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Charlene TEGLIA - Dangerous Games(ellora)

Page 7

by Dangerous Games(ellora) (lit)


  “Come here. Or I’ll come in there and drag you out.”

  “By my hair?”

  What an idea that was. She’d never been dragged off by a man and she was tempted to disobey him just to get a chance to experience it once in her life. She was not the kind of woman who got dragged off by her hair before having all sorts of deliciously invasive things done to her person.

  Still, she had promised to do anything. She supposed that included being dislodged from her present comfortable position at his whim.

  Melinda stood up and let the water stream down her naked breasts in rivulets. Her hair lay wet and slick down her back. Standing flat-footed, the water level came up to her waist. Whimsical water lilies floated here and there throughout the pool. The inflated toy flowers had popped up on the water’s surface after the pool filled completely, to her surprised delight. Her movement now sent several of them bobbing off in different directions, rocked by the disturbance.

  Drake was standing by the edge of the pool. He extended one hand to her and waited. Sheer masculine arrogance. What a mistake it had been to not qualify her required obedience to only involve his sexual commands.

  Although in the mood he’d been in, she doubted he would have settled for any hedging on her part. He’d said he wanted to conquer her, own her. An all or nothing kind of ultimatum.

  Well, she was all his for the duration of the weekend, so she would have to deal with his arrogance.

  She walked towards him with steps made slow by the water’s resistance. The pool had a graduated curve so that as she got closer to the edge, the water level grew increasingly more shallow. She emerged bit by bit, hips rising up out of the water first, then her thatch of pubic hair, then her thighs. At ankle depth she extended her hand to place it in his and took the last step out.

  A wind from some unseen source came up and swirled around her. The water droplets dried on her skin. Melinda shook her hair loose from her back and lifted the length of it into the heated breeze, separating out strands to help it dry faster with one hand. The other Drake kept firmly in his grasp.

  The warm, drying air currents decreased slowly and grew still. Melinda decided that meant she was done, although her hair still felt damp. She tugged her hand against Drake’s. “I need to get the brush. My hair is full of knots.”

  He released her and she felt amazingly aware of his eyes on her as she walked to the hidden cabinet and collected the brush. She could nearly feel his gaze on her bare skin like the touch of some demon lover.

  Prompted by impulse, Melinda kept her back to him and bent over at the waist to let her hair fall forward. She brushed the tangles out in slow strokes. The conditioner had done its work, loosening the worst of the snarls.

  She placed her feet shoulder-width apart for balance and stretched to bend deeper. He could see her naked bottom fully displayed. He could see between her legs. He could see the soft, damp curls that covered her sex and maybe a hint of exposed pink flesh.

  She closed her own eyes and imagined the brush of his gaze following the line made by the valley dividing her buttocks downward, falling on that secret flesh. Looking.

  Why did the mere thought of him looking at her body seem so stimulating? Why did it excite her that he was fully dressed except for his bare feet and she was utterly nude? Why had his simple presence in the same room with her brought her from the verge of sleep to full erotic awareness?

  Her nakedness was not interesting when she was alone. It became very interesting when a fully dressed man was present, looking her over with heated sexual intent. The contrast presented possibilities. Was that it?

  Melinda gave up on attempting to understand her response to Drake. It probably hadn’t taken anything more than his pheromones drifting over to her to make her obsessed with sex in general and him in particular. His body chemistry was probably a biological weapon designed by Mother Nature to make any woman within a five-foot radius of him deranged with lust so his survivalist sperm could benefit the greatest possible percentage of the population.

  She started to straighten up and found the object of her obsession directly behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back.

  “Stay like that.”

  “Okay.”

  Hands closed over her ankles, slid all the way up the length of her legs, up her hips. Slight pressure exerted to lift her gradually into a standing position. His hands drew her back to rest against him as they trailed up her rib cage. The unhurried gliding caress lulled her. Then one arm closed hard around her waist, one hand twisted into her hair and yanked her head back to expose her throat to him and his mouth descended on hers with ferocious hunger.

  Fortunately, his arm held her up when her legs buckled. His lips stole her breath. His tongue plundered her lips. She melted, boneless, into the bolstering support of his body and didn’t care if she never drew a free breath again. The brush fell from her nerveless fingers and clattered, unnoticed, to the floor.

  She bit at his lower lip. She slipped her tongue over and under his. She did her best to devour him while he ate at her, nipping and sucking and licking.

  His mouth broke free of hers to burn a line of fire down the curve of her neck and she let her head roll back against his shoulder.

  He caught her earlobe between his teeth and scraped the delicate flesh. She shuddered.

  “I might have to let you put something on,” he growled against her skin. “Or I won’t be able to stay off you long enough to let you eat something.”

  “You were planning to keep me naked the whole time?” Melinda imagined sitting at a formal dining table across from him, completely nude. A chandelier overhead, formal place settings in front of her, him fully dressed and staring at her as if she were going to be his main course, or maybe his dessert, letting her simmer while the anticipation built and the waiting ate at her until she reached the breaking point.

  He would be able to see her bare breasts above the table and her nipples would be hard and erect from the visceral touch of his burning gaze.

  A tremor ran through her.

  “On the other hand,” he whispered, scraping his rough jaw across her exposed throat, “I can keep you just like this and let you take your chances.”

  She exhaled on a soft sigh and rubbed her cheek against him in a return caress. Dressed or undressed, it hardly mattered. She was definitely taking chances.

  He was a dangerous lover who offered one carnal risk after another, continually raising the stakes, drawing her in deeper to their private world as their game played on. He stirred hidden longings she’d never realized, let alone acknowledged, that she had. He breathed fire into her darkest dreams like the great beast that was his namesake. He made her burn with the force of the needs he awakened. And then he thoroughly satisfied them all.

  “For now—robe.”

  Melinda felt no surprise at all when an invisible closet door opened to reveal thick terry bathrobes hung neatly inside. Drake lifted her effortlessly and carried her over to it, selected one and draped it around her. He slid her arms into the sleeves as if she were a child incapable of dressing herself and tied the sash at her waist.

  “A compromise,” he murmured. “I can unwrap you the instant I want to without any zippers or buttons slowing things down. But if I don’t let you eat, you might faint on me before I’m finished with you.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” Melinda murmured, feeling faint at the very idea. If Drake was just getting started with her, what state would she be in when he was finished?

  She felt liquid and dreamy. All her joints and muscles had gone fluid from the day’s exertions and the lengthy soaking. The fantasy bathing pool in the impossible fern grotto had reinforced the sense of being in another world where different rules applied. The soothing sound of falling water had sustained the mood of utter relaxation she’d fallen into when she’d let go of everything and let herself fall into Drake’s sexual devastation.

  She had given herself over to him and it felt like t
he calm in the eye of a storm. Destruction was bound to happen, but there was a certain peace in surrendering to an elemental force.

  She was his. She’d chosen that and with it all of the consequences that would follow. Anything that got broken in the process didn’t matter. Her life was clearly full of things that were ready to be smashed and swept away, like her image of herself as dull and undesirable.

  Drake led her through the ivy-draped doorway and into the corridor. She went unresistingly, leaning into his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she should fit there perfectly.

  “Are we underground?” she asked, curious to see if her earlier impression had been accurate.

  “Yes. A large portion of the house is. It makes it easier to heat and cool.”

  “Did you design it yourself?”

  He slanted a look down at her. “Full of questions, aren’t you?”

  “Oh. Does the ‘no questions’ rule apply to everything? I thought it was just in the context of questioning your orders.”

  “I prefer to ask the questions.”

  “Why? You don’t need to. You just spy out anything you want to know,” Melinda pointed out, but without any rancor. “I can’t believe you investigated my love life.”

  Drake snorted. “It didn’t take long.”

  Well, that was undoubtedly the truth. It had probably taken him all of five minutes. Her history prior to him was short and dull and predictable. Two college relationships that resulted in nice, polite sexual experimentation. The results were unsatisfying. And then she’d been busy with other concerns.

  “Mmm,” she murmured. No need to think about that now. She didn’t want to think about the past or the future or anything outside of this protected bubble in time they occupied together. “What’s for dinner? You aren’t expecting me to cook, are you?”

  “No. You got a D in Home Economics and your brother does all the cooking.”

  Melinda gave a mock sigh. “If only this power were used for good.”

  They emerged into the great room again and wound their way around to a dining room. He seated her in a tall, carved chair as formally as if she was wearing an evening dress instead of a bathrobe, then took a seat across from her. A gleaming expanse of satiny wood lay between them. Along with a cardboard pizza delivery box.

  She giggled at the sight of it. “And here I was wondering if a robot maitre d’ was going to bring out dinner. How’d you get them to deliver way out here?”

  “I tip well.”

  The pizza smelled unbelievably enticing. She was hungrier than she’d realized.

  There were plates sitting next to the box. Figuring it was probably up to the slave to serve, Melinda flipped the box open and snagged a hot slice for each plate. She slid one in front of him and then wasted no time in picking up her slice to bite into it. Hot cheese, tangy sauce, and every topping under the sun.

  They ate in silence. To her surprise, it was a companionable, comfortable silence. She’d expected to feel some awkwardness. Then again, the things that tended to make for tension between men and women the first time they shared a meal were sort of taken care of between the two of them already. Drake already knew he was going to get lucky, and she already knew what it was like to be naked in front of him.

  And she knew what it was like to be naked under him.

  Melinda ate another slice quickly.

  The robe wasn’t going to put him off for long, and she was going to need the energy.

  Chapter Six

  “Do you want another piece?” she asked. His plate was empty.

  “Yes. But not pizza.”

  Her face burned as she caught his meaning. Another piece of her. Then the rest of her burned with anticipation.

  He pushed their plates and the box away and patted the center of the table. “Come up here.”

  She swallowed. “On the table?”

  She couldn’t. She was paralyzed.

  “I’m sort of stuck,” she croaked from a mouth gone dry.

  “Get unstuck.”

  He wasn’t going to help her. After a minute, she regained command of her spaghetti legs enough to stand with the support of the table. From there, all she had to do was crawl.

  Feeling far from graceful, she managed to slither onto the tabletop to perch facing him.

  “Closer.”

  His eyes were predatory and fixed on her in a way that made her want to scoot in the opposite direction. But she slid closer to him instead.

  “Closer.”

  She licked dry lips. “Um, how, exactly? I mean, sitting, or…” her voice trailed off.

  “Sitting. Very close. I want your sweet little ass on the edge of the table in front of me and your legs on either side of me.”

  She swallowed hard. Using the palms of her hands, she pushed herself closer and had to spread her legs wide apart to get them where he wanted them.

  He took hold of the tie belt and used it to tug her even closer, until she thought she’d slide off the edge and land on his lap. “Right there.”

  Drake let go of her and sat back. “Now untie the belt for me.”

  The belt was loosely knotted. Her hands were shaking, but she managed it without too much trouble.

  “Spread the robe open, and let it fall off your shoulders.”

  That was easier. The robe slid down her arms, leaving her hands trapped in the fabric and all the rest of her defenseless against his devouring eyes.

  “Lay back.”

  Oh, God. What was he going to do to her now? Melinda closed her eyes and laid back, cushioned by the thick robe. The suspense was agony, and she was sure he knew it.

  “Beautiful. And so obedient.” A finger traced a lazy pattern through her nether curls. “Who does this belong to?”

  “You,” she whispered.

  “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “You,” she said again, this time on a hoarse thread of sound.

  He teased her pubic curls with his fingers, swirled around her sensitive nub, stroked and petted her sex. He didn’t touch her anywhere else.

  Her nipples tingled, then throbbed with the need for him to touch her there. Still he kept his attentions focused only on one part of her.

  She ached for him to touch her. For him to fasten his mouth on her breasts and feast on them, run his hands over them, let her hungry skin feel him everywhere.

  She wanted his body pressing hard against hers and the wiry rasp of his chest hairs on her bare skin. She wanted the pressure of his weight on her.

  She wanted.

  “You look delicious.”

  That was her only warning before hard hands slid under her bottom and lifted her while his mouth lowered onto her.

  “Oh, God.” She fisted her hands in the robe and fought to keep still.

  He licked at her. He nibbled. He sucked. He swirled his tongue into hidden folds and over the highly sensitive swollen nub that throbbed in response and then he licked inside her sheath to taste her deeply.

  She trembled in reaction and rolled her head from side to side. She wanted to move. She wanted to get away from his mouth before he killed her with it. She wanted to fist her hands in his hair and bury his face deeper into her core.

  “You’re fighting me.” Drake growled the words at her and savaged her with a biting, sucking kiss. “Quit fighting and come for me.”

  “I can’t,” she gasped out.

  “You can. You will.”

  He closed his mouth hard on her and thrust two fingers into her simultaneously, then twisted them inside her. She screamed. His tongue flicked over her clitoris while he suckled at her and moved his fingers in a knowing rhythm. She broke and shattered and convulsed against his hand and his mouth and he lapped her up with his tongue while she shuddered endlessly.

  She was still quaking with aftershocks when he stood, unzipped his jeans, pushed them open far enough to free his erection and drove it straight into her. The table put her open pelvis at the perfect he
ight for him. He gripped her thighs with both hands and forced them impossibly wide apart so she could take him impossibly deep.

  It was too much. Her second climax hit hard and fast. He kept driving into her in a steady rhythm, riding her down when she bucked and twisted and fought under him.

  Reality narrowed down to nothing but the hard, relentless length of him stroking into her. No other part of him touched her except his hands on her thighs, keeping them wide open. She ached. She burned. She moaned and twisted and sobbed, but she had no choice to but to stay right where she was, taking his rhythmic thrusting that was too slow to give her the release a faster pace would give her, and just slightly too fast to keep the pressure deep enough to bring her. It was a rhythm perfectly timed to keep her on the edge of orgasm without allowing her relief.

 

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