Wicked Lovers 01 Wicked Ties (12 page)

Morgan couldn’t breathe. The impact of every word did more than rev up her libido; they struck her like body blows, every syllable battering her resolve with hot intent. He robbed her of air, of the will to resist. How would he feel? Taste? That terrible vise of desire clamped her clit with need. She hardly contained her whimper with the need to come again. And he’d barely touched her.

What if she gave him free rein? What would it be like to let go and give herself to someone with his mastery, just this once?

She exhaled on a ragged sigh. Arousal flared like a forest fire under a harsh wind, burning her from the inside out. About to rage out of control.

Moisture threatened to trickle down her legs. She licked her dry lips, but when his gaze followed the motion, it only made her temperature spike hotter.

“You going to put that pretty pink tongue on me, cher? While I watched you sleep, I pictured you on your knees, my cock in your luscious little mouth.”

Morgan knew next to nothing about oral sex from personal experience. Reading and talking about it to prepare for her show didn’t make up for that fact. At this moment, with a mountain of man like Jack in front of her, pressed against her, that seemed irrelevant. Jack inspired an urge to sample everything wicked, including his cock.

“Ah, I think you like the idea,” he murmured, breath caressing her tingling lips. “Those blue eyes are turning darker. I wonder what else you like? I know you enjoy this…”

As he’d done before, Jack stroked her nipples through her towel, now painfully hard, with brushes of knuckles and fingertips. She gasped and couldn’t stop herself from arching toward him and seeking an end to the erotic torment of his touch.

“Sensitive nipples. I’ll enjoy sucking them until I can feel them swell on my tongue.”

Would he? The suggestion made her faint with pleasure.

“Don’t presume. I didn’t say yes,” she pointed out, trying to hang onto sanity. But the croak in her voice made her protest a joke.

No, no, no! Jack might be thrilling her beyond belief— beyond bearing—but tomorrow…how messed up would her head and her life be tomorrow if she gave in now? Wasn’t having a stalker enough? She’d agreed to meet him to facilitate an interview for Turn Me On, not to find a dominant looking for a plaything.

“Your body is saying it for you, cher. Breath chugging. Jackhammer pulse jumping. Your nipples are as hard as diamonds.” Suddenly, he found the fold in her towel down her abdomen again, parted the halves of terrycloth and planted his hot palm on her skin. He was so warm, it startled her. Stung. She jumped…closer to him. Now their chests brushed. His mouth was only a whisper away from hers as he dragged that hand over her hip, across her belly—then started heading down.

“You going to say no, cher?”

Morgan hesitated. If she was smart, she’d scream “no” now. She’d jerk away from him, march back to that claw-footed tub of his, fill it up with cold water and dive in. But his fingertips whispered swirls and circles across her belly, over her thighs, brushing over her mound just enough to entice.

She clenched her thighs together but it only magnified the ache. It climbed up into her belly, spread down her thighs. The fact that she wore nothing but a tiny green bath towel did not comfort her.

“Or are you going to say yes?” he whispered. “Are you going to let me fill you with my fingers and tongue? Are you going to let my cock ride you hard and deep?”

God, more of his wicked words that gave her lascivious ideas—and irresistible pictures to go along with them.

Morgan threw her head back against the door and closed her eyes. She wanted to say yes, yearned as she never had for the forbidden pleasure she knew Jack could give her.

Once. Just once, whispered a voice in her head. What could it hurt?

Soon, with any luck, this business with her stalker would be behind her, she’d be back in L.A. taping the next season of Turn Me On. Jack Cole would be a hot memory she could drag out on a cold night and remember when she needed to warm herself. That simple.

“Jack…”

“You want something?” His voice taunted her as his fingers glided like a ghost over her abdomen, her hip. Those dancing dark eyes, that playful mouth teased her without mercy.

She and her resistance were toast.

In answer to his question, she grabbed his hand and placed it right over her mound. He swiped a hot finger through the swollen folds and swirled around her clit once, twice. She gasped, assailed by an urge to spread her legs wider for him.

“If you want something, cher, drop the towel. I want all of you and I want you bare.”

Morgan refused to stop and think, to reconsider again. Plenty of time for that later. Instead, she tugged at the towel. It fell to the floor in a quiet rush, leaving her covered in goose bumps— and nothing else. She shivered—but not from the cold.

Jack looked his fill with hot eyes that promised mindshattering pleasure. “I can’t wait to get inside you, so deep you’ll never forget it.”

His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. No, he did more than cover her mouth. He devoured, consumed, possessed. Morgan opened to him, accepting the hungry thrust of his tongue, which delivered the spice of his taste and the heat of his need in a devastating dance of seduction. Her knees weakened in seconds. His passion had the kick of cayenne pepper, balanced with the sweetness of honey, caged in control of steel. Unique. Intoxicating. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the hungry sound.

Jack’s hands fell to her hips and grasped her, fitting her right against his jeans-clad erection. He gave her a nudge in the right spot, and her need spiked. The ache in her sex built. He pressed against her again, compelling Morgan to lift her leg to wrap it around his waist, opening her body to him in a silent plea.

He accepted immediately, taking her thigh and anchoring it over his hip, bringing him in perfect contact with her clit. Morgan grasped his bare, steely shoulders, hanging on while she felt dizzy with need.

Had she ever been this aroused? No. Ever wanted so bad she thought her blood would boil if he turned and walked away? No.

It was torture. It was bliss.

He continued to eat at her mouth, small nibbles of her lips, long swirls of his tongue against hers. Jack left no part of her mouth without his attention, his flavor. In desperation, she rubbed her breasts against the hot, hard wall of his chest, threw her arms around his neck, and pressed deeper into the kiss.

When he eased his lips away from hers, she clung to him in protest. He lifted her arms away from him and anchored them to the door with a warning stare.

Their gazes connected, his dark with broiling need, compelling her to accept whatever came next. Her body too ravenous, her mind too entangled in his spell, to refuse. The breath seesawing in and out of his chest was her only indication that he wasn’t perfectly in control.

Pushing her flat against the door, Jack leaned in, his cock grinding against her clit again. But now he bent to add a totally new sensation to the mix: his mouth around her nipples.

Morgan arched up to Jack, not just eager to give him more, but aching to. He started with skillful suction, a teasing lick.

“Jack,” she protested softly. “Jack.”

“You know what to call me,” he warned, thumbs and fingers pinching her sensitive nipples. “Until you come, I don’t want to hear my name fall from your lips again, cher.”

“Yes, sir,” she chanted. Anything to get her nipples back in his mouth.

He rewarded her with hot suction over the peaks of her breasts, first one, then the other. Back and forth. Over and over. Hot, swirling tongue, then tender bites that had her gasping and clawing.

For the first time ever, she could actually feel the blood filling her nipples, swelling them.

With a last lick, he pulled back to look at his handiwork. “Very pretty. I should keep them like this always, slightly tender, a rosy pink, standing up and waiting for just one more touch.”

He closed thumbs and fingers around them again in a pinch that made her catch her breath. Then he twisted, just enough to make Morgan cry out—as the moisture gushed between her thighs in a fresh rush. Lord, she’d never been so sensitive, felt as if she might actually orgasm just from having her nipples toyed with. She’d read it was possible but never believed it. Until now.

“Are you slick and hot for me?” he asked, his hot breath teasing her neck.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack swiped a pair of fingers down the valley between her breasts, dragged them down her abdomen, her mound, then dove right into her wet heat. He grazed her clit, and she moaned against his mouth.

“Touch me,” she moaned.

“You don’t give the orders, cher. You take what I give you. No matter how I give it to you.”

“But—”

Jack took a step back, ending all contact. Morgan stared, wide-eyed. Bastard.

“We either do this my way, or we don’t do it at all. How is it going to be?”

“Damn it, you’re arrogant,” she said between gritted teeth as the ache and sizzle smoldered inside her.

“We’ve already established that. How is this going to go down, cher? Your choice.”

In the end, Morgan was too far gone, too curious about the heights he could take her to, to consider saying anything except, “Your way…sir.”

“Good girl. Spread those pretty thighs.”

Leaning against the door, Morgan stepped wide. Jack trailed his fingers over her puffed, wet folds, toyed with the tip of her clit, trailed moisture down her thighs. Her breathing climbed higher, along with her heartbeat. Amazing. Jack knew just where to touch, when, for how long, to keep her on edge, to grow her want but never fulfill it.

Soon, she felt a flush suffuse her skin all over. She was one giant ache, whimpering, dying for him to fill her, conquer this monstrous need he’d created in her. Morgan ran greedy hands over his hard shoulders, the incredible lines of his pectorals, his ridged abdomen. He amazed her. Flesh so hard everywhere, but skin so silky soft.

He lured her close to the edge of restraint with talented fingers, an occasional nip at her breasts. His long, fevered kisses made her moan, arch, silently plead. He toyed with her, inciting her higher and higher until she became dizzy, delirious, willing to do most anything for him to end her torment.

In desperation, she trailed her hands down his stomach and grabbed the ridge of his cock through his jeans. Huge. Thick and like iron, he could give her what her body needed. So why wasn’t he?

With a hiss, Jack grabbed her wrist and anchored it against the door, near her head.

“You didn’t ask to touch me.”

“I thought you’d like it,” she panted.

“You thought you’d strip my self-control, Morgan, so you can get what you want. Non. You touch me when you’re told, not before.”

Restless, beyond needy, she shifted from one foot to the other. He kept her thighs spread with his feet between hers, so she couldn’t clench them together. His fingers toyed again with her nipples, now slightly sore. And somehow that tiny hint of pain only made his every touch more vivid, shot every caress straight down to her clit.

“Please, sir…”

“Please what, cher?” He pinched her nipples and murmured the question against her lips. “You want me to fuck you?”

She’d never said those words to a man in her life. Never imagined saying them. But now, she couldn’t imagine saying anything else. She needed Jack now—hard, fast, pounding.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”

He hesitated, dark brow raised expectantly.

“Sir,” she added hastily, panting. “Fuck me, sir.”

In reward, he slid a pair of fingers over her clit and rubbed tiny, torturous circles around the hard nubbin. Morgan had thought that, surely, her arousal could not climb any higher. She’d been dead wrong, she thought with a moan.

So close now, Morgan’s every breath was audible. A drag in, a rush out, air filled her lungs, but never made it to her head. There was only her heartbeat, drowning out everything except the need to feel him deep inside her.

“Unzip my pants.”

Morgan didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease. She rushed to pull the zipper down and shove the hated jeans down his hips. He wore no underwear, so his cock sprang free into her waiting hands.

She rubbed him. Her technique was fast and inexpert, she was sure, driven totally by a need to touch him, feel the man who would soon be inside her. Fists wrapped around him, one on top of the other, she stroked his thick length and gloried.

Until he grabbed her wrists and took her hands away, shoving them against the door again.

“You’re not following directions, cher. I said to unzip my pants, not to take them down, not to stroke my cock. Fail again, and you won’t get this fucking.”

She bit her lip, trying to find patience, and nodded. “I understand…sir.”

Her clit pulsed just from saying those words. God, what was wrong with her? She was too far gone to care. Later…

In silence, he extracted a packet from his pocket and shoved his jeans down to his knees. Seconds later, he ripped open the foil square and sheathed the purple head of his cock, then rolled it down his long length. Slowly. Too damn slowly. Morgan resisted the urge to help him, or hurry him up or tap her feet in impatience.

Suddenly, he bent, lifted her by her hips and wedged her body between his and the door. “Put your legs around my waist.”

She hesitated. Could people really have sex standing up? She’d never tried anything more exotic than woman on top.

“Do it.” His voice was edged with steel.

Without another pause, Morgan lifted both of her legs and folded them around his hips. Moments later, he rewarded her with the feel of his cock probing at her entrance, all thick and ready. Breath held, she clung to his shoulders, on the razor’s edge, waiting.

He eased his tip inside, and even that hard bit of him felt like heaven, like the magic elixir to cure the ache currently roasting her alive.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice strained. “Tell me what you want.”

Morgan never considered holding back. “Fuck me. Now!”