Love Beat (29 page)

His smile fades abruptly. “Is this the reporter’s friend asking?”

My heart sinks. “I’m just curious. And over lunch it’s called conversation, Cade,” I add gently.

Why’s he so edgy about this? It can only mean that Mel’s on to something. But maybe now’s not the time to ask. We’ve got a whole week. I’ll try later.

“You call this c
onversation
?” His eyebrow arches a fraction and all at once the blue of his eyes deepens to midnight. His hand lingers on the small of my back, his fingers playing a warm, soft rhythm of their own as his intention gleams on his eyes. “I’d call it something quite different. Darker. And definitely dirtier. Bring the cherries.”

The plane has a bedroom, all pale, sleek and low-slung. It has flowers in bowls, soft lighting and all around us the hum of the engines make a soothing lullaby. He flicks a remote and I hear the strains of a Tchaikovsky love duet that always melts my soul.

He pulls me to him and kisses me with light, soft kisses while he runs his hands over me, tearing at my clothes and searching deep between my breasts. “Mm, you taste good. Better than lunch.”

I smile against his kiss and run my hand lightly along his face, still tingling with relief and joy at the thought that we’re together now for
a whole week
.

He throws himself down onto the bed and sprawls out with his hands behind his head. “Now the Panther wants to play. Strip.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“A corset
and
black stockings? The Panther’s a lucky beast. Well, not quite as lucky as me, maybe, but close.” Cade is reclining on the pillows, intent and watchful. The heat in his eyes fires my soul.

As the music swells over the deep bass undertone of the engines, I slowly strip for him, moving to the music, my hips swaying as the shocks of the past twelve hours melt away one by one. My moves are more for me than for him, the movement soothing me in the way that only dance can.

But the gleam in his eyes is catching. It fires a glow that burns deep and slow and heats with the music, flaring each time his eyes narrow or his breath quickens.

His expression darkens as I slowly unfasten the corset, taking my time with the tight lacing. I let it slide to the floor then peel off the stockings. As I fling away the second one, he rises to his feet and looms over me.

“Now lie on the bed, face up. I want to look at you.”

He kneels next to me, his expression remote. “Spread your legs and put your arms up over your head.”

I shiver. “Why? What are you going to do?”

He glances at me, his eyes opaque. “Do you ever stop asking questions? Why do you think? I want to examine you. For the whole of this week you’re mine, twenty-four seven. That means there’s a lot we could do, but we may have to go easy. We’ve been pretty intense so far. I don’t want to overdo things.”

He leans over and drops a kiss right on my navel, his lips moist and hot. His voice lowers to a deep, velvety purr. “But first I want some dessert.”

For dessert he wants cherries and me. I lie very still while he deposits them in some surprising places then teases them out and eats them, occasionally leaning over me to place one in my mouth with his teeth and follow it with a deep, searching kiss. When they’re all consumed, he follows with his lips in all the same places till I’m twitching with arousal then he swings me up onto his chest and lets me tease him back.

Now the examination resumes and it drives me wild.

He runs his hands over me—pressing, feeling, squeezing. He lingers on my breasts, checking carefully, squeezing my nipples until I cry out then squeezing again, raising them to hard points and checking my expression for signs of stress. “Tell me if anything hurts. I have to know.”

“Is that why you wanted me this week? Just to whip?” The thought is chilling, but this is something
I
have to know.

He frowns. “I wanted you for this particular
week because I’m over here to see my family. At this time of year I usually I fit in some visits. I thought it might be fun to take you along.”

He wants me to meet
his family
? How exciting. But from the heat in his eyes, I can see that his mind’s on other things—
me
.

I’ll have wait to find out more.

I empty my mind and focus on his fingers, now moving south toward my clenched navel. I smile at his close, intimate inspection, thrilling to his touch as his strong, gentle hands caress me and search me. Apart from my wrists, still pink from the cuffs, I feel fine. “I love it when you do that. It’s like electricity.”

He pauses, a new glint in his eyes. “I can tell. When I touch you like this, your skin ripples. Now turn over. I’ll check your back.”

This time his touch is even more sensuous. As he examines the swell of my bottom and eases between my curves, I moan softly.

“You’ve a mark here. Does it hurt?” His voice is low but his tone is worried, almost fearful.

I moan again as wetness pools between my legs. In seconds he discovers this. Instantly I feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Is this
arousing
? Tell me.”

I clench my teeth. “You
think
? Do I pass the inspection…Sir?”

He rolls me over onto my side and pulls my hips tight against his, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “Yep, you pass. For the rest of the week, we’ll have some fun. No dungeon, so we’ll have to get creative. But your defiant response during inspection suggests to me that you’re already in need of some discipline. Put your feet on the floor and your head on the bed.”

Heat flares. I grin over my shoulder. “What,
here
? But…suppose the crew hears us?”

He reaches under the bed for a moment and leans up again with a smile. He dangles a scary-looking contraption in front of my face, all black leather and studs. I shrink back as a jutting, fearsome object halfway along jolts at me. “
What’s that
?”

He pushes me off the edge of the bed and taps the back of my legs with his hand to get me into position, pushing my feet wide apart with his shoe. “It’s a gag, with a dildo instead of a ball. Very effective in small spaces. Open wide.”

He slides the obscene thing into my mouth and I feel the strap being fastened at the back of my head. After the loose ball I’m used to, it feels horrible. It fills my mouth, reaching almost to the back of my throat.

It’s humiliating and to my shame, it’s also
hot.
Now I’m securely trapped. And with my legs splayed wide and my bottom high in the air, I’m also very exposed.

“And for some extra spice, maybe we’ll try some nipple clamps this time. These are light, perfect for a beginner. Try them for size.”

He teases and pinches my nipples to raise them and snaps the clamps into place.

They sting and pinch as I breathe, my chest heaving with surprise and emotion then the feeling wears off as my swollen nipples slowly grow numb.

My head spins. Why this sudden need to
punish
me? Or
is
it punishment? I want this too…badly. Maybe punishment’s the wrong word for it.

So what
can
I call it? I’m confused. All I know is I’m burning, and eager—and scared.

“Now push your head right down onto the bed. Hands behind your back.”

He hardly waits for me to reach the position before the first slap lands. It takes me by surprise and it stings. I yelp against the gag, but the sound dies in my throat.

Noise is pointless. Curiously, the thought makes me relax.

I can hardly move. I can make no sound. I can only endure, sucking on the dildo like it’s a pacifier.

It’s deeply humiliating, wildly arousing. Strangely soothing.

The blows keep coming—just the flat of his hand, slap after slap. Soon I’m glowing and hot. The impact jolts through me, hauling at my clamped nipples, jerking repeatedly along my wet, swollen slit.

I’m used and invaded at one end, on fire at the other.

At last he pauses and curves over me, his fly rasping on my fiery bottom. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re close then pull off the clamps. Ready?”

I nod. I’m already pulsing for him, craving his entry. I close my eyes as I hear the rip of foil then buck as he launches into me, his length filling me in a long, slick thrust that sends a loud, ecstatic cry into the unyielding leather tool filling my mouth, so frustratingly unlike his living, pulsing erection.

I feel his breath hot on my neck as he leans over me, his hands gripping my breasts. My nipples are numb now, the initial ache a mere echo though my jutting, swollen aureoles.

He growls against my neck like his panther namesake. “Grip me. Pull me in. Haul me deeper.”

I tense my muscles, arch my feet and flex my thighs, straining to match the power of his thrusts. I fight to maintain position, pinned and bound with the awful gag and the clamps, held in place by his will.

He caresses my belly, his fingers sliding round to ease between my legs and deep into my dripping slit, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts.

It’s everything I need. As my climax builds, I scream against the gag.

He hears me and slows, holding me at my peak for what seems like endless seconds then he jerks away the clamps with a single tug on the chain looping them together. A rush of feeling shoots back to my trapped nipples with an explosion of mingled pain and pleasure, mega pins and needles, fire and ice.

It fires my climax in a violent eruption that propels me forward onto the bed. He lands on top of me, pumping into me as I writhe beneath him, trapped, helpless and gorgeously filled.

* * * *

The Mile High club’s a long way up—but afterward it’s a long way down.

As we lie together, glowing and content, I recall Mel’s sudden, startling announcement.
Should I tell him
?

Last time I kept her plans a secret, she and Ben were planning that awful raid and nearly got us all the sack. And that was just one night. Goodness knows what they’ll get up to in a week. This time I’d better warn him.

“Mel thinks there’s no footage of you from the club that night.”

I’m lying across him as he strokes my hair. Now I feel him stiffen. To my dismay, the temperature seems to plummet several degrees.

Why did I have to open my mouth?

“She does?” His tone could cut glass.

I bite my lip and force myself on. I’ve learned my lesson. Last time was a fiasco. Maybe this time he can do something about it before they make trouble.

“She thinks there was somebody else in charge that night. That’s all.” I falter as I speak. It sounds so trivial, but I can tell he’s irritated. The rigid muscles below me warn me he’s angry.

Why?

He leans up on one elbow, his face serious. “There’s not much we can do. We’ll have to leave them to it. Look, Tunis. This project’s nearly complete. All I want from you now is assurance that you’ll do a voiceover on the finished report, you’ll fit in a statement somewhere to the effect that the Panther is a nicer guy than you thought and you’ll turn up to the premiere. Will you do that?”

“Landing in approximately thirty minutes, Mr. Fitzlean.” The voice from the cockpit murmurs around the cabin, blending with the dying notes of Tchaikovsky’s ballet. With an angry gesture, he flicks the remote to switch it off.

“Well?” He’s still glaring at me.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay. I can do all that.”

We dress at opposite sides of the bed without speaking, the hum of the engines menacing and low.

* * * *

“Here we are. Millin Island.”

Cade nods toward the view and I gaze out of the windows as we come in to land. The rocky island below us looks wild and rugged, the sea stretching away in a wide, wrinkly expanse of dark blue, little wavelets sparkling along the edge of the cliffs in the slanting afternoon sun.

There are very few trees here, just rolling hills and deep valleys, patchy with colored heather. Low stone buildings lie in clusters along thin, spidery roads. Along one of them a Jeep so tiny it looks like a toy is heading for the little patchwork airfield.

As we emerge from the jet, Cade shakes hands with Lisa and the crew then leads me quickly over the tarmac to the shelter of a low stone building. The air up here is sharp and cold after the soft Devon heatwave. I shiver in the wind, wishing I’d brought something thicker than a thin linen jacket.

As we reach the building, he hurries me inside. “This is our visitors’ center. It’s also a store for the residents.”

Across the airfield, the tiny Jeep’s waiting, now magically full size. The doors are flung open, and I can see the driver waving.

Cade waves back and turns to me with a grin. “There’s our transport, but he’ll have to wait. First we’re going shopping.”

“Sending Nera a postcard?”

He grins. “I might. Show her there’s no hard feelings.”

“Lucky her.” I color slightly. My rear’s on fire and everywhere down south is still aglow with my orgasm. Walking gracefully is a real effort.

He gives my bottom a cheeky pat. “Lively down there? Good. What clothes did you bring?”

I stare at him. “Linen crops, swimming costume, heels and sandals. Nera lent me some costumes. Why?”

“No stormproof? Thought not. We’ll get you something here. You can’t watch seals in heels.”

I flash him a grateful look. This wind will finish me off.

I ransack the rail of anoraks and refuse the offer of a fitting room from the flustered assistant. Cade pays at the till and soon we’re out in the wind again and heading for the Jeep.

“Mr. Fitzlean? Welcome back, sir.” A rugged individual with a sandy beard and very blue eyes grins a greeting and takes the driver’s seat as we clamber in.

I look around eagerly as Cade chats to the driver, asking him about his family and how the weather’s shaping up.

Soon we pull into the entrance of a long, low stone building. A man and a woman come out to greet us, both wearing jeans. The man has a long beard and an earring, the woman tiny braids holding back her long blonde hair. She’s serene and rather beautiful in trainers, jeans, a woolly poncho and several strings of heavy wooden beads.