Manacled in Monaco (12 page)

“Rolan,” she stuttered over his name and her cheeks stained a deep rose.

“I’m going to keep you naked for three days, Sarita Paxton, and you’re going to love every minute of it.”

“I think I’m out of your league.”

He collected one champagne bottle and unscrewed the wire, keeping the fizzies in the wine. “Turn around. You don’t have to face me. Just pretend you’re taking off your jeans in your bedroom.”

“I’m not that type,” she muttered under her breath, but obeyed and wriggled out of her skirt, the black silk material falling to her ankles.

The cork exploded out of the bottle and white foam fizzled over the edge of the green glass.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze. “Rolan?”

Raw desire drew him tight, every muscle bunched, and his prick wept. Two orgasms in less than two hours, by rights he should be sated. Yet, the sight of that heart-shaped backside, the glistening pink folds revealed as she bent at the waist, stun gunned him into orbit.

“Lie down,” he ordered and pressed a heated palm to her backside, fingers curling involuntarily over the curve of her ass, drawn to the center, traveling up her crevice. Spying a couple of towels lying on the rock beside him, he snapped one off, flicked it onto the sand, and smoothed the fabric. Hands bracketing her ass, Rolan nipped first one, then the other cheek. Sexual musk mingled with a light flowery perfume heightened every sense.

She shivered under his touch and snaked a peek at him, lips curling at the corners.

“Lie on your back, Sarita honey. I want you to tell me every sensation you feel, from the first slurp of the chilled bubbles to me wringing my tongue over every fold, drinking from your pussy.”

“Oh God,” she said and stared at him as if mesmerized, but sank onto the towel and stretched slender legs to the edge of the material, propping up on her elbows.

“All the way and bend your knees. Don’t close your eyes. I want you to watch every move and give me a running narrative. Got that?”

“Rolan?”

Setting the bottle into the fine speckled sand, he grabbed the two other towels and crumpled them into a pillow.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded. “That’s it. Now keep your eyes glued to me.”

Eyes flicking between Sarita’s face and her pussy, Rolan sat on his haunches between her knees and elbowed them wider apart. He lowered the green bottle and tipped it up.

“Now. Tell me what you’re feeling now,” he directed and held her gaze, willing her to his domination.

“Holy moly,” she yelped.

“Tell me.”

“Cold, very weird, fizzy and, and, kind of really exciting. I wish you’d put your tongue there,” she replied, and pointed.

“You’re a fast learner.”

“Had to be to survive in Orangeville.”

“What made you buy nipple rings?”

“Didn’t.” She shook her head and moaned before gasping, “Are we really going to talk?”

“Mmm,” he murmured, “What do the bubbles feel like now?”

“They’re driving me nuts. You need to put your tongue there, or that,” she said, pointing to his cock. “I thought you were going to drink it.”

“In a bit. What made you buy nipple rings?” he asked and in an offhand manner adjusted the pressure one notch for the left breast while keeping the champagne trickling into her center.

“Oh,” she said and shook her head again. “That’s so weird.”

“What?” He ground the bottle into the sand.

“When you tighten it, it makes me stop breathing.”

“Hurting?”

“No, more like very aware. Your breath felt like fire.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Please?”

“The nipple rings?” He busied himself adjusting the right ring.

“Oooh,” she moaned and grabbed fistfuls of sand, hips lifting off the towels.

More liquid tipped in and her whimpers grew louder, her head rolling back and forth on the towel.

“Nipple rings, Sarita honey, where did you get them?”

Both eyelids flew open and her pupils dilated so wide, her eyes mirrored dark chocolate. She met his gaze. “You’re driving me nuts. I catered a bridal sex toy shower. They gave them to me. Rolan, please?” She rushed the words out, not taking a breath.

Control at a precipice, he inhaled and said, “Good girl. And now the bubbles, how do they make you feel?”

“If you don’t put that inside of me or slurp out these bubbles, I’m going to kill you. Now, damn it, Rolan.”

“Sarita, Sarita,” he said, tsking. “You’re misbehaving and now you have to pay the penalty.”

Chapter Eight

Sarita tingled inside and outside, the fizzing bubbles tickling up an inferno. She could hardly breathe and needed to feel Rolan inside her, craved his cock.

His words sank in.

“Penalty?”

“Yeah,” he said and flashed a peacock-preening grin. “I take only one sip at a time.”

“Oh.” She rose higher onto her forearms and her lungs caved in as his head lowered between her thighs.

He sipped.

She collapsed, her skull thudding against the sand.

At the brief touch of his lips, she lifted her hips, but he pulled away and blew across her folds.

“Oh Rolan,” she wailed. “More.”

He dropped a kiss on one thigh, and this time when his mouth firmed around her center, he slurped, his tongue thrusting inside.

She blasted into orbit gripping his head with both hands, tugging him closer, grinding her mound against his wonderful mouth. Words spewed out of her lips, commands, pleas, muttered threats.

And he slipped out of her hold, nibbling, his touch too light, too tantalizing, too, too little.

And then he pulled away entirely, leveraging onto his knees, face glistening with her moisture, emerald eyes darkened to jade.

Taking deliberate long breaths, she managed to get her panting under control, reality seeped in, and she noticed the wicked grin on his face.

“Penalty time,” he quipped.

“That wasn’t the penalty, taking me to the edge and not letting it happen?” She grumbled.

“What euphemisms, Mrs. Paxton. You mean I ate you till you creamed, till your little pussy spasmed and clenched, but I wouldn’t let you come?”

Her inner muscles tightened with each lurid word Rolan spoke and a light bulb flashed in her brain. Sarita lifted her head and balanced on her elbows, studying his clean-cut features.

“I think I understand now.” Their gazes tangled, unspoken questions dangling a dizzy circle in her head. “I don’t even swear, Rolan, except for the occasional hell or damn. It’ll take me a while to use those words.”

“I understand, but the rules still apply. Lie back down. Raise your hands above your head, palms together.”

“I’m not sure I like this,” she said, as her pulse skittered and raced, thumping so hard it hurt her chest.

“Tsk, tsk, Sarita honey.” He shook his head. “In the bedroom, I’m in charge.” He sat back against the rock, long legs stretched out, cock erect, the crown red and weeping. He motioned with his hand and continued, “Bend over, woman. You need some stimulation.”

“Dead wrong, Rolan Anthony Paxton, I’m over stimulated as it is,” she muttered under her breath.

And Sarita wondered how in the space of three short days she’d gone from sexless to sex addict, to the point where the sight of his erection brought her right back to the brink, struggling to take a breath. To a place where the thought of his hand connecting with her rump had moisture pooling between her thighs.

She moved onto her hands and knees, scooted onto the towel, raised an arm over his legs, and rested her left elbow on the towel. The musky smell of his arousal proved too tempting. Placing one palm on the side of his hip for balance, she dipped her head and lapped at the precum leaking from the tip of his prick.

A warm hand circled her neck and urged her face to his. She rose onto her knees. Their mouths fused and she feasted on him, on the cigar smoke and champagne taste of Rolan.

He broke the contact and whispered against her lips, “As wonderful as that was, you still pay the penalty, woman.”

“Gladly. Who knows? I may start misbehaving on a regular basis.”

“Jesus.”

A delirious grin annexed her lips when those emerald eyes darkened to that particular shade of army green, which signaled his escalating desire.

“Assume the position,” he gruffed and patted the sand on the other side of his legs.

Sarita obliged, and shifted until she lay across him, knees hitting the sand besides his left leg, elbows resting on soft cotton by his right leg.

Stretching out over his thighs, Sarita wriggled until her pussy folds trapped his cock and she could lay her cheek on folded forearms. She lifted her head and snuck a look over one shoulder. Eyes closed, hands fisted, he panted in an obvious struggle for control. Breaking into a tooth-baring smile, she sank back down.

The ten spanks took a long time to deliver and she whispered how it felt after each one, her tentative words becoming stronger with each sweet smack. After the last one, he feathered kisses all over her bottom, kneading the mounds with gentle fingers and crooning praises.

“Ah, Sarita honey, I can’t wait. On your hands and knees, woman, I have to be inside.” Slipping a hand under her pelvis, he lifted her, arranging her into position. “You drive me wild. I can’t get enough. Lube first. This is that heating oil, so your pussy will get hotter once I fill you. Pretty, so pretty, all these lips so swollen and pouty.”

His fingers massaged each fold, circling, rubbing up and down, and she melted and moisture drenched his hand. Thumb and forefinger plucked at the hooded pearl and a long growled purr escaped her throat.

“’Nuff,” he barked and drove straight in, hands gripping her hips, pulling her hard against him.

His testicles slapped against her bare pussy and the over-sensitized labia burned and ached. He hammered into her, his rigid cock stretching her vaginal walls, and the sweet friction heated with each plundering stroke until her insides sparked into an inferno, clamping his cock tight.

She met his every thrust, the hard impact of their pounding bodies sending her onto elbows. Her fingers tangled in the beach towel and his hand slipped from slick hips to her mound, a hot palm grinding a frenzied circle. White light exploded behind her pupils as he slammed into her again and again. Ass in the air, she shuddered from one orgasm to another until he plunged one final time and shoved her hips against his groin so hard, his balls smacked her folds wringing another climax from her.

Thigh muscles quivered and she would have collapsed if he hadn’t supported her, one forearm cradling her belly. He eased Sarita sideways onto the towel and lifted one thigh back over his, so she was exposed, open. A warm moist palm covered one breast and he loosened the nipple ring until it plopped free, a jeweled ivory tassel landing on the sun orange towel.

Amazed when her liberated breast tip tingled in protest, she stared at his hand working on the other breast. “It feels so strange, Rolan. Tingling like mad, almost wanting the pressure back.”

He nipped her shoulder and then sucked on the injured flesh.

A blaze streaked up her spine and she convulsed around him.

“Jesus.”

His lips trailed the curve of her neck and the caress puddled all her muscles into squiggling Jell-O. Lulled into a sensual torpor, she relaxed against his broad muscled chest, closed her eyes, and slipped into a light doze.

She awoke to a rocking sensation, and when heavy eyelids managed to lift, discovered Rolan climbing the stairs.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I figure you need sustenance.”

“I don’t know if I have the energy to eat.” Her lips curved as she remembered the feel of him inside her and she kissed the pulse at his throat, inhaling his definitive scent, that wonderful blend of Cool Water and Rolan.

“I’ll feed you. All you have to do is chew.” And he rubbed a stubbled cheek against hers.

When they reached the kitchen, he set her down on a cushioned bench fronted by a clear bay window. She yawned and cupped a palm over her mouth. “What time is it? It seems too bright for morning.

“It’s near three in the afternoon. I lost track of time. Near as I can figure we went to sleep at dawn.”

“What are you doing, Rolan?”

“This is my only cooking forte, Sarita honey. I make a mean bacon and sunny-side up eggs.” Metallic clanks rang through the cavernous room as he reached above the butcher’s block and sent the wrought iron circle of hanging copper pots a-wheeling. Grabbing a shiny frying pan, he thumped it onto the block.

They ate breakfast, naked, on the bench. Rolan fed her each bite, refusing to let her touch the food. Midway through the repast, he swept her into his lap, settled her thighs around his arousal, and kissed her senseless.

Hunger for food faded, replaced by desire for him and her arms crept around his neck, urging him closer. Abruptly he ended his drugging kiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and her shoulders shifted at the flat line of his mouth.

“Nothing that can’t be corrected,” he replied, eyes hooded. “It’s time we visited Danny’s toy room.”

“Toy room?” Two innocuous words, but she shivered. “I’m guessing these are adult toys.”

“You bet,” he said and lifted her into his arms.

Halfway up the shadowed curved staircase, he sat on one step and suckled each breast, making slurping noises. A finger stroked her folds spreading the moisture pooling there, yet avoiding the pearl hidden by its hood.

“Are you planning to torture me again?” Sarita managed to gasp out when he gathered her in his arms and continued up the stairs.

“Yeah. But this time, it happens my way.”

“Huh?”

His tone sounded ominous and every internal alarm rang. She studied his features, the creases on his forehead she’d memorized while watching him during football games. That particular frown signaled Rolan’s sheer will and determination would overcome any obstacle. When he sat her on a soft mattress, Sarita realized they were in the master bedroom. She lifted onto her elbows and surveyed the four-poster mahogany bed. Scarlet gilt-ridged drapes hung from the right and left frames down to the top of a matching comforter.

Massive pillows almost hid the intricate paneled headboard. Too large to be merely king-size, the bed seemed to drown her petite form. Rolan disappeared while she absorbed the details of the room. A mirror inlaid into the canopy above the bed, a huge ebony sculpture of a six-feet-long penis with corresponding testicles in the far corner. The wall opposite held a framed rectangular black and white close up of a woman’s vagina, the only color a vibrant red hood, which seemed to pulse as she looked at it.

Every hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.

Rolan appeared at the foot of the bed. He dropped something onto the mattress and she pushed onto her hands.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and splayed a palm wide.

She watched him and her breaths came faster. He climbed onto the bed. Not saying a word, his hands bracketed her hips and he shifted her to the center of the mattress. Within seconds, the oversized pillows thumped to the floor.

“Hands above your head, palms facing each other,” he said. “Now.”

Every instinct urged protest, but something in his eyes made her comply.

He straddled her waist, his arousal twitching above one nipple, reached behind, and she bit her lip when his hand reappeared, a pair of silver manacles dangling across one palm. Rolan bolted onto her eyes, even as he fastened one large handcuff around both wrists and clamped the other around a panel in the headboard.

Then he took possession of her mouth while his knees nudged her legs further apart. The feel of his tongue sliding between her lips, his cock nestled in her folds, all heightened by the captivity and his domination. He sank his teeth into her lower lip, the slightest nip, and she climaxed, hips bucking as she instinctively locked ankles around his contoured bottom.

“No way, Sarita honey. You’re not driving me off course.” He reached down, captured an ankle with each hand, and pushed off her, setting her legs wide. “Stay exactly like that. Don’t move an inch. This bed was carefully designed for women of all shapes and sizes.”

Rolan flipped up the comforter, and she spotted a series of small rings interspersed at even intervals along the length of the bed frame. He whipped around and gathered three black silk scarves in his hand. A few minutes later, she laid spread eagled on the mattress, ankles secured to the bed by the ebony material.

A single scarf left, she eyed it, every nerve tingling. And she creamed as he slid it over her eyes and tied it loosely in place.

“What can you see?”

“Nothing,” she replied and her voice shook.

“Good. From this point on, all you do is feel. Experience every detail, you tell me about everything you sense. You are not to stop talking, got it? Every second you hold back on me, you’ll pay for later.”

“Rolan, I’m not sure about this.” Something warm and soothing trickled onto her belly. “Is that oil?”

“Massage oil mixed with a hint of Spanish fly.”

“Isn’t that what men slip into drinks to seduce women?” She tugged at the manacles and wriggled her hips the inch or two her tethers allowed.

“Yeah. This is your penalty, Sarita honey, for making me lose control, not once, not twice, but three times.”

She sniffed. “It smells like patchouli.”

More warm liquid dripped onto her skin, a circle around each breast and a drop onto each erect nipple. The oil trickled down her chest, across her rib cage, into her navel, and he did nothing to stop the flow or spread the moisture.

The mattress lifted and she turned her head left to right, trying to determine where he stood, from which direction he would pounce. A hot palm cupped her heel, his thumb pressing an intense path up her sole, fingers slipping between her toes, kneading, caressing, and it went straight to her center.

“Last warning, Mrs. Paxton. Start speaking and don’t stop.”

She didn’t want the foot massage to end. “It feels like heaven, especially when you press that center point in the middle of my instep. I want to do this to you, Rolan. Tie you up and blindfold you, and then have my way with you.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Why can’t I? If you can do it, I should be able to do so too. Pooh. Why’d you do that?” He’d nipped her bottom cheek.

“Who’s in charge in the bedroom?”

Another nip, the other cheek.

“You are?”

“Damn right.”

And he massaged her other foot. Suckled each toe, gnawed on the fleshy parts, and traced his tongue over every inch of skin from the ankle down to her little toe. She babbled, words spewing out in stream of consciousness fashion and when he nibbled on a sweet sensitive spot above the heel, her hips bucked.