By His Desire (4 page)

He rolled the hard peaks back and forth with gentle pressure, and she felt it everywhere. He’d done something to her body—opened up a channel of sensation from her nipples to her—

Then he pinched her, hard, and the pleasure was so intense she cried out.

“Did you say something?” he asked softly.

“Stop, you have to stop,” she said, even as the words turned into a moan.

Instead he pinched her again, not releasing her this time but holding her nipples tight even as he pressed a soft kiss against her throat.

He trailed his lips up her neck to her jaw line, and back down to her collarbones. On the way he touched his tongue to her skin in silken whispers.

And all the while he held her nipples in a hard, rough grip.

She was breathing in short little gasps, and she’d begun to twist underneath Keith’s hands. She was feeling too much—too much pleasure and pain and everything in between, and in her core an aching blaze of want.

Keith withdrew his hands and his mouth, and Sarah’s body quivered from the sudden loss.

And then he trailed one finger over the heart of her. “Your skin is so soft. Are you soft here, too?”

Oh, God. Would he be able to tell how wet he’d made her?

He touched her again, tracing the folds of her body through the layers of her pajamas and panties, and she jerked away in a mingled rush of desire and mortification.

In the next instant he was holding her down, his hands like iron on her hips.

“You can’t hide from me,” he said in a low voice, and then he was tugging her pajamas and panties down her legs.

Goose bumps covered her bare legs and she actually fought against him, twisting onto her side and bending her knees against her chest. “Don’t,” she panted. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m going to see every inch of you.”

He grabbed her lower legs, and then she felt the touch of velvet as he slipped the same cuffs around her ankles that he had used on her wrists.

Her legs were forced wide open, spread eagled in a V that exposed everything. Everything. All she could think was
my pussy, my pussy, my pussy
…a word she used in her internal monologues about sex, when she fantasized in her own bed at night—but had never used in conversation and tried not even to think when she was around other people.

But now it was all she could think about, because it was…
there
. On display. And as she lay still with no idea of where Keith was, since he wasn’t touching her at the moment, she could only imagine that he was looking at her.

Looking at her pussy.

And as she imagined that, she became so painfully aware of how wet she was that hot color flooded her cheeks.

He still wasn’t touching her. How did she look to him? What was he thinking?

The women he was usually with probably did the whole Brazilian wax thing. She went for regular bikini waxes, not because she expected a man to be spending any time down there but because swimming was her exercise and spent three days a week in a bathing suit, even in the winter. So she was neat and trimmed but not…exotic.

He still wasn’t touching her. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She was so much less sophisticated than the women he was used to. She’d been around women like that all her life, even if she’d been too crippled by her social anxiety disorder to be one of those women herself, and she’d always felt rough and unfinished next to their polished perfection.

She felt that way now. Rough and unfinished and exposed—literally.

And then, finally, Keith said something.

“Why, Sarah. I’m shocked.”

His voice was low and husky, and the sound shivered along her nerve endings.

“You kept saying no, and all that time you were wet for me.”

He trailed his finger over her again, but this time there was nothing between his skin and hers.

And then the most mortifying thing of all happened. His touch felt so good that she opened for him. The folds of her body parted with a little rush of honeyed moisture, and Keith’s hand went still.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Every inch of her skin seemed to burn. She tried to squirm away from him, but he gripped her hip with one hand and covered her pussy with the other. “I don’t think so,” he said with a low chuckle. His big palm pressed against her, and when she squirmed again he pressed harder. And then, suddenly, she found herself digging her heels into the bed so she could bring her body closer to that insistent warmth.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, and she felt his body settling between her legs. “I’m going to taste you now, Sarah.”

She froze. “Keith—no.” It was the first time she’d used his name tonight. “I’ve never done that. I don’t want to do that.”

He used his hands to frame her, his index fingers on either side of her mound and his thumbs stroking softly over her tender skin.

“I’m going to do whatever I want to you. For as long as I want.”

His thumbs pressed into her flesh as he parted her, and then his tongue stroked her inner folds in a slow, erotic slide.

Her body jerked as though she’d been shocked.

“Stay still,” he ordered her.

“I...I can’t.”

One of his hands slid underneath her, and her whole body tensed when she felt the tip of his finger at her anus.

“Which would you rather have? My finger in your ass or my tongue on your pussy?”

Shit. “Your tongue!” she gasped.

“Where?”

She swallowed. “On...on my pussy.”

His finger brushed lightly over her anus. “If you fight me, I’ll fuck you here—with my finger if you’re lucky and my cock if you’re not. So I’d suggest staying very still while I eat you out.”

Her heart thumped in heavy beats against her ribs. Keith put his hands on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and caressed her softly from hip to knee, over and over, until the seductive gentleness of his touch became almost hypnotic.

No matter what happened, she would stay still. She could handle anything if it meant not having Keith’s finger—or any other part of him—in her ass.

“Good girl,” he said softly, and then his hands gripped her hips and his tongue was on her again.

Her cuffed hands fisted as she took a long, shuddering breath.

She’d fantasized about oral sex, of course. She’d fantasized about a lot of things she didn’t do in real life. But her imagination hadn’t prepared her for this.

His tongue was so soft. Like wet velvet. He was in no hurry at all, just licking her slowly and thoroughly until a low buzz of pleasure sparked deep in her bones.

She’d never experienced anything so...decadent. But how could this be enjoyable for him? Wasn’t he tired of it yet? The longer it went on the more helpless and turned on she felt, and the more she wanted...
more
.

“Please,” she heard herself say.

Immediately he stopped. “Please, what?”

She shifted restlessly, pissed at herself for saying something out loud and making him stop. “Please keep going.”

“Exactly like I was? Or do you need something different? Something...”

He pressed his thumb against her clit, and it was so exactly what her body had craved that she moaned.

“Something here?” he finished.

“Yes, oh yes...”

Her embarrassment had disappeared, along with her inhibitions, and she pushed her hips off the bed and into his touch.

“That’s it,” he said softly, and then he was on her again, fastening his mouth on her clit and tonguing her, sucking her, his sudden urgency like a match to tinder. The sensations built so fast that she cried out, her wrists and ankles straining against the handcuffs as her orgasm swept over her like a tidal wave.

Her whole body quivered as she came down from the most intense climax she’d ever experienced. Her heart thundered in her chest and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

After a while she realized that Keith was kissing his way up her body, soft and slow. The sensation heightened the aftershocks rippling through her, and if she hadn’t been chained up she might have floated right off the bed.

“Keith,” she said, the word coming out like a sigh.

He kissed her on the mouth, quick and hard and possessive.

Her nerves were still tingling. What would happen now? She was in a frame of mind to submit to anything he asked of her.

The truth was, she was eager. Which was why his next words were such a bucket of cold water.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he said, and then he was undoing the cuffs at her wrists and ankles.

When her limbs were free he helped her to a sitting position. He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her again, softer this time. His upper body was bare but he was wearing bottoms—sweats or pajamas or something like that.

He hadn’t even taken all his clothes off.

She felt disoriented and bewildered. “But…that can’t be all. You didn’t...I mean...nothing happened for you.”

He chuckled. “I enjoyed myself thoroughly, Sarah. And I have you for a whole week. That means I can take my time.”

He said that, but if he really wanted her he would have taken her. She’d been ready, willing, and chained up, for God’s sake.

Her post-orgasmic bliss was fading, replaced by the much more familiar taste of anxiety.

“Keep the blindfold on until you hear the door close. Then you can take it off.” He kissed her again, and then she felt him get off the bed. “Have a good day tomorrow, Sarah. You’ll get another letter at dinner with your instructions. I’ll see you at nine o’clock tomorrow night.”

She heard his footsteps, and then the door closing.

After a minute she took the blindfold off and laid it down on the bed beside her. Then she stared at the closed door and tried not to feel bereft.

Why had he left like that?

The most obvious answer was also the most depressing. Because the simplest explanation was that he didn’t want her. Not really. Not in that overpowering, I-must-have-you -or-I’ll-die way.

The way that she wanted him.

She threw herself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

This was high school all over again. She wanted him, and he didn’t want her. Only now that feeling was brutally heightened, because he’d brought her to such a state of ecstasy before walking away.

She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. Now that she’d come down from that unbelievable high, she felt tired. She should get some sleep, and maybe things would look different in the morning.

She started to reach for her pajamas, and then stopped. She wanted to sleep naked tonight. Keith might have confused her by leaving when he did, but her body still retained the imprint of his touch and she wanted to savor that.

The lights were off but the candle was still burning. Now she leaned over and blew it out, settling back into the darkness and the softness of her bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin and cocooning herself into them.

The silk sheets felt wonderful against her bare skin.

Chapter Three

A gentle knock at the door woke her up.

“Miss Harper?”

Sarah blinked and sat up, remembering when the blankets dropped to her waist that she was naked. She pulled everything up to her chin again.

“Yes?” she called out, uncertainly.

The door opened and the housekeeper she’d met yesterday stuck her head in the room. “It’s just me,” she said with a smile. “I just wanted to find out if you need anything, and if you’re ready for breakfast.”

Sarah glanced around the room, but didn’t see a clock. “What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“It is? Wow. I never sleep that late. Um…breakfast. Yes. That sounds great.”

“Would you like me to bring you a tray up here, or—”

“Oh, no, I’ll come down,” Sarah said quickly. She didn’t want Nancy to think she was some kind of lady of leisure who had breakfast in bed every morning. “I’ll, um, be down in half an hour.”

“I’ll let Paul know.”

Paul was the chef, she remembered. “Okay. Great.”

After Nancy closed the door again she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

It should have been a perfect day. Breakfast was delicious—crepes with ligonberries, sausage sautéed with mushrooms, and the best latte she’d ever tasted, with Paul pouring espresso and hot milk from two separate containers into her cup, so they flowed together in one perfectly foamy stream. After breakfast, she brought her laptop down to the library she’d fallen in love with yesterday, settling down at the antique desk between two bays of leather-scented books and preparing to work hard for the next several hours.

Only she couldn’t.

When she realized she’d been staring at her screen for ten minutes, she got up and started to pace.

The library was ideally suited to pacing. It was big and empty and quiet, and with the enormous oriental rug on the floor her footsteps didn’t make any noise.

She never had trouble concentrating on her work. From the time she was a child, concentrating on books or writing had been her escape from the pressures of social situations. So why couldn’t she focus now?

Because Keith had invited her into his home so he could have his way with her, and then he hadn’t. He’d pleasured her to the point of levitation without taking his own pleasure.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, she was angry.

Was she so undesirable? Or was he deliberately trying to torture her? Was this just a game to him, some kind of—

Well, of course it was a game. He was a billionaire indulging a whim. Some kind of weird whim of arousing her sexually without getting aroused himself.

Suddenly she laughed. She imagined telling someone about her dire situation. “So this gorgeous billionaire I had a crush on in high school offered me a deal. He’ll give me the one painting of my father’s I’ve always wanted if I stay in his mansion for a week being totally pampered, with plenty of time and space to work on my book—as long as, at night, I let him go down on me and give me the most intense orgasms of my life without having to do anything for him in return.”

She wondered how many women in the world would trade their problems for hers.