Make Me Desperate (5 page)

“This swimsuit
doesn’t
fit you,” he replied deadpan. “It’s a size too small, fortunately for me.” He dipped his head and ran the short, silky hair of his goatee across the pale globe of her breast. Her smile evaporated. Her nipple was still covered by the blanket, but it would fall away at the lightest touch. She licked her lower lip, watching him like a hawk.

“You stopped shivering,” he said, still running his chin over her sensitive skin. “See, I wasn’t entirely selfish. I knew if I played with you for a while, you’d warm up. Just relax, Harper. Enjoy the view.” He lifted his hand and deliberately moved the blanket off her breast, exposing a pink nipple. He gave a small growl of appreciation, and then dipped his head, sucking her between his lips. Her skin was chilled.

His mouth was hot.

Harper stared blindly out onto the shimmering water as he laved her nipple with his tongue and drew on her with the sweetest precision. Her hand went instinctively to his head. She delved her fingers into his thick, damp hair and sighed in pleasure. After a moment, however, he lifted his head and spoke to her tersely.

“Put your hands on the cushions behind your head.” He watched her take the position, his face shadowed and his eyelids heavy. She stared back at him, her arms stretched above her head, her hands close together, palms outward. For a few seconds, he remained motionless.

Then he reached between his thighs and fisted his cock, giving it a firm tug. He grimaced and let go. A small snarl shaped his mouth before he leaned down, and sucked her nipple into his mouth again.

She lay there for several minutes, awash in pleasure, while he sucked and fondled her. Her breasts grew flushed, the nipples hard and achy.

He lifted his head, both of her breasts in his hands, and licked the valley between them. “Sweet.
Sweat
. Mission accomplished,” he said, a triumphant, sexy-as-hell smile curving his mouth.

She shook her head at his cockiness, but she was smiling, too, unable to disguise the truth. He’d not only warmed her. He’d turned her into a hot, sticky mush of arousal.

She glanced aside when he reached to the side of her. He grabbed the discarded bikini top and looped the top strings over her head.

“Time to go,” he said, and she saw his playful smile had faded.

“Where?” she asked, even though she knew the answer by reading the rigid tension in his face.

“My bedroom terrace. You can keep enjoying the view from there. But this time, I’m going to have you while you’re doing it.”

* * *

The drapes had been partially drawn in his bedroom suite, making the air feel cool and pleasant against Harper’s flushed, tingling skin. Her feet slowed when they neared his big, luxurious bed, but he didn’t pause. He tugged on her hand, and she followed him to the circular bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. One of the doors to the terrace was open. An evening breeze was causing the white curtain to billow inward. They went through the door. The sweeping terrace led up to a waist-high, wrought-iron-constructed fence that blocked little of the fantastic view of the lake and the surrounding mountains. There were several comfortable seating areas and potted plants arranged on the balcony.

Jacob turned toward her. He brushed back her damp hair and planted a kiss on her temple.

“I’m going to restrain you,” he said, brushing his lips across her hairline and ear. She shivered in unfurling excitement. “Is that all right?”

“Out here?” she asked shakily, lifting her chin and whisking her mouth across his jawline.

“Yes.”

“But . . . how is this an improvement on fooling around on the downstairs terrace?”

“I told you that my personal quarters are completely private.”

“But a boat from the lake . . .”

He met her stare, and she saw he wore a hint of that smile that always undid her. “No one is going to see anything. No one but me,” he added pointedly. “When are you going to start trusting me?”

“I trust you far too much as it is.”

“Are you going to let me show you what I have in mind? You can always say no.”

“Can I at least have a drink first?”

A rough bark of laughter scraped his throat. She smiled at the unexpectedness of his flash of humor.

“You’ve called me out. I’m a shit host. Wait here.”

She walked over to the wrought iron fence while she waited, breathing in the fresh scent of the surrounding pines and trying to dampen her mounting anticipation. She blinked, startled, when he was suddenly standing next to her, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was as silent as a ghost. She took the champagne gratefully.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. His gaze dipped from her face to the champagne flute. “Drink up while you can.”

Her brows went up at that. She watched him as he went back inside, admiring his broad shoulders and the shape of his ass in the swim trunks. Excitement bubbled up in her. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d bargained for with him? A thrilling sexual affair, a wholesale distraction from the gray grief that had swallowed up her life recently? She glanced around her, seeing a world of luxury, beauty, and brilliant, blinding color. Her breasts and sex ached pleasantly with the knowledge of the pleasure and challenge to come.

He was delivering, in spades. The least she could do was try to return the favor. She swallowed half the contents of the flute, the clean, crisp taste and effervescence only amplifying her anxious arousal.

She was glad for the rush conferred by the delicious champagne when he backed out of the door a moment later and turned, and she saw what he carried. It looked a little like a sitting massage chair, but there were more hinges and movable parts, and some of the cushions on it weren’t in typical places.

Definitely
in different places, Harper thought when she saw that the place where a person would prop their legs had been split so that their thighs could be kept open. There were other variations from a sitting massage chair. There were straps hanging from the leg portion and below the cushion where a person would rest their forearms and hands. Instead of the donut cushion where one usually placed their face during a massage, there was a narrow chin pad that curved upward, like a thin crescent.

He set down the contraption in front of the fence ten feet away from her. He turned in her direction. Harper downed the rest of her champagne, set the flute on a nearby table, and walked toward him.

“That looks like something from a torture chamber,” she said, attempting levity to hide her nerves.

“It’s not. It’s meant for pleasure.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Ideally, both. But its intention is to give me complete control.”

Her heart starting to thrum in her ears, she glanced warily at the black metal movable parts and cushions.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said.

“I know,” she replied.

“I set it up here, because the design is thicker on the fence here,” he said, pointing to the wrought iron design of intertwining branches. “It’ll be enough to hide you, should anyone pass in a boat and happen to be staring, but it’s open enough that you’ll still be able to enjoy the view.”

“Like I’ll be paying attention to the view,” she scoffed under her breath.

She looked up when he stepped closer and his long finger brushed against the skin below her chin. His eyes shone, looking especially golden in the evening light. She stared up at him, spellbound.

“It’ll excite me to have you in this chair. I think it’ll excite you, too. But it’s your call.”

She nodded, swallowing thickly. She turned toward the chair.

“How . . . how do I get on it?”

“First, let’s get this off you,” he murmured, and she felt his fingers slip beneath the ties of her bikini at her back. Remembering what he’d told her about always wanting to undress her, she stood without moving as he drew the bikini top off her. He knelt and pulled the snug briefs down over her ass and thighs. She paused in the process of stepping out of the bikini bottoms when she felt his hand spread just above her knee. He swept it up, over her outer thigh, hip, and the side of her ass in a warm, greedy caress.

“You’re so pretty, Harper.”

Her mouth fell open. He’d said something similar to her several times before. It wasn’t the compliment a sophisticated, worldly playboy gave a woman. She realized that for the first time. It was the kind of compliment that came from an awestruck boy.

“What?” he asked, and he was towering over her again, a big, powerful figure, his outline blocking the setting sun. He’d noticed the look of wonder and puzzlement on her face.

“We . . . we haven’t met before,
have
we? I mean . . . before Tahoe?” she asked.

His eyelids narrowed.

“Why? Do you think we have?”

She blinked, and the moment of déjà vu faded. She laughed at her stupidity. What she’d told him the other night was true. If she’d
ever
met Jacob Latimer, she’d remember it. In spades.

“No,” she admitted.

How could she possibly imagine that Jacob Latimer was remotely similar to a boy? Why did his presence keep calling up that sweet, poignant sadness of her early teenage years . . . the regret? Was it the loss of her parents and memories of her childhood inspiring it?

He stepped closer. “Harper, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking off the spell. She didn’t want to think about her losses. Not now. “I’m ready.”

She saw him nod once, but thought a vague expression of suspicion or curiosity lingered on his face. He took one of her hands and guided her to the chair.

“Straddle the seat first, then slide one leg into position while you keep standing on the other foot.”

He braced her while she did what he instructed, her heartbeat starting a steady drumroll in her ears.

“Now sit.”

It wasn’t like sitting, in any normal sense of the word. The center cushions supported her both from below and from the front. When she came to rest, she was tilted forward at a forty-five degree angle. Her lower belly and hips pressed against the abdomen cushion, but the lower pelvic cushion took most of her weight. Her sex pressed at the juncture of both. Once in place, it was only natural to place her elbows on the forward cushion and rest her forearms. Her shoulders were supported by two small cushions. She hesitated, but then slid her chin into the upward-curving crescent.

It was almost scandalous, how comfortable the contraption was.

She felt Jacob’s hand on her free lower leg and he lifted it onto the apparatus. A moment later, she felt the padded straps go around each ankle and tighten. Then he came around to the front. She stared at his crotch as he quickly restrained her wrists. Heat rushed through her cheeks and sex. The height of the apparatus had clearly been matched to his—Jacob’s—body.

He stepped closer, his crotch coming within inches of her face. Her eyes widened. He placed both of his hands at her temples and smoothed back her damp hair, gathering it at her nape. He swept the tresses over her shoulder, getting it off her back.

“You’re comfortable?” he murmured, sliding his warm hands along her bare back.

“Yes,” she managed in a choked voice. She shivered at the feeling of his skin gliding against hers.

“You’re still cold.”

“No—”

“I think I’ve got something that can help with that.”

Her brain whirred in nonstop anxiety and excitement while he was out of her vision, but he probably had only left her side for a few seconds. He came up next to her—again, silently. The snap of a container opening alerted her to his presence. Because of the chin crescent, she couldn’t turn her head and alleviate her anxiety. She
could
have lifted her chin out of it, of course, and turned her head. But it excited her to imagine that even her head was restrained.

She felt movement on the skin just above her ass. The cloth of his swim trunks? Yes. He’d straddled the entire bench with long legs, and her body along with it.

“Jacob?” she asked uncertainly.

“Shhh,” he murmured. He placed both of his big hands on either side of her spine. Warmth emanated from his hands and soaked into her muscles. He began to massage her back, spreading oil on her skin. It felt divine.

“Oh . . . it’s
warm
. It feels so good,” she said.

“Then it’s doing what it’s supposed to do, on both counts.”

His hands were so big. He shaped her muscles to his palms, squeezing out the tension she experienced from accepting the challenge of being restrained to the apparatus. She moaned softly when his hands shifted, and he massaged along her shoulder blades.

“You could do this for a living,” she muttered after a stretched moment, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“You think?” he asked quietly. She sensed him step forward slightly as his hands smoothed and shaped the muscles beneath her shoulder blades. “It might be considered kind of unethical if I did something like this, though.” His hands slid down below her armpits, and he was massaging her suspended bare breasts in his warm, lubricated hands. Her eyelids sprang open, and she was staring at the blue lake through the leaf design of the wrought iron fence. She wasn’t really seeing, though. Just feeling. His palms continued to massage her while his thumb and forefinger pinched her nipples lightly. The oil amplified her pleasure. A heavy, achy feeling suffused her sex.

He lowered his hands, cradling her rib cage, and then swept them up over her breasts again, lifting and massaging them. It aroused her, as always, his show of controlled, yet blatant, greed.

“Jacob,” she panted. He slid his hands lower again, holding her rib cage so surely, her very heart in his hands. Was that why he did it? she wondered. To exhibit his complete mastery over her mind and body? She was glad when he cupped her heaving breasts again.

“Are you getting warmer?” He ran his fingertips over her beading nipples, rubbing the warming lubricant into them until they tingled and grew diamond-hard.

“Hotter,” she admitted throatily.

He tapped her erect nipples lightly with his palm, the taut sensation making her whimper. “God you’re responsive. Your nipples get so hard,” she heard him mutter thickly as he pinched the crests again with his fingertips. Harper squirmed against the seat cushions. Suddenly, he grasped both of her breasts firmly in his hands.