew had accused her of being. She didn’t even know why a shameful part of her thrilled to Jack’s orders.
The chilly morning breeze swept over her skin, but instead of wishing for cover, the contrast of the cool air on her heated body thrilled her.
“I love how wet you are for me. I feel your thighs tremble. I see all the folds of your cunt swelling, cher.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to just let go and enjoy. “No.”
In response, Jack merely dragged his thumb over her clit. It hardened into a pulsing knot of pure need.
A denial might have fallen from her lips, but her body was betraying her. Over and over. She’d never responded to anyone the way she did for Jack, flushing, aching, complying with whatever he wanted. Shaking with the need for more.
The knowledge of everything he kept in his playroom, items she’d only vaguely heard of and fantasized about, all just down the hall. All within the grasp of a man who surely knew how to use each with devastating skill.
“No what?” he taunted. “No, don’t make you feel good? No, don’t fuck you in every way I can think of, until you’ve come so many times your body is limp from the pleasure? Is that what you’re saying no to?”
His words and the electrifying sexual images they conjured up bombarded her brain, denting her resistance like the hood of a car in a vicious hailstorm. But Morgan knew if she let go, Jack would just introduce her to one more touch to crave later, one more amazing sensation to heat up shameful midnight fantasies after they parted.
“Or are you telling yourself no?” he murmured, his lips brushing over the top of her cleft, so light yet charging her with a wicked zing that seemed to fist around her sex and squeeze. “Are you hoping to deny how good it will feel to have my tongue in your pleasure-soaked pussy?”
Yes! Damn, she had to be as transparent as plastic wrap for him to read her so easily. Forcing her eyes open, she gazed down at him—just in time to see his tongue dive between her folds. The sight of his calloused hands cradling the delicate flesh inside her thighs, his skin many times darker than her own, jolted her with a pure desire that sizzled up and down her spine and exploded in her belly.
God help her.
On that thought, the wet heat of his mouth covered her. Molten pleasure burst inside her as he licked from slit to clit, then swirled his tongue around her as if trying to lap up her cream.
“Cher, you’re like a treat.”
His voice sounded raspy and rough, half grunt and half groan. It dug past her defenses, scraping at what little resolve she had left.
He licked her in the same manner again, only this time hungrier. It wasn’t an exploratory stroke of his tongue now; it was a veracious demand. With a growl, he drew her clit between his lips and sucked.
She gasped, once, twice—every time he pulled on the sensitive bud. The protests swimming in her head drowned in the face of her body’s demands. The exquisite torture of his mouth drove her beyond her inbred decorum. Desperate for more of his touch, for him, she arched, clawing the smooth wooden railing and silently begging by spreading her legs even wider.
“Very pretty,” he complimented, voice raspy and midnight raw. “And so sweet.”
His tongue invaded her channel as his thumb pressed down on her clit. The pleasure converged so hard and fast between her legs, it was almost painful. She felt her own folds swelling with need, making her flesh sensitive to each dip and swirl of his tongue. The February breeze whipping over her diamond-hard nipples did nothing to cool her.
Jack continued his feast, his moans of appreciation ringing in her ears. The more he ate at her, the wetter she got.
Then he stopped.
“If you want me to go on, invite me to taste more.” He nibbled at her thigh. “Tell me you want to come on my tongue.”
Morgan pressed her lips together to hold the words in. But everything between her legs ached, throbbed in time with her runaway heartbeat. Every molecule in her body strained toward what Jack wanted to give her. Why the hell was she resisting such amazing pleasure? A little tainted modesty and the risk of a bit of humiliation seemed like a small price to pay for such stunning sensations.
Even more, the hot, eager expression on his face slammed her with the need to give in. It wasn’t tender. He wasn’t interested in hearts and flowers. The wild intensity of his dark eyes in the morning’s golden light told her he wanted more. Wanted to possess her. On his face was his fierce desire to introduce her to every wanton sensation she’d ever pondered and force her to reserve her reactions exclusively for him.
The outrageous notion of belonging to him, of putting her body solely in his care and allowing him anything he wanted—they wanted—drove her past her limits.
As badly as a part of her mind pushed her to say no, everything else inside her yearned with exquisite pain to say yes.
“Taste me.” Every whispered syllable trembled. “Sir.”
Morgan knew she was taking a giant step that she couldn’t take back.
She was agreeing to commit sins that would haunt her. Jack was replacing her scruples with pure, white-hot need she could no longer deny. Tantalizing her with the idea of being his to command.
A violent whip of blistering victory stormed across his face. “And?”
“I . . . I want to . . .” She swallowed, panted, tried to find the courage and the air necessary to go on.
Jack circled a finger around the small opening of her sex, scooped up drops of her cream, and massaged it over her clit. Fire shot straight inside her and burst in her belly.
God, she couldn’t take more stimulation. Already on the razor’s edge of sanity, of losing control of her body, Morgan gasped. Need tightened in her core. Blood raced. Thoughts vanished.
Jack reduced her down to her primal animal element. She’d always fantasized about such a state but believed it to be impossible. Not so. Before her knelt a sexy man who should have been a stranger. But he saw every hidden, sinful wish inside her. He not only understood them, but he could grant them—and make her feel perfectly wonderful both inside and out while doing it.
“I want to come on your tongue,” she blurted.
“Perfect, cher.” He rewarded her by lapping off the drops of fresh cream from her clit. “Such a good girl, with such a sweet pussy. I’m going to give you what you want.”
Chapter Ten
Jack was all too happy to heed the call. Her trembling admission echoed in his head, spurring him to clutch her thighs, spread them even wider, and lick the glossy pink flesh in front of him.
God, she was like a drug. Every part of her had some new exotic scent or flavor. The crook of her neck smelled like ripe woman with a hint of raspberries. Her mouth soaked him with an addicting cinnamon sugar taste. But her pussy . . . Delicate, sweet, clean musk. Ah, she tasted like the want coursing inside her. Unique, enthralling. He could spend the morning here, lapping at her, and still be compelled to taste her again in an effort to figure out just what it was about her that so tempted his tongue.
Her ragged inhalation caught his attention. Morgan’s thighs tensed in his grasp. He smiled against her sex, then worked his tongue about her vulva, laving her clit every now and then. No steady pressure . . . just enough to take her higher and higher. Then, as he worked in one finger and teased her inner walls, she trembled.
Fresh cream poured from her. A flush rose on her skin as she threw her head back, legs trembling. Her sex swelled even more. Morgan dug her short nails into the aging wood of the railing and moaned.
Idly, Jack wondered how long he could keep her here, right on the edge, feeling the sharp, sweet ache of impending climax . . . without letting her fall over. The idea of reducing her to incoherent begging held appeal. Not because he’d never heard a woman beg. He had—frequently. But Morgan and her inbred good-girl modesty lit him up like a match to kerosene. And when he drove her past her inhibitions, she took both of them up in the flames. Even now, the thick erection pressed uncomfortably against his jeans, growling for the attention of the syrupy, sugary flesh under his tongue.