The room also contained a few built-in drawers and a small wardrobe. He could emerge from an eight-hour flight and be ready for business.
He closed and locked the door.
Alone in his domain, only centimetres separating them, inhaling the scent of his power, his gaze intent, she was no longer as brave as she had been.
“Take off your T-shirt.”
“I will not.”
“Remove it, Sinead, else I’ll rip it from your body.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Try me,
a rún
.” He reached for her.
She knew he would. No matter what threat, what promise he’d made, he followed through. “Wait!”
“You’ll strip for me?”
“This is under duress.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Is it really?” He traced a finger across her jawbone, then down her cheek, then down the side of her neck. He paused at the hollow.
He continued to hold her gaze captive.
He moved his finger lower, between her breasts.
Slowly, methodically, he placed his palms beneath her breasts and cupped their weight. Even though she wore a bra, she felt the heat of his touch. Through the fabric, he teased her nipples to arousal.
Her breaths became shortened as he squeezed her breasts and her nipples.
“More,” she whispered.
He complied
Her knees weakened. “Yes.”
He placed a thigh between her legs and leaned closer to her. She tipped her head to one side and her hair fell over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck to him.
He kissed her gently, then sucked slightly. She knew it might leave a small mark, but she was beyond caring.
When she was almost there, he murmured, “Under duress, Sinead?”
“Say what you will, Quinn, but leave your leg where it is!”
He chuckled and the sound slid down her spine in an erotic rush. he grabbed him by the buttocks and humped his leg.
“Yes,” he encouraged then continued to lick and suck and gently bite the tender part of her shoulder.
The intensity built again and he mercilessly yanked on her nipples.
She screamed out her orgasm.
He released her breasts and, like a gentleman, he held her while she regained her footing. It wasn’t easy with the floor vibrating beneath her and her emotions on heightened alert.
”You came without permission.”
Through an almost drugged-feeling haze, she looked up at him. “You’re on about that again?”
His jaw was set. His eyes were blazing with heat. “Most certainly. Rules are rules, Sinead.”
Despite the fact her body still reverberated with the after-effects of such a powerful climax, his words aroused her.
He continued to hold her about the shoulders. “Now that we’ve established that this isn’t under duress, that you desire my body if only to hump it and get off, I’ll see you naked. Five seconds to get that T-shirt off.”
He slowly released his grip and took a step back, as if to better enjoy the show. Her fingers shook as she grabbed hold of the fabric and pulled it up. She might have protested that this was under duress, but suddenly, she did want to see him naked. And if his penis were as spectacular as the rest of him, she wanted that inside her.
Of course, she warned herself, she might be disappointed.
After all, he was as rich as Hades and still single.
“You’ve got a frown all of a sudden. What are you thinking?”
“Just wondering if your dick is as big as your ego.” She decided to be honest. “Or if you’re just going to disappoint me.”
“Woman, you’ll be the death of me.”
One could hope.
“You are good with your fingers. Thank God.”
“You’ll get spanked for your cheekiness,” he warned. “Three seconds on the T-shirt, love.”
She pulled it up and over her head before letting it fall onto the edge of the bed.
“Now the bra.”
“Is this a strip show for your personal enjoyment?”
“It is.”
A shiver chased from her toes to her shoulders.
She reached behind her and discarded the bra.
“You’ll not hide your breasts from me anymore. I like looking at your tits far too much.”
She knew the word was meant to shock, and it did. But it didn’t offend her. With other men, immature imbeciles, she’d rolled her eyes and made comments about their maturity. But Quinn was different. He meant no schoolboy offence. It was more a masculine reaction of appreciation.
“Your nipples are still swollen.”
From his touch.
“Now your jeans and thong. I’ll have you completely naked.”
Silently she nodded.
She kicked off her sandals. They went under the bed. She unbuttoned the waistband of her jeans and slid the zip down. The jeans, in order to fit her waist properly, were a bit snug around the hips, and she wiggled the material down her legs. She snagged the denim from the floor and tossed it across the edge of the bed with her T-shirt.
She didn’t wait for him to coach her to remove the thong. She simply obeyed his wordless command. She hooked it on her finger. He nodded for her to place it with the rest of her discarded clothing.
“More’s the pity it’s not medieval times and I can’t keep you nude in my rooms. I’m beginning to see why my ancestor thought to marry yours.”
“The centuries have passed, but not your ways.”
“Apparently,” he agreed easily. “This spanking will be different. You’ll be near the edge of the bed on all fours to start then you’ll put your head and breasts on the mattress. You’ll keep your knees apart so I can slap your cunt if you can’t behave and stay in position.”
The world seemed to go black.
“Now take my cock out of my pants.”
She gaped.
She shocked herself by obeying.
She reached for his belt and unfastened it.
“One day you’ll ask me to whip you with that.”
She momentarily stilled. The scent of the leather, the suppleness of it, took on new meaning.
She considered a smart retort then chose to ignore him. Verbal sparring only seemed to arouse him more.
Even behind the fabric of his khaki slacks, she could feel his turgid arousal.
She lowered his zip then pulled down his pants. He’d obviously donned a pair of boxers when he’d dressed. The front was tented, gaping. And there was no doubt about the size of his cock. The man was perfectly proportionate in every way. Though she wouldn’t tell him, she wanted him inside her stretching her out.
He toed off his shoes. She tried not to think of the implications, but she squatted so she could pull off his socks. Surely she wasn’t going soft for the man?
She stood, and the only thing between them were the boxers.
Her pussy was moist. Her brain might’ve screamed one thing, but her womanly parts reacted to his very masculine body. It was a primal, primitive response, one nature had programmed for the success of the species. Giving herself that biology lesson didn’t help. Pheromones and knowing he could protect her and defend her honour didn’t make her visceral reaction any less irritating.
She put her hand inside his boxers and held his thickness—and God help her, he
was
thick—so that the elastic waistband didn’t get caught on his cockhead.
She lowered herself to her knees as she drew his boxers off.
He buried his hands in her hair.
She looked at the size of him.
Dear God, he was magnificent. His ball sac hung heavy. She was unable to resist the impulse of cupping him the way he’d cradled her breasts.
His jutting cock was long and full, and a drop of pre-ejaculate glistened on the top. She’d never fit all of him in her mouth, and she had doubts about her pussy, too, even though that part of her throbbed in mischievous anticipation.
She licked that first drop from his slit.
“Damn,” he said.
Revelling in her feminine power, she opened her mouth to accept his cockhead. She placed her tongue on the underside of him and sucked.
He groaned and moved his hips. She curled a hand around his girth so she could control the power of his thrusts. Slowly, oh so slowly, she took more of him.
“You’ll be the death of me.”
With his hand in her hair and her hand around him, they found a rhythm.
As she pleasured him, she felt her pussy grow moist.
She’d enjoyed giving head before, but never like this. She’d never been so attuned with her partner’s responses.
His cock seemed to pulse, and she wondered if she’d got him to climax this quickly.
“You’ll take every drop?” he asked.
She mumbled her assent. The words had been a question, more than a demand. And she knew he still had the wherewithal to pull back and stop if she needed him to.
“You’re fecking hot,
a rún
.”
Then he ceased speaking. The only sounds were the drone from the jet’s engines and her working him.
He groaned again, a longer, more sustained sound.
His cock thickened again and his hips jerked forward. He held the back of her skull in place and thrust deeply into her mouth as his seed spilled. She continued to drink from him as his hips jerked and he shuddered.
She remained on her knees as his cock became flaccid.
He slowly relaxed his grip on her head and when he finally let go she sank back on her heels. She looked up and saw his gaze was fixed on her.
His face wasn’t soft as she expected, replete from a killer orgasm. Instead, he appeared possessive. He reached out and caught a handful of her hair in a caveman-like way. His woman. He might not have spoken the words aloud, but every part of him silently screamed his possession.
Giving him the slip in downtown Denver had been difficult, but if she thought she’d get away from him again without a fight, she realised she’d been mistaken. Jaysus, God, what the hell was she going to do?
“I’ll last longer now when I fuck you.”
That hadn’t been all he had? Men in her experience didn’t recover that quickly. Not that it had happened dozens of times, but when she gave a blowjob, she usually had a couple of hours to herself, either to sleep next to the lazy slug or go compose some music, and sometimes both.
He kept his hand in her hair as he said, “It’s no secret, Sinead, that I’m a bit kinky.”
“A bit? That’s an understatement. Barmy if you ask me.”
“And you’ll deny you haven’t liked it so far?”
“Trying to appease you, oh lord and master.”
“And you’ll deny the fact you want to be spanked?”
“I’m not a naughty schoolgirl.”
“Maybe not a schoolgirl,” he allowed, “but naughty for sure. Kneel up,” he snapped.
His tone had changed, brooking no disagreement. Her insides tightened in arousal.
“Off your heels.”
He kept his hand in her hair and guided her where he wanted her. She knew she could—should—protest, but she didn’t.
“Spread your knees farther apart.”
That was easier said than done in the tight space. She was somewhat surprised that she followed his orders so completely. But there was something compelling in his voice. And, honestly, she was curious. No man had ever taken her this far. As much as she fought him, she was enjoying him pushing her limits.
“Hands behind your neck,” he told her.
She followed his direction.
He nodded.
“Now arch your back and stick out your chest a bit, as if you’re offering your breasts to me.”
She did as he instructed. Unbelievably she noticed his cock was getting hard again.
“I want you to remember this position,” he said. “When I tell you to be in the kneel-up position, this is what I require. Understand?”
She nodded.
“Tell me. Explain it to me.”
She licked her lower lip. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “Kneel up means I’m on my knees, my legs spread far apart. Hands behind my head, back arched so my chest sticks out.”
“Unless otherwise instructed, keep your gaze downcast.”
She immediately looked at the ground.
“Lovely.”
She almost, almost glanced up at him.
“If I tell you to kneel back, I want your buttocks resting on your heels like you were earlier. I always want your legs far apart. When you’re kneeling back, shoulders rolled forward a bit. It’s how I allow you to relax a bit. But that doesn’t mean you can be careless. I want you to always remember that if you’re kneeling, we’re in a scene.”
“A scene?”
“You know what BDSM is.”
She swallowed deeply.
“Look up at me.”
She did. “Yes. In a general way. But I’ve never experienced it.”
His arms were folded across his chest. His legs were spread shoulder-width apart. He looked powerful, large and in charge.