Bound to Surrender (South Jersey Bound Series) (3 page)

“Well Mr. Walker.” She sighed, hoisting herself onto one elbow to mirror his position. “It’s about time we saw it through, don’t you think?”

Her blouse gaped and his gaze rested like a warm palm on her breasts.

“First, your wish.”
His voice’s cragged edge dried her throat.

She groped through lust and alcohol’s haze, seeking some way to articulate. “I wish for a man—”

“That much I took for granted,” he interrupted, smirking.

She arched a brow. “You shouldn’t take that particular wish for granted,” she said, hoping he’d miss her slight slur. “I spent my first year of college at an exclusive women’s university and I hung with a
very
curious crowd.”

“Ha,” he laughed, though the muscles beneath his shirt tensed. “Of course you did. My apologies, Ms. Welch, I hadn’t realized the breadth of your, ah, experience.”

He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she had the distinct feeling she was being mocked. She shifted onto her knees and leaned toward him. His scent fogged her mind: clean and ready male.

Instinct asked
,
do you really want to bait this man
? She inhaled, drawing breath to the bottom of her lungs.

Yes. Oh God, yes.

“Interrupting is discourteous, Mr. Walker. As I was saying, I wish for a man...”

She paused. With her gaze, she raked him toe to head before resting with an air of disappointment on his amber-green eyes.

“Oh,” she sighed as if deeply disappointed, “never mind. What I wish for doesn’t exist.”

His pupils dilated. His clear, piercing look cut to the core of her erotic need—to be taken—not just screwed, but taken.

She froze. Perhaps teasing him did not number among the day’s good ideas.

“Finish, Ms. Welch,” he said, soft and low. “What kind of man do you wish for? Tell me the fantasies that keep you up at night.”

He leaned so close his breath tickled the thin skin of her neck. She sucked in. Everything about Bryce emanated lustful intensity.

Wine made her bold and, now more than ever, she craved his cock. She looked him straight in his eye, though the act sucked every ounce of her courage.

“I want a man who will fuck me hard, fuck me until I’m screaming in his pillow. I want a man who will devour me, claim me, whose touch will make everything else go dark but him.”

Bryce’s breath hitched. In an instant, his hot, dry hand grasped her chin.

“Are you sure about that, Ms. Welch?” he drawled.

An affirmative answer would unleash something dark and dangerous. Her nipples, already aching, strained against the confining lace of her bra.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Let’s just see, then.”

Bryce straddled her and forced her back against the couch’s base, crushing her breasts against his muscle. He clamped his legs around her thighs like he had a primal right. On instinct and alarm, she twisted in his clutch, and the tender part of her abdomen rubbed against a stiffness that had to be his cock.

Good God.

“How hard do you want to be fucked?” he asked, flipping her arms above her head and clasping both of her wrists in a firm grip. He stretched her arms higher and a shiver of pain trailed down her shoulder.

She arched her back and parted her lips. “Harder than this,” she gasped, challenging.

He kept her stretched full until her fingertips tingled. His mouth, however, was as gentle as satin against her skin.

His lips brushed and teased while his body kept her frozen in a pleasure-pain kiss she hoped would never finish. The ache in her arms pitted against his kiss’ smooth caress. She opened her mouth, deepening their connection.

Heat filled her cheeks, lust pooled in her belly. She groaned—half mew, half moan, and
all
pleading. His lips thinned and turned up as he smiled, but his look of pleasure disappeared in an instant.

He ground down, capturing her next breath in a long, probing attack. She lost feeling in her hands, but they twitched with the urge to entwine themselves in his hair. In response, he yanked her arms further above her head, pulling away to survey her tremble with a lazy, self-satisfied smile.

He gave her exactly what she wanted, but anger sloshed into the swampy mess of her desire. She wanted to fuck his little grin right off his face.

“Most men,” she panted, “are too damn afraid.”

“Is that so?”

He ran a knuckle down her arm’s sensitive inner skin and continued down the side of her breast, stopping just below her aching nipple.
Rub it...please, please, please
. Shit, she wished she was naked. She shivered.

“From my perspective,” he drawled, “I’m not the one looking afraid.” He swirled the tip of his tongue around her earlobe. “I don’t give a fuck about most men. So tell me, specifically, what you think makes
me
afraid.”

He nipped at her earlobe as he waited for her to answer. She blinked. Her mind floundered for a sensible thought. Trapped by his thighs with his hot breath tickling her neck and his tongue suckling her earlobe, she couldn’t think at all.

He released her hands. Warm friction from the carpet penetrated her blouse as he pulled her flat against the floor. He eased his full weight over her body.

She took a deep and shuddering breath. This time she was sure the hard length pressing into her belly was his cock. He pulsed thick and ready with a size promising to be memorable. She moaned, spreading her legs.

“If you cannot give an answer, Ms. Welch, you shouldn’t have raised your hand.”

His dark rumble made her vibrate.
Something must make him fear
. She looked into his eyes.

“Clearly, Mr. Walker,” she panted. “You are afraid of surrender.”

He blinked as if she’d surprised him with her reply. A jolt of mischief shot through her stomach. She bent her knees and planted her feet. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she bucked her hips in a sideways arc, administering a trick she’d learned in self-defense class.

His own weight threw him to her side and, before he could react, she straddled him and pinned his arms with her knees. She dangled her tits just above his lips.

“You’re afraid of surrender,” she repeated, with a wicked, teasing smile.

His laughter rumbled against her thighs. His eyes twinkled and he made no move to fight.

“Perhaps you’ve found me out.”

Why then, did she still feel like he was the one in control?

“God you’re a hot little librarian.” He smiled, but spoke to her lips rather than her eyes. “Your semantics lack clarity, though. Am I afraid of your surrender, or mine?”

He rocked his hips forward, pantomiming sex. Contact sent a quiver through her arms, weakening her hold.

“Your surrender,” she said.

With a quick twist of his arms he tripped her balance and lifted her off his body.

“When I’m done―” He paused for a devilishly soft, breathy nibble on her neck. “―you won’t know or care about the difference.”

Her back rubbed against the carpet as he crawled astride her thighs like a lion claiming prey. He lowered his lips, picking up their kiss exactly where he’d left off. The harder he ground, the more her greed blotted out thought. Feverish and giddy, she was glad to be pinned underneath him once again.

“You said I didn’t look like a vanilla man, remember?”

Their eyes met.

“Yes,” she choked.

“I should warn you...I’m not.”

His words resonated deep in her stomach; her cunny muscles clenched. He thrust one hand underneath her crumpled skirt and ran his thumb over her crotch.

“Your panties are damp, Ms Welch.”

He yanked them down and left them tight around her thighs. He stuck a finger in her pussy. She mewed—an involuntary, plaintive noise.

“Filthy little sound.”
He grinned. “Make it again.”

He stroked her clit, coaxing the illusive tendrils of orgasm to coalesce. She approached her release but he pulled away. She cried out in surprise and need.

He laughed and went to work on her blouse’s buttons.

“Not fair, I was almost—

“I know you were
almost
,” he interrupted. “You will come
only
when I want you to come.
How
I want you to come.
Where
I want you to come.” His eyes blazed with depravity and dominance. “We have all afternoon.”

One by one, he freed each button, moving with languid confidence. The silk fell open. Though he still straddled her legs, he lifted her until she was seated upright. As he slid his calloused fingertips over her hot flesh, excited shivers skipped up her spine.

His hands gave commands and she responded. He grazed her belly with his thumb. She shifted and he un-tucked her shirt. He ran his finger up her breasts’ outer curve. She opened her arms and he removed her blouse. He brushed his knuckle on her upper arm. She lifted her hands and he drew her cami over her head.

The rush of an air-conditioned breeze surprised as he slipped her bra straps from her shoulders. He leaned back and devoured her with his eyes. How had he rendered her half-naked without truly breaking their kiss?

She tugged at his shirt.

“Oh no you don’t,”
he said, shaking his head.

His hands circled her wrists and he twisted her arms behind her back.

“Patience, Christina,” he said against her lips.

What did he want? To have her naked while he remained fully clothed? Helplessly, she jerked against his iron grip. With her face forced against his flexed pec, she inhaled the scent of her own arousal mixed with the scent of his sweat.

“Bryce,” she panted. “I need—”

“Shh, pet,” he murmured. “You’ll get your fucking, I swear.”

Christina’s blush seeped through her thighs and spread to her stomach, her breasts, her cheeks—full body mortification. She creamed. She hadn’t been this turned on since...since…

Fuck-all, she’d never been this turned on.

Her senses shimmered, her arm hair bristled. If he ordered her spread-eagle so he could deep-stroke her and withdraw, leaving her teetering on the edge until midnight, she would have obeyed without question. Whatever he’d give, she’d take. Her willing, submissive craving scared the shit out of her. She’d been aiming for his surrender, hadn’t she?

His heartbeat thudded fast and relentless in her ear, betraying the intensity of his own emotion, despite his leisurely pace.

Suddenly, his aim became crystal clear.

Stretching her arms until they ached...taking her to the edge, then drawing her back...remaining clothed while he rendered her naked—they were mere shadows of where they were going.

Not a vanilla man.

She squeezed breath from her lungs with a slow, dragging exhalation. This time, did she flush from embarrassment or desire? Did it matter? She knew what she wanted, and she might never again have the chance to explore with a man she at least moderately trusted. She inhaled, this time focusing on Bryce’s spicy male essence and savoring the heat of his body. Truth was
, she trusted him not just moderately, but completely.

“You want me to surrender,” she said against his chest.

“I want to devour. I want to claim.
You
wished. Now,
I
command.” He caressed the back of her neck. “Unless you don’t really want to be fucked until you scream.”

He loosened his grip on her wrist, though he kept her pinned. She could have broken free, but she lacked the desire to try. The only thing she craved was him.

He drew small circles on her back with his knuckles. Stretched taut against his muscles, every sensation made her shiver.

She focused on the reassuring pace of his breath, the radiant calm of his heated skin. Her embarrassment faded with each stroke.

“I’ll surrender, Mr. Walker,” she replied when her breath returned to normal. “If you make me.”

He frowned. “Mr. Walker is what my students call me,” he said, evading her taunt. “You will call me...”

For a moment, she hoped he would say something primitive and naughty like master, and she was afraid of melting into a pool of her own wetness.

Instead, he simply said, “Bryce.”

His eyes were dark. They were really going to do this...going to a place she’d fantasized about, but never dared speak of.

“Surrender is given, never taken,” he said, enunciating each word, and a wrinkle furrowed his forehead. “Are you sure this is a game you’re willing to play?” His breath filled his body. “If so, for tonight, you will do as I say.” He drew her fingers to his lips like a Victorian gentleman and kissed the tips of her fingers. “And only as I say.”

He was crazy. With rivers of anticipation running all over her skin, she didn’t really care.

She nodded yes.

“You will answer when I ask a question.” His voice was lower, commanding, assured. He bent to her ear and added, gently, “I love the lilt of your voice.”