Give In To Me (12 page)

When he opened his eyes and peered back down at her, he said, “You are fucking beautiful
like this.” Then his eyelids lowered halfway. “I bet your hot little pussy is soaking
wet for me right now. Is it?”

From her, another nod. He asked, she answered—that simple. There was nothing to hide
anymore, no more defenses to put up.

“Does your sweet little ass sting from where I spanked it, Ginger?”

One more nod even while her mouth was stuffed with his hard cock. And she suddenly
didn’t even mind that he was calling her Ginger again.
Everything
had truly changed. The name almost felt . . . endearing now.

“I wish you could have seen how pink it was. Pretty and pink.”

Maybe that should have bothered her, but like everything else in this moment, it didn’t.
Because she innately understood now—it had become pink because of what he had done
to it, and that made the pinkness pretty.

“I’ll make it feel better,” he promised her.

And then he let go of her head and withdrew his cock from her mouth.

She actually released a small whimper at its departure. Her eyes fell on the enormous
phallus that had just left her as it stood wetly between his legs now, jutting from
his open blue jeans like some magnificent obelisk normally hidden away. Her lips were
left sore and stretched, she was free from being held there, her mouth forcibly filled—she
could speak now if she wanted to—and yet she instantly missed it.

But feeling his gaze still on her, she naturally lifted her eyes to his face—and they
simply stayed like that for a long moment, a moment she felt truly bonding them. He
was appreciating her for all she was—the hard and the soft, the power and the compliance,
and the fact that she’d finally given in to something that every cell of her being
had been fighting against. And she was appreciating him for being dominant and demanding,
for giving even as he took from her, for kindness amid the severity, and for being
patient as she learned her way in this foreign sexual landscape. She knew they had
nothing more in common than they’d had an hour ago, she knew this was only a connection
based on overwhelmingly intense chemistry—but she still felt a true union of sorts
with him in this moment, and she knew she cared about him much more already, just
because of what they were sharing, than she’d believed was possible.

And that’s when the kissing began.

Placing his hands on her hips to pull her upright on her knees, he lifted one palm
to her cheek and bent to tenderly kiss her.

She wouldn’t have guessed the big bad wolf could kiss this way, so sweetly, so slowly,
so deeply. These weren’t the torrid kisses she’d experienced with him at other times—this
was gentle and loving and sank into her core.

Though she found herself wishing she had use of her hands, and growing aware that
her arms were tired from being held in one position for so long now, she still kissed
him back for all she was worth, letting herself descend fully into the loveliness
of it. Just as no man had ever treated her so harshly, she wasn’t sure if any man
had ever kissed her so lovingly, either.

As they kissed, he caressed her breasts, making her moan into his mouth. And then
he lowered the bra straps from her shoulders, pulling them down far enough that both
breasts tumbled free.

“Aw, babe,” he murmured deeply at the sight, and she loved how taken he seemed by
them, and when he bent to rake his tongue over one turgid nipple, a high-pitched sigh
of delight echoed from her throat.

When he took the beaded pink peak between his lips to suckle, the sensation shot straight
between her thighs, making her practically pulse with need. And she considered asking
him if he would untie her now, because she suffered the urge to run her hands through
his hair, over his shoulders—she wanted to touch him the same way he touched her—but
she thought better of it. He was the one calling the shots here, making the decisions,
not her. She was content to let him choose whenever he wanted to release her, and
until that time, she was his willing captive.

Her eyes fell shut and her head dropped back in pure surrender to pleasure as he laved
and suckled her tits, using his hands to caress and massage as he worked. Her breath
came heavier; her sighs echoed toward the ceiling like hot, rhythmic background music
to their lust.

Soon enough, he placed his hands at her hips and began to pull her forward, back onto
the couch. “Lie down,” he said softly. “On your stomach.”

She went willingly, with his help, glad for it since she still couldn’t use her hands.
She ended up stretched out, facedown, waiting as he tugged her pants the rest of the
way off. Then he instructed her, “Pull your knees up under you,” and she silently
obeyed that command as well. She ached for more attention, for sex, but she resolved
to be patient and to take whatever he would give her, still bizarrely content not
to be making any decisions or driving what took place between them.

“Still pink,” he said, and she knew he meant her ass.

And then his hands came on her hips and she tensed slightly, wondering if he would
fuck her now—and so it surprised her when instead she felt the softest, sweetest sensation
on her bottom, tingling all through her. And despite her awkward position, she made
the effort to look over her shoulder and see that he’d lowered a kiss there.

Their gazes met over her back, over her bra strap and bound wrists, and he whispered
deeply, “Gonna kiss it and make it all better.”

She sucked in her breath because—Lord—that first little kiss there had felt so astonishingly
good. Just like the spanking, this much gentler stimulation echoed straight down between
her legs, arousing her all the more.

Turning back around, resting her cheek against the couch cushion where it had been,
she waited—and luxuriated—as more kisses came on her bottom. He rained the tiny kisses
over both sides, each delivering more unexpected and unbelievably immense pleasure.
Sighs of joy rose from her throat and she closed her eyes and found herself simply
smiling at how wonderful it felt. In those moments, she forgot her hands were tied.
She forgot she was in the midst of something new and overwhelming. She forgot everything
except how good it was, and how much the kisses seemed to drip into her pussy as well.
As it went on and on, she bit her lip, hungering for that part of her to be filled.

And then—oh God—he used his hands to lift her ass higher, pushing her up onto her
knees, and then he let his incredibly tantalizing kisses drift down in between her
legs.

“Ohhhh,” she heard herself moan. Because it was like . . . the perfect gift, at the
perfect time. Yes, she still yearned to be filled there, but mmm, his skilled mouth
in that area was just as thrilling in a different way.

Each kiss exploded through her body in a torrent of delight. She found herself spreading
her legs as much as she could to allow him better access. She heard more moans leaving
her—“Unh . . . unh . . . unh . . .”—as the hot kisses spread through her. And then—oh—he
was licking her now, his tongue slicing into her sensitive, swollen folds.

“Mmm, you taste so fucking good,” he murmured, even his breath on her mound affecting
her.

And then—oh! Oh God!—he reached between her legs and began to stroke. In front. Where
she most needed it. Where her body craved it. She couldn’t control her response—she
moved almost involuntarily against his fingers, her pelvis gyrating and rocking.

“Aw, baby, love how wet you are right now,” he rasped—and then he resumed mouthing
and tonguing where she felt herself opening for him more and more.

She whimpered into the couch pillow, lost in the new pleasure, more consumed by it
than anything he’d done yet. And she somehow instinctively knew that she wouldn’t
possibly be feeling his fingers and mouth in the same way—she couldn’t have been this
engorged and hot and ready—if not for everything that had come before. And not just
the kisses and touches. All of it. All the struggle. All the submission. All the emotions
that had warred within her.

She bit her lip and moved herself harder and harder against the fingers rubbing circles
over her clitoris. She cried out again and again. And then—the real surrender, the
release. It rushed through her like a locomotive, exploding in waves of light and
heat that pulsed from her pussy outward through her torso, her limbs, every molecule
of her body. She screamed out her pleasure, holding nothing back and no longer trying
to. There was no thought, no words—she’d become nothing but a sexual being for him,
and she’d accepted that and had no regrets. She let the orgasm wring every drop of
response from her that she had to give.

And then her knees gave out. And she sank down onto them again, her whole body spent.

It would have been nice to turn over, hug him, kiss him, rest comfortably against
him. She couldn’t deny it when that urge stole over her.

And yet . . . this just wasn’t that kind of sex.
So you can’t expect it to be that way. You can’t expect something so different to
suddenly start seeming familiar.
And so she didn’t fret over that. She simply lay there quietly recovering. Taking
it for what it was. An amazing climax. Arrived at by taking a most unusual route.

And she felt herself on the verge of . . . well, of maybe beginning to let herself
think about that a little too much. But that was when Rogan’s hands closed over her
hips, firm and with unmistakable intent, and she knew what was coming—and she
craved
what was coming. The eager anticipation overrode anything else that had been trying
to sneak into her head, because she’d been so, so patient and she’d unwittingly enjoyed
this strange ride more than she could ever have imagined, but now she needed his cock
in her as desperately as she needed to breathe.

She began emitting short, quick, anxious breaths when she felt the head positioned
at her opening. And then—yes!—he thrust into her hard, burying his erection deep.
She cried out at the impact—at once so shocking but so welcome. Thank God he was finally
inside her—she never wanted him to leave.

As he began to fuck her—hard, hard, hard—he cried out, too, and her whole body felt
filled to the brim with him as he delivered each jolting thrust. It was like the perfect
culmination to all she’d been through—she wanted him to fuck her senseless, and that
was exactly what he was doing.

She wasn’t sure how long he moved in her that way—five minutes, ten? And then he slowed
down, even stopped for a few seconds, before changing the tempo, pulling out partway
and then coming slowly back, then again, again. She sighed at the new deliciousness
of it, loving the way he made her feel his full length sliding slickly in, then back
out.

Hot sighs erupted from her at each smooth, deep stroke—behind her, Rogan emitted low
groans of pleasure. And again she lost track of time, having no earthly idea of how
long he filled her that way.

“Aw . . .” She heard him begin to groan louder behind her, and slowly the rhythm of
his drives increased again—and they even grew wonderfully harder. She had to clench
her teeth to absorb them, but she also loved them in a way she never quite had before.

“I’m gonna come, baby—I’m gonna come in your sweet cunt so fucking hard.”

And then he was crying out his own orgasm, each thrust nailing her to the couch, but
she didn’t mind—instead she simply loved taking him there, simply loved that she’d
let herself go enough to make this so astounding for both of them.

He went still inside her for a moment afterward just before collapsing a little atop
her. Then he rose back up and pulled out.

And a fresh barrage of emotions flooded her.

Now that it was over, sanity began to flow back in. It began slowly in a way—she felt
things before she understood why, before she could comprehend the thoughts that came
with them. But there was no denying the intense urge to . . . run. Like last time.

To run from him. From all they’d done here. From the strange surrender that had—God—been
so humiliatingly complete.

What have I done? What on earth have I done? Who am I? How do I get out of this? I
want to take it back. I want to go back just a couple of hours and change it all—stay
home, stay sane, stay me.

She found herself pulling once again at the sash that held her wrist. Oh Lord, her
arms were so sore—she hadn’t been aware of that for a while, but now she was.
I need to go. I need to leave this behind and never look back. Make it like a dream.
A thing that didn’t really happen. Because I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have given
myself away like that, given myself up like that. Could I?

God, how could something feel so good one second and so . . . horrendous the next?
She shut her eyes, fearing tears would come, and she wouldn’t even be able to wipe
them away.

Her lips trembled, and again she yearned to escape. But she couldn’t this time.

“You . . . need to untie my hands,” she said, trying to sound very calm. But she was
pretty sure there’d been a nervous edge to her voice.

“Can’t, Ginger,” he said.

Her stomach dropped.
Stay calm, or at least act that way.
“Why? They’re sore.”

“I would, honey, but if I do, you’re just gonna throw your clothes on and go running
away from me again. And that’s not how it’s gonna go this time.”

Chapter 10

“W
ell,” she said smartly, “if you’re looking for post-sex cuddling, it’s going to be
pretty difficult this way.”

It surprised her when a loud peal of laughter burst from his throat. Maybe because
she didn’t think this was very funny. In fact, it was . . . humiliating. Bad enough
that she’d somehow become okay with this—actually being tied up and held down, for
God’s sake—during the heat of the moment, when everything was infused with excitement
and a certain dark passion. But now that the excitement was over, it was back to feeling
unthinkable again. Like a secret you hide away in your closet or under the bed. The
room suddenly felt far too bright, and if only she’d had use of her hands she’d have
gotten up and turned off a lamp.

But then again, if she’d had use of her hands, she wouldn’t be so desperate to douse
the room in shadows.

“Nothing against cuddling, Ginger,” he said, “but that’s not what I have in mind.”

Still facedown on the couch, she let out a huff. Better to be angry than to wallow
in her naked embarrassment. “What on earth are you after?”

“Nothing else kinky,” he said, which did actually relieve her a little.

But she stayed just as belligerent. “Really? Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to
get down on all fours and bark like a dog?”

He let out another laugh. “Well, if you really want to—”

“I don’t!”

“—but then again,
that
would be hard with your hands tied behind your back, too.”

She took a deep breath, let it back out. Tried not to feel so aware of her nudity.
When she spoke, her voice came out quieter—she was tired. “Look, what is it you want?
My arms really do hurt.”

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced up to see him staring down at her, as
if trying to size something up.

“What?” she snapped.

Her tone didn’t seem to faze him. “Maybe we can make a deal.” He tilted his handsome
head to one side. “If I let you loose, do you promise not to run away this time?”
Before she could even form an answer, he went on, “Because I seriously won’t let you.
I just want to talk, April, so I’m not gonna let you run away from that.”

She drew in her breath, both comforted and horrified. In one way, talking sounded
so easy—even nice. But in another . . . what did he want to talk about? What they’d
just done? Ugh.

Though even if that was the case, she couldn’t see a better alternative than agreeing.
“I won’t run away,” she said softly.

“Good girl,” he murmured. And this time the patronizing words stung a little—even
as some tiny ribbon of naughty pleasure wove its way up her spine.

She chose to stay silent as he worked at the knot behind her back. One wrong word,
after all, and he might leave her this way. And the truth was, she
wanted
to run—the urge to race out of his apartment, out of his life, burned wildly inside
her—and she even considered trying. But she was pretty sure by the time she rounded
up her clothes, he’d be on top of her again, which in one way didn’t sound awful—
Lord, what’s wrong with me?
—but in another way she just wasn’t up for more struggling tonight.

When finally the sash around her wrists loosened and her arms eased forward, she let
out a low moan. They were stiff and sore.

“Sorry, Ginger,” Rogan whispered, catching her off guard, and it made her turn her
head to meet his gaze.

She didn’t reply, though—even if an apology from him seemed out of character, she
just continued slowly easing her arms down beside her to rest them for a moment. Then,
glancing up, she reached over her head—
Ow, so sore,
but she knew movement would make it better—and pulled down a crocheted afghan she’d
noticed on the back of the couch. She found herself wondering who had made it. Who
would crochet something for the big bad wolf?

She rushed to spread it over herself as she rolled onto her back, surprised when Rogan
actually helped, tugging the edge down over her thighs.

“A little late for modesty, isn’t it?” he asked anyway—although it lacked the arrogance
she’d grown accustomed to from him. She was pleased to see he’d pulled his underwear
and jeans back up—even if the jeans weren’t zipped—and he sat at the other end of
the couch.

“I suppose,” she said. “I’m just . . . not comfortable being this, this . . . open
with someone I barely know.” And upon realizing how silly that might sound, she added,
“No matter what we just did.”

Lowering his chin, he flashed a knowing look. “Anybody ever tell you that you could
stand to relax a little?”

She let out another huff in reply. “I can relax just fine—when I’m in a relaxing situation.
This
is not a relaxing situation.”

He shrugged. “Most people would argue an orgasm usually relaxes them a
lot
. And you had a good one.”

She ignored the rise of heat up her chest and onto her neck and worked to hold her
gaze on his—just to prove that she could. She might not have done very well with that
at times with Rogan Wolfe, but she was a lawyer and such skills came with the profession—and
she’d do well to get tougher around him. And right now, in particular, it felt important
to exhibit some strength. “These are still unusual circumstances for me.”

He cracked a grin. “Never been tied up during sex before?”

The heat rose higher, warming her cheeks. “I think you know I haven’t.”

He raised his eyebrows teasingly. “Well, now you’ve got something new in your repertoire,
something else you know you like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I didn’t like it.”

He gave his head another tilt—and she hated finding his arrogance so sexy. “You didn’t
make it easy,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t like it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she reiterated.

“Liar,” he said calmly, surely.

She sensed her blush deepening, giving her away. And finally broke the gaze, since
she was pretty sure her eyes were betraying her at the moment anyway. Glancing down
at the afghan, she said, “Who made this?”

“Huh?”

“The afghan? Who made it?”

“My old neighbor. Back in Michigan.”

Hmm. Not a mother, or a grandmother, or an aunt. Not that that meant anything or told
her any more about his personal life. “Were you sleeping with her?”

Another laugh erupted from him. “No. She was old enough to be my mom.”

“Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like the sort of guy to get chummy with the neighbors.”

“I’m not,” he said, looking more serious. “Haven’t said more than two words to anybody
else in this building yet. But guess she had a soft spot for me or something. Who
knows? Maybe I reminded her of somebody.”

So it hadn’t been a close relationship. That made her much less interested in the
afghan. And a little sad. Both for his neighbor lady and for him. Heck, maybe for
her, too. She wondered again what was she doing here having sex with this guy. Maybe
she’d been hoping to find out there was more to him than she’d seen so far, something
warm and fuzzy, something sweet and endearing. So far, she’d uncovered evidence of
a neighbor he’d barely known. “Tell me about your family,” she said.

“No family. Not anymore.”

She challenged him by raising her eyebrows. “Everybody has a family. What happened
to them?”

But he simply shook his head. “Just not in my life, okay?”

No, not okay.
But even as entitled as she felt to ask, she didn’t have the guts to say that at
the moment. The look on his face warned her to drop the subject. “Okay,” she finally
said.

“So what’s
your
story, April Pediston?” he asked, eyes narrowed and inquisitive.

“I’m an attorney at Granvers and Associates downtown, specializing in corporate law.
I got both my undergraduate and law degrees at U of M.” Given the University of Miami’s
location right in Coral Gables, it had been an easy, obvious choice—allowing her to
live at home with Gram and her sisters at the time, who had all needed her.

“What else?” He looked a little bored, and she wondered why she should tell him anything
more, under the circumstances. He’d told her nothing, after all.

“I have two younger sisters—who are both real handfuls, each in their own way—and
a grandmother in Coral Gables. She raised us,” she added, wondering why, again, she
was telling him anything about herself at all.

“Why? Where were your parents?”

April let out a sigh. This part was never easy—she hated the look of horror and pity
that entered people’s eyes when they first found out, even if they meant well. “Car
wreck,” she said, leaving it at that. And tried to give
him
the message with
her
eyes not to pry further.

He said only, “Wow—I’m sorry.” And she was glad.

Yet, again, any compassion from him surprised her. “Thanks,” she whispered. “But it
was a long time ago.”

When she found him looking at her but saying nothing, she began to feel uncomfortable
again. Glancing around, she spotted her pants and underwear on the floor near the
coffee table, her top strewn a little farther away. “Can I get dressed now?” she asked
pointedly.

“Not yet.”

“Why?” In one way, she
had
been forced to relax a bit, at least compared to how she’d felt a few minutes ago.
But in another, she still wanted to get to her car, where she could be alone to cry
and scream and maybe bang her hand on the steering wheel a while.

“Just trying to understand what’s going on with you, Ginger.”

She blinked. “What’s
going on
with me? What does
that
mean?”

Another head tilt from the wolf. “Just wondering why you get so freaked out over sex.”

It was like he’d just lowered a weight onto her chest. And he was making this sound
so simple, and her so backward, as if their sex were . . . normal or something.

Her heart beat harder now, and if she
had
begun to relax at all, that was a thing of the past. She didn’t want to discuss this.
God, she didn’t even want this to be
real
. And if she talked about it . . . God,
that
made it real. Something she couldn’t just shove into a mental closet as easily when
she left here. Something she couldn’t pretend hadn’t happened just because she was
a straitlaced, professional, suit-wearing woman the rest of the time.

Still, she didn’t want to prolong this. And she needed to make this clear to him even
if the truth was unpleasant. “This isn’t just sex,” she said, her voice going lower
as she spoke. “This is . . . weird sex.”

Again he laughed, the sound rich and deep. “So what? Weird is in the eye of the beholder,
Ginger. It’s only weird if you
think
it’s weird.”

Her eyes opened a little wider. “Well, I think it’s weird.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and for some reason she remembered the
slight scrape of the stubble on his chin across her tender skin. “Now we’re getting
somewhere.”

“And . . . I don’t have sex with people I don’t know.”

His small smile deepened, giving him those little creases at the corners of his eyes
that always seemed so much more attractive on men than women. “Oh, I’d say we’re getting
to know each other pretty well at this point.”

“Hardly. I asked you one question and you blew it off.”

“You’re more interesting than I am,” he told her easily, adding, “though that’s not
the way I meant we’re getting to know each other.” Which, of course, she’d already
understood very well but had been ignoring.

“I am?” she asked.

And he said, “You fascinate me, Ginger.”

At this, April simply blinked, twice, trying to digest it, and attempted to keep any
emotion from showing on her face. “Are you . . . teasing me?” she finally asked, suddenly
feeling nearly as vulnerable as she’d been during the sex.

He looked completely serious as he replied, “No—of course not.”

She just looked at him—then was honest. “I don’t get it.” She shook her head slightly.
“There’s nothing special about me.”

Another small, inquisitive head tilt. “I disagree. You’re gorgeous, but you’re so . . .
stiff. Buttoned-up. And you’re so fucking responsive—to kissing, fucking, whatever
we’re doing at any given time—but at the same time you’re so . . . scared.”

“I’m not scared,” she shot back at him, realizing as soon as the words left her how
silly she sounded, like a little kid who’d been given a dare.

So it didn’t surprise her when this produced another round of laughter from the man
at the opposite end of the couch. And that’s when he resituated himself, stretching
out more, extending his legs alongside hers so that his feet ended up near her elbow.
The denim of his jeans pressed against her bare leg beneath the afghan. “You’re scared
to death of everything I make you feel, everything I make you want. And you want me
to take it. You want me to make you do it.”

Her chest went tight at the words. She knew all that was true, but she thought it
harsh, hard to hear. And she blurted out a reply without even weighing it. “I’m not
comfortable with wanting a stranger, with . . .
giving myself
to a stranger.”

After appearing to think that over for a moment, he gave a slight nod, looking appeased.
“Okay, I can get that. But . . .”

“But what?”

“But there’s way more going on here than that and you know it.”

She said nothing, having no idea what to say. She knew what he was talking about,
but she couldn’t sort out the subtleties in her head.

“You like giving up control,” he said.

And she immediately argued. “I
hate
giving up control. That’s . . . the problem.” God, she also hated this discussion,
hated that he was making her think through all this, making her talk about it.

He pinned her with his gaze. “Seems to me like maybe the lawyer in you hates giving
up control, but maybe the sexual you doesn’t mind at all. You were . . .” His voice
had deepened, his speech slowed. “You were downright submissive by the time I was
spanking you.”