Knight's Mistress
Page 53
He suddenly seemed very large. She took a step back. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
‘It’s just damned tempting to whip you when you’re dressed like a – like that,’ he said in a soft rasp, an unguarded brutality in his gaze.
She flinched. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
He closed the small distance between them in one long stride, grabbed her hands in a bruising grip, shoved them behind her back and rammed his body into hers. ‘Don’t you dare touch me?’ he growled. ‘When you’re wearing that fuck-me number?’
‘It’s your fuck-me number,’ she snapped, staring him straight in the eye, her temper spiking at warp speed when he pushed this hard. ‘I didn’t ask for it. I’m fine with vanilla sex. Especially with your mother around.’
The transformation was instant, the bucket of cold water metaphor entirely apt. He even gave his head a shake as though coming up for air.
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ he said with a hint of a smile. ‘I’ll give you that.’ But he didn’t move, his grip still harsh, his body still crushed against hers.
‘So I’ve been told.’
He remembered saying that to her at their first meeting. His brows lifted faintly. ‘Are you mocking me, Miss Hart?’
‘No, I’m pushing back. I said I would.’
He gave her a considering gaze for a brief moment, then quietly said, ‘We’ll see how that works out.’ He brought her arms around to her sides, smiled. ‘My mother won’t be around long, Miss Hart. You’re going to have to get more creative.’
‘There’s always no.’
He softly laughed. ‘That should tax my self-restraint.’
‘Or your integrity.’
He didn’t immediately respond. ‘You talk a lot,’ he said finally.
‘About things you don’t want to talk about.’
‘That I never think about.’
‘Because women never say no to you?’
He hesitated, then blew out a breath and said, ‘Right.’
He had small chinks in his armour, like now, when he would have preferred not answering and did. And this morning with his mother had been revealing, as was his easy rapport with Max. His kindness in offering her orgasmic pleasure first and often was unselfish too. ‘Should I stop talking?’ she asked, wanting to please him when he had that small furrow in his brow, wanting to please him almost always.
He gave her a heart-stopping smile. ‘Maybe for now. There’s not much time before lunch.’
‘Oh,’ she whispered, his beautiful smile sending all of her newly addicted senses into full-out operational mode.
He smiled. ‘You like that?’
She took a calming breath. ‘Just a little. How do you do it?’ She glanced at his crotch, smiled. ‘Silly question.’
‘You do it to me, babe. Twenty-four seven.’ He slid his fingers over her bound waist, down the taut line of her stomach under the boning, took a small breath before returning his hands to her waist and squeezing slightly. ‘And this ultimate bondage is just frosting on the cake. I wanted to eat you alive when I saw you in this.’
‘No kidding. Mrs Hawthorne practically passed out.’
‘This gold lamé thing is really hot, you’re hot,’ he murmured, as if she’d not spoken. He raised his hands and passed his palms over the soft silken swell of her breasts with breath-held delicacy. ‘These are fucking hot.’
‘Hey, watch it, that lace is real gold,’ Kate whispered.
‘Perfect. It goes with your real tits,’ he murmured, his fingers gliding over her pliant flesh, his focus starkly unambiguous.
‘She wouldn’t tell me the price.’ Kate caught her breath as Dominic slipped a finger down her cleavage, then two.
‘It doesn’t matter. I can afford it.’ Scooping the heavy weight of one breast from the half scallop of fabric supporting it, he bent his head and stopped her from talking. His mouth was deliberately feather-light on her bruised nipples, the warmth of his lips no more than a whisper on her flesh.
As she uttered one of those low, languorous moans that he’d learned last night unlocked her pussy, he reached behind her and ripped open the covered hooks with a wrenching twist of his wrist, letting the costly garment fall to the floor. Lifting his mouth, he swept her up in his arms. Compelled by a savage need he neither liked nor understood, he swiftly kicked the door open, walked into his bedroom and moved towards the bed. Although the still functioning portion of his brain blamed his blind impulses on the get-your-rocks-off bustier.
‘Now,’ he said on a suffocated breath. ‘I’m going first.’ He tossed her on the bed, pulled off her panties, unzipped his slacks with a jerk of his hand, crawled on top of her, shoes and all – a first for a man of enormous self-control. ‘Keep up if you can.’ He guided his rampant erection to her sex. ‘We’ll play’ – intent on positioning his cock precisely on her pouty cleft, his voice trailed off – ‘after …’
A second later a low, throaty groan rumbled deep in his chest as he rammed inside her so hard and fast, she went rigid beneath him. But he didn’t care, the staggering impact to the head of his dick was vibrating wildly up his spine, spiking through his brain, had him momentarily seeing stars. Dragging in a harsh breath, he waited for the stars to recede, then impatient to duplicate the raw, agonizing sensations, he pulled her clenched fingers from his shoulders, shoved her arms to her sides, circled her wrists in a vice-like grip and held her captive. Flexing his legs, he withdrew, tightened his glutes and plunged back in, the force of his driving invasion moving her a grudging inch up the silk comforter.
‘It’s just damned tempting to whip you when you’re dressed like a – like that,’ he said in a soft rasp, an unguarded brutality in his gaze.
She flinched. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
He closed the small distance between them in one long stride, grabbed her hands in a bruising grip, shoved them behind her back and rammed his body into hers. ‘Don’t you dare touch me?’ he growled. ‘When you’re wearing that fuck-me number?’
‘It’s your fuck-me number,’ she snapped, staring him straight in the eye, her temper spiking at warp speed when he pushed this hard. ‘I didn’t ask for it. I’m fine with vanilla sex. Especially with your mother around.’
The transformation was instant, the bucket of cold water metaphor entirely apt. He even gave his head a shake as though coming up for air.
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ he said with a hint of a smile. ‘I’ll give you that.’ But he didn’t move, his grip still harsh, his body still crushed against hers.
‘So I’ve been told.’
He remembered saying that to her at their first meeting. His brows lifted faintly. ‘Are you mocking me, Miss Hart?’
‘No, I’m pushing back. I said I would.’
He gave her a considering gaze for a brief moment, then quietly said, ‘We’ll see how that works out.’ He brought her arms around to her sides, smiled. ‘My mother won’t be around long, Miss Hart. You’re going to have to get more creative.’
‘There’s always no.’
He softly laughed. ‘That should tax my self-restraint.’
‘Or your integrity.’
He didn’t immediately respond. ‘You talk a lot,’ he said finally.
‘About things you don’t want to talk about.’
‘That I never think about.’
‘Because women never say no to you?’
He hesitated, then blew out a breath and said, ‘Right.’
He had small chinks in his armour, like now, when he would have preferred not answering and did. And this morning with his mother had been revealing, as was his easy rapport with Max. His kindness in offering her orgasmic pleasure first and often was unselfish too. ‘Should I stop talking?’ she asked, wanting to please him when he had that small furrow in his brow, wanting to please him almost always.
He gave her a heart-stopping smile. ‘Maybe for now. There’s not much time before lunch.’
‘Oh,’ she whispered, his beautiful smile sending all of her newly addicted senses into full-out operational mode.
He smiled. ‘You like that?’
She took a calming breath. ‘Just a little. How do you do it?’ She glanced at his crotch, smiled. ‘Silly question.’
‘You do it to me, babe. Twenty-four seven.’ He slid his fingers over her bound waist, down the taut line of her stomach under the boning, took a small breath before returning his hands to her waist and squeezing slightly. ‘And this ultimate bondage is just frosting on the cake. I wanted to eat you alive when I saw you in this.’
‘No kidding. Mrs Hawthorne practically passed out.’
‘This gold lamé thing is really hot, you’re hot,’ he murmured, as if she’d not spoken. He raised his hands and passed his palms over the soft silken swell of her breasts with breath-held delicacy. ‘These are fucking hot.’
‘Hey, watch it, that lace is real gold,’ Kate whispered.
‘Perfect. It goes with your real tits,’ he murmured, his fingers gliding over her pliant flesh, his focus starkly unambiguous.
‘She wouldn’t tell me the price.’ Kate caught her breath as Dominic slipped a finger down her cleavage, then two.
‘It doesn’t matter. I can afford it.’ Scooping the heavy weight of one breast from the half scallop of fabric supporting it, he bent his head and stopped her from talking. His mouth was deliberately feather-light on her bruised nipples, the warmth of his lips no more than a whisper on her flesh.
As she uttered one of those low, languorous moans that he’d learned last night unlocked her pussy, he reached behind her and ripped open the covered hooks with a wrenching twist of his wrist, letting the costly garment fall to the floor. Lifting his mouth, he swept her up in his arms. Compelled by a savage need he neither liked nor understood, he swiftly kicked the door open, walked into his bedroom and moved towards the bed. Although the still functioning portion of his brain blamed his blind impulses on the get-your-rocks-off bustier.
‘Now,’ he said on a suffocated breath. ‘I’m going first.’ He tossed her on the bed, pulled off her panties, unzipped his slacks with a jerk of his hand, crawled on top of her, shoes and all – a first for a man of enormous self-control. ‘Keep up if you can.’ He guided his rampant erection to her sex. ‘We’ll play’ – intent on positioning his cock precisely on her pouty cleft, his voice trailed off – ‘after …’
A second later a low, throaty groan rumbled deep in his chest as he rammed inside her so hard and fast, she went rigid beneath him. But he didn’t care, the staggering impact to the head of his dick was vibrating wildly up his spine, spiking through his brain, had him momentarily seeing stars. Dragging in a harsh breath, he waited for the stars to recede, then impatient to duplicate the raw, agonizing sensations, he pulled her clenched fingers from his shoulders, shoved her arms to her sides, circled her wrists in a vice-like grip and held her captive. Flexing his legs, he withdrew, tightened his glutes and plunged back in, the force of his driving invasion moving her a grudging inch up the silk comforter.
