Authors: Janelle Denison
Then he was kneeling in front of her, his mouth open, hot, and wet on her belly, his tongue stroking over her hip, his teeth nipping her mound. Her sex pulsed, ached, and throbbed for the touch of his tongue, the caress of his fingers, the long, heated thrust of his cock filling her. He splayed his hands on her bare legs, widening them as much as the tangled denim allowed, and bit the sensitive inner flesh of her thighs, making her gasp and tremble. The stubble on his cheeks abraded her soft skin, adding to her heightening need.
His palms slid upward, and he delved his thumbs between the slick folds of her sex, separating her nether lips and forcing her swollen, glistening clit up and out, all his for the taking. She waited, her breath suspended in her lungs as he leaned forward and buried his tongue deep. He licked and circled her labia, pressing hard, retreating slowly, teasing her to the brink of her climax, only to let her orgasm ebb.
Her hands clenched in tight fists in her attempt to resist the frantic impulse to grab the back of his head and
increase the pressure of his mouth, the friction of his tongue. “Steve,” she said, and heard the desperation in her voice.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark and glittering with lust. “I want you to beg me for what you want.”
She shook her head defiantly, and he proceeded to torment her further, laving her, suckling her, but keeping her release just out of reach. The pleasure grew with every hot pass of his tongue, heat and tension building higher and stronger. Her head rolled against the wall, and her body arched against his ravenous mouth of its own accord, striving for the peak that was so, so close …
He withdrew, and she whimpered at the loss of contact. “Beg, wench,” he ordered roughly, and licked her again. And again, his tongue dancing wickedly over her flesh, so skilled, warm, and sleek.
Her frustration was so overwhelming, she sobbed and finally gave her pirate what he demanded from her.
“Please,”
she panted, barely able to speak, but knew the one word would not gain her what she yearned for. “Please … let … me … come.”
A long, thick finger thrust inside her at the same time he closed his mouth over her clitoris and used the suctioning swirl of his tongue to draw her into a toe-curling, mind-bending orgasm. A hoarse, ragged cry ripped from her throat as her climax crested and her entire body spasmed with the force of her release.
As soon as those internal ripples subsided, Steve yanked at the pants and underwear around her knees. Still crouched in front of her, he anxiously shoved them down her legs and helped her step out of them, stripping her completely bare. Refusing to let him retain the upper hand as her captor, even after he’d so generously pleasured her, Liz pushed at his broad shoulders before he could stand back up and take her against the wall.
The unexpected move caused him to lose his balance and fall back on his ass.
She sprinted to the side and out of his reach, and he cursed around a bout of deep, masculine chuckles that belied the dark, intimidating persona he’d assumed for the sake of their fantasy. Taking advantage of the handful of seconds she’d bought herself, she ran down the hallway… and straight into the master bedroom. Realizing her mistake, she whirled around to head down the stairs and came to an abrupt halt when she found Steve silhouetted in the doorway, blocking her only means of escape.
Her pulse fluttered at the sight of what a formidable opponent he made, so utterly sexual, so impressively virile, with his muscular arms and washboard stomach that spoke of his superior strength. The long, hard length of his erection was a blatant outline inside his black jeans, and somewhere along the way he’d taken off his shoes and socks.
“You’re gonna pay for that little stunt, you ungrateful wench,” he murmured, and though she knew this was all fun and games, that he would never do anything she objected to, she couldn’t help but shiver at the sexy threat in his tone.
He played his part exceptionally well.
Pushing the bedroom door shut, he locked it with a resounding click, then flipped a switch on the wall that turned on a bedside light. She swallowed hard as his gaze raked down the length of her naked body.
“Now I have you right where I want you.” He crooked a finger at her. “Come here,” he ordered.
She jutted her chin out mutinously. “No.”
Seemingly taking her refusal as a direct challenge, a seductive smile curved the corners of his mouth, and he strolled deeper into the room. For every confident step he took toward her, she took one back, the excitement
and awareness between them building as they played a provocative game of cat-and-mouse. He continued to stalk her until he’d managed to maneuver her into the far corner of the bedroom, though there was still plenty of space separating them.
“Come here,” he said again, this time more firmly. “Surrender, and I’ll be gentle with you. Disobey, and suffer the consequences.”
She didn’t want
gentle.
She was excruciatingly aroused again, eager for a hot, aggressive kind of joining. And she wanted to see what kind of punishment he had in mind. She attempted to skirt around him, but he lunged toward her. His fingers caught in her hair and brought her up short with a yelp.
Startled, he hesitated for a moment, his eyes gentling as he searched her expression to make sure he hadn’t gone too far with her. When she didn’t issue a protest to his rough handling, he continued with the fantasy.
“Since it seems you need to learn your place, get on your knees,” he said in a voice so low it was almost a growl.
The downward tugging on her scalp gave her no choice but to comply, and she knelt in front of him, her face level with that huge bulge in his pants. With his free hand, he managed to unbuckle his belt, open the fly of his jeans, and reach inside to release his stiff shaft and balls.
He stroked the length of his cock with his fingers, and she watched, fascinated, as he thickened even more. Bringing her head closer, he rubbed the broad, swollen head of his penis against her closed lips. His flesh was as hard as granite, textured like heated velvet, and seemed to quiver with need.
“Open up, wench, and take me in your mouth.”
The hand fisted in her hair tightened to keep her from pulling away, but she wasn’t going anywhere. She
submitted to his domination because she wanted to pleasure him, too.
Looking up the length of his body and holding his hot gaze, she parted her lips and took him as deep as she could, surrounding him in wet heat and the silken caress of her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She relaxed her throat, practically swallowing him as his hand cupped the back of her head, holding her, guiding her, while his hips rocked rhythmically and his cock slid in and out of her mouth.
“Yessss,” he hissed, and a muscle in his jaw clenched in restraint.
She knew he was close to coming; she could taste the change in him, hot and salty, could feel the steady throb of the vein running along the underside of his cock, and his testicles were drawn up close to his body. A shudder rocked him, and she swirled her tongue over the engorged, sensitive tip, then closed her lips tightly over the crown and sucked, hard, pushing him higher, increasing his pleasure with each stroke of her mouth on his sex. He groaned, closed his eyes, and made the mistake of loosening his hold on her hair.
She’d gained control, a heady sensation she couldn’t help but exploit as his prisoner. Emboldened, she took him deep one last time, felt his body jerk, and knew he was on the verge of exploding. She drew back, released him from her mouth, and scrambled away and to her feet before he knew she was gone.
His brilliant blue eyes narrowed, fierce and hungry, contradicting the way the corner of his mouth twitched with a grin at her cunning. “Expect no mercy when I catch you.”
Dismissing her for a moment, he walked to the nigh-stand beside the bed, withdrew a foil packet from a box, and sheathed his erection with a condom. He didn’t bother taking off his jeans; the front placket remained wide open, framing his jutting sex, giving him the decadent
appearance of a hedonistic bad boy intent on debauchery. And she was the object of his lust.
Lucky, lucky her.
Heat and passion swept through her limbs, and her heartbeat accelerated with anticipation.
He turned toward her, once again stalking her. There was nowhere to hide, no way to avoid him, and they both knew it. But it was obvious that he reveled in the hunt, chase, and final capture. Before long, he trapped her between him and the bed, giving her no choice but to try to breach that barrier without getting caught. She made a run for it and scrambled across the mattress but only made it halfway across before a large hand clamped around her ankle and ruthlessly tugged her back.
She gave a shriek of startled surprise and thrashed, her legs flailing. She accidently kicked him in the hip, and he grunted, then muttered a curse, but continued to drag her back to where he stood at the other end of the bed. Her feet touched the floor, but the hand he flattened on her back kept her bent at the waist, with her breasts mashed against the soft comforter. She squirmed to free herself, and he pinned her to the edge of the mattress with his hips. She felt the hot, heavy pressure of his erection along the crease of her bottom, and an illicit thrill shot through her.
She heard the hiss of leather sliding through his belt loops and experienced a jolt of shock when he reached down and quickly secured the strap just above her knees, binding her legs together so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t run or escape again.
He leaned over her from behind, aligning their bodies intimately, the heavy weight of him pressing her deeper into the mattress. “Would you like your hands restrained behind your back, as well?” he whispered roughly in her ear.
She shook her head, though the image of herself
helplessly bound for his pleasure did excite her. “No,” she said breathlessly, and instead curled her fingers into the covers, suspecting she was going to need that anchor. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
His legs widened on either side of her thighs, the coarse denim of his jeans scratching her skin in an arousing way. He smoothed a palm down her spine, glided his hand over her buttocks, and dipped his fingers into the firm crevice between. He delved lower, found her positively drenched with desire for him, and stroked her wet folds, spreading her moisture, preparing her for his entry.
She moaned, lifting her hips and straining toward him as much as her position would allow, eager to be filled by him. He fitted the head of his shaft against her slick opening and pressed into her an inch, just enough to tease her. She sucked in a breath, wished she could open her legs wider, yet the clench of her thighs made for a tighter fit, a more erotic possession.
He leaned over her again and braced his arms on the mattress at her sides. His mouth skimmed her cheek, his breath hot, heavy, and moist on her skin. “Is this what you want, wench?” he rasped.
“Yes,” she begged shamelessly. “Oh, yes.”
He thrust the rest of the way into her, lifting her feet off the floor as he drove her hips up onto the bed, the size and hot, silken length of him stretching her as he impaled her to the hilt. She bit back a sharp cry, and he groaned and withdrew before plunging forward yet again, and again, moving against her, over her.
No mercy, he’d said, and he granted her none. He scraped his teeth along her shoulder, nipped at the side of her neck, and she whimpered as fiery, exquisite sensations spiraled down to her sex. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he turned her head, forcing her to look at the mirrored closet doors across from them.
“Watch me fuck you,” he demanded huskily.
She couldn’t have looked away from their reflection even if she wanted to. The sight of them together, playing out such a carnal fantasy, mesmerized her. As did the sight of him mounting her from behind, half dressed, his body pinning hers down, making her a slave to anything and everything he desired.
His face was taut with restraint, his unshaven jaw clenched, his expression a little savage. His hips pumped against hers, the muscles in his arms and down his back shifting and bunching each time he thrust deep. Digging her palms into the mattress, she lifted her bottom and pushed back, giving as good as he gave. A growl rolled up from his throat, and the length of him shuddered. Fisting her hair tighter in his hand, he locked an arm around her waist, holding her still, in ultimate control of her body, their movements, and her pleasure.
His hand glided lower as he continued to drive into her, slipping over her mons and working his fingers between her tethered thighs, where she was wet with wanting and aching for a more explicit touch. The first illicit stroke along her clitoris made her tremble and melt. The second skillful caress tore a low, ragged moan from her throat. His mouth opened on her neck, his tongue laved her skin, and then he sank his teeth into the tender flesh where the curve of her shoulder began. The triple sensual assault of his mouth, his cock, and his fingers manipulating her body shattered her defenses, and she came on a long, shockingly intense orgasm.
Her inner muscles clamped around him, milked him, and he panted, sucking air into his lungs as he pushed into her higher, harder, deeper. Relentlessly. With a low, primitive growl he finally surrendered to his own climax. He tossed his head back, thrust into her one
last time, hard and fast, then stiffened. Her name tumbled reverently from his lips as his scalding release sent him over the sharp edge of pleasure and straight into the realm of mindless physical sensation.
L
iz rolled onto her back and stretched languidly, feeling amazingly rested, considering that Steve had physically exhausted her last night. A dreamy smile touched her lips, and she buried her face into the soft pillow, inhaling the musky scent of sex and the familiar, manly smell that was Steve’s alone. A combination of heat and leather, with a faint overlay of the citrus aftershave he wore.
She opened her eyes with a sigh and was disappointed to find that she was alone in Steve’s bed, then remembered him waking her at dawn with the slow caress of his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her throat, and his body easing over hers. She’d stirred beneath him, automatically spreading her legs to accommodate his hips as he sank into her and began to move.
Unlike last night’s fast and frenzied joining, he’d taken her slowly and lazily, nuzzling her neck, threading his fingers gently through her hair, and arching into her so that his pubic bone rubbed her just the right way. He’d lifted his head, their gazes locking as he watched her expression as he stoked the fire between them. The buildup of her orgasm had been gradual, a tingling, sublime sensation that crested through her in undulating
waves of bliss. He came with her on a long, low groan that rumbled his chest against hers.
It had been a lovely way to wake up.
She remembered stroking her fingers down his back and over the muscled slope of his firm butt and recalled the sleepy, instinctive words she’d spoken: “I should go.”
“It’s already five in the morning. Go back to sleep for a while.” His lips drifted affectionately across her cheek, and he withdrew from her soft, satiated body. “I’ll take you back to your apartment later.”
She’d been unable to resist his sweet, caring suggestion to rest a bit longer, and snuggled back beneath the warm blanket and comforter. She heard him get up and take a shower, but she was too tired and replete to wake up fully and join him, despite how much the thought tempted her. Instead, she’d fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. And now, as she glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, she realized it was a quarter past eight, when she was normally up by six
A.M.
to start her day.
She wasn’t worried about The Daily Grind. Her morning shift could handle the early Monday rush without her. But she did have an appointment with Antonio today, a meeting she wasn’t about to be late for or to miss, considering all that was at stake.
Tossing off the covers, she reluctantly sat up on the edge of the mattress and shivered as the cool morning air hit her bare skin. She found a men’s long-sleeved shirt draped over the end of the bed and assumed that it was for her to wear, since Steve had shredded her blouse last night. She slipped into the soft cotton and cuffed up the sleeves a few times since they hung past her fingertips. She had no idea where her panties were, so she went sans underwear, grateful that the hem reached mid-thigh.
She padded into the bathroom, finally seeing his bedroom in the light of day, and took care of business.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eye makeup was smudged—a morning-after look she’d been able to spare Steve until today. She used his brush to untangle her hair and restore some semblance of order to the unruly strands, then scrubbed her face clean.
She spotted a packaged, unused toothbrush on the vanity and studied it for a moment, her mind conjuring up all the reasons why Steve might have an extra stash of toiletries on hand. She chastised herself for making a big deal out of the fact that he was prepared for overnight guests, and tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that hit her squarely in the chest, before snatching up the toothbrush, ripping off the wrapper, and using it to scrub her teeth.
But that persistent ache remained, right in the vicinity of her heart—a tenderness and yearning that seemed to grow with each encounter with Steve. It was as if she gave a little part of herself to him each time they were together, each time they had sex.
Last night they’d definitely had hot, uninhibited sex. But this morning … dear God, this morning it had felt like they’d made love in its purest, most intimate sense. Stunned and shaken by the realization, and feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, she pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, struggling to contain the emotions rioting within her. Emotions she was helpless to deny.
But how she felt about Steve didn’t change anything—not their arrangement, their business deal, or their temporary relationship.
With that reminder fresh in her mind, she gathered her composure and headed downstairs to face Steve.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Steve flipped through the Monday morning paper, reading the features and articles
but not really processing them. His thoughts were on other things … like the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed upstairs. The first woman he’d wanted to wake up to in the morning since his divorce.
He knew he could have easily taken her back to her apartment after their tryst last night, but he’d been completely satisfied to keep her snuggled so trustingly in his arms, her warm, silky body entwined with his. And when the gray shades of dawn had roused him from slumber and he’d opened his eyes to find Liz sleeping beside him, he hadn’t panicked or freaked out. Instead, he’d reached out and gently caressed a hand over her hip, and her automatic response to his touch had fired his blood all over again.
Having her in his bed all night long had felt amazingly, perfectly right.
Standing, he went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d just percolated. He’d been content to live the life of a carefree bachelor the past six years, dating when the urge struck him, without commitments or promises. Keeping his emotions out of the equation had been easy, but this morning he was struck with the realization that it was a matter of finding the right woman who evoked those needs. There was something to be said for a monogamous relationship and having one special woman in his life.
And for him, that woman was Liz.
Their short time together was no longer just about great sex and how compatible they were in bed. Yes, she was his perfect match sexually, open for anything that gave them pleasure, just like last night’s erotic fantasy. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to him, with each day that passed, that being her temporary lover wasn’t going to do it for him. He wanted—
needed—
more than a short-term affair with her.
He’d already broken one of his own personal rules by bringing her home with him and letting her stay the
entire night in his bed. That had been a huge, unspoken gesture for him, one he hoped would show Liz that he wanted her in his life beyond the brief affair they’d originally agreed upon, and longer than it took to locate her wayward cousin.
“Umm, do I smell coffee?”
Steve turned at the sound of Liz’s sleep-husky voice, and his body stirred at the sexy way she filled out his shirt, along with the adorable blush on her cheeks. Oh, yeah, he could get used to having her at his place on a regular basis.
“I just brewed a fresh pot,” he said, smiling. “Would you like some?”
“I’d love a cup.” She came up to the counter beside him and pushed her fingers through her softly disheveled hair, appearing self-conscious and wary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend the night.”
Her tone was reserved, as was her expression, which Steve found too ironic since that should have been
his
reaction to their intimate morning-after situation.
Bringing down a mug from the cupboard, he filled it with steaming coffee and tried to put her at ease. “I wanted you to stay, and I liked waking up to you. No harm, no foul,” he teased.
And just in case she didn’t believe him, he slipped his arm around her waist, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her with heat and a passion that seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her. Her hands came to rest on his naked chest, and his mouth seduced hers until she finally gave him what he wanted from her—a soft, surrendering sigh, and the tension in her limbs replaced with the lush, feminine press of her curves against his.
Before he gave in to the urge to find out what, if anything at all, she was wearing beneath his shirt, he pulled back and skimmed his thumb along her damp lower lip. “Mmm, you taste minty fresh.”
She laughed lightly and moved smoothly out of his embrace, seemingly a bit skittish with all this morning-after intimacy. “Thanks to you.” She spooned sugar into her coffee and slanted him a speculative look. “Do you always keep a stash of toothbrushes on hand for overnight guests?”
He’d hoped to ease her misgivings about staying the night, but the glimpse of insecurity he detected in her tone spoke volumes. It also gave him a deeper clue that she was feeling more uncertain about the change in their relationship, and about him.
She was also under the mistaken assumption that he entertained many female guests. He sought to reassure her, to ease the fears and apprehension her deceased husband had no doubt instilled in her.
“I hate shopping, as you’ll see by the sorry state of my kitchen cupboards and nearly empty refrigerator, so I tend to buy things in bulk when I can,” he told her. “The toothbrushes came five in a pack, and I can show you the other three that are still left if it would make you feel better.”
She blushed a furious shade of pink and shook her head. “I apologize. That was uncalled for on my part.” She ducked her head and took a quick sip of her sweetened coffee, apparently unable to look him in the eyes now. “You have every right to have women spend the night, and I have no business interrogating you.”
With any other woman, he would have agreed, but Liz wasn’t just any woman. Not any longer. He recognized and accepted that fact. And he supposed it was time he offered up a little proof to her of that realization.
Leaning a hip against the counter, he touched his fingers beneath her chin and raised her gaze to his. Her wide eyes flickered with another bout of uncertainty, a vulnerability that wreaked havoc with his insides. A vulnerability he took very seriously.
He drew a deep breath and catered to those shadowed
emotions. “Since my divorce, you’re the first woman who has slept the entire night in my bed.”
She blinked at him, obviously shocked by his confession. Then the significance of his comment sank in, and a quick flash of alarm shimmered in her eyes. Damn, was he going too fast for her? At this point, he decided he had no choice, because he suspected he only had a handful of days left with her, in which to sway her to his way of thinking. She was more than a temporary lover to him, and he wanted her in his life. Permanently.
Because he loved her.
His heart pounded hard and fast, an adrenaline rush that swept through him as he finally put words to the emotions tumbling around in his chest. He didn’t fight the sentiment, didn’t deny its existence. Instead, he allowed it to flow through him, and let himself get used to the feeling of knowing that this one special woman complemented him so perfectly, in ways that made him feel whole and complete, physically and emotionally.
He kept his revelation to himself for the time being, because he suspected that if she knew the depth of his feelings for her, she’d panic and withdraw from him more than she already had this morning. And that wasn’t a chance he was willing to take with her and their relationship just yet.
“You don’t ever have to hesitate to ask me something,” he said, filling the silence that had stretched too far and long between them. “If it’s a question I can answer, I will.”
With that, he crossed the kitchen to the pantry, determined to resume a casual morning routine with her, even though nothing would ever be the same for him as far as Liz was concerned.
He rummaged through the meager contents lining his cupboards and was able to scrounge up a few things to eat. “Looks like you have a choice of Captain Crunch cereal or strawberry Pop-Tarts.”
“Breakfasts of champions, huh?” She grinned, her features relaxing once again, which relieved him as well. “Are the Pop-Tarts the frosted kind?”
He heard the hopeful note to her voice and chuckled. It appeared she was a woman after his own heart, in more ways than one. “Yep, sugar-coated for an extra morning kick to go with your caffeine.”
She sat down and placed both of their mugs of coffee on the table. “Perfect. I’ll take one.”
“Good choice, especially since I’m out of milk and you’d have to eat the cereal dry,” he added wryly, and set the box within her reach.
She laughed, the sound genuinely lighthearted. Snagging a cellophane wrapper sealing a pair of Pop-Tarts, she ripped it open. “You weren’t kidding about hating to shop, were you?”
“Nope.” He took the chair next to her and grabbed a pack for himself. “I don’t like to cook, either.”
She broke off a bite of the strawberry-injected pastry and popped it into her mouth. “Ahh, a true bachelor.”
He shrugged. “Fast food works for me just fine, a carryover from my days as a cop, when I worked the swing shift and wasn’t home for dinner. And my dad wasn’t kidding the other night when he said that my mom is always making up CARE packages of food for us boys. All in all, I eat pretty well.” He took a big bite of his Pop-Tart, swallowed, and said, “If you’d like something more nutritious, I’ve got leftover ribs and chicken from my father’s party if you’d like to have that for breakfast.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “No, thanks. I’ll stick with the Pop-Tart.”
They continued to eat their breakfast, and she cast him a sidelong glance that lingered on the tattoo encircling his arm. It was obvious to him that something was on her mind, and he waited patiently for her to decide
whether she wanted to ask the question glimmering in her eyes.
She picked at her second Pop-Tart, and when he met her gaze, she drew a deep breath. “So, I can ask you anything I want, huh?” she asked, taking him up on his earlier comment.
Her tone held a teasing lilt, but his instincts told him her attempt at levity was a cover-up for something far more significant. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”