Temptation’s Edge (4 page)

He flashed a grin, but it faded quickly, his face going serious as he moved in to press his mouth to hers.

Oh, his lips were soft. So damn soft as he brushed them over hers. Too lightly; she wanted more. She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek, but he took it, held it firmly in his. Pressed her palm to his chest as he opened her lips with his, his warm tongue slipping inside.

He tasted like the tiniest bit of the whiskey he’d had with dinner. Mostly he tasted like pure man. Pure desire.

She sighed, opened to him, and he pulled her closer. His arm around her held her firmly, so hard he was nearly bruising her. But she needed it, somehow. Craved that rough touch. That hard kind of passion. And he kept kissing her, kissing her, until she could barely breathe. Kisses full of wanting. Full of demand. It was making her go hot and soft all over. Wet between her thighs. When he slipped a hand down to caress her knee, then higher, she let him do it. Parted her thighs for him. Waited for him to reach higher.

He pulled back long enough to murmur, “Good girl, that’s it,” before bending to kiss her once more.

His tongue drove into her mouth and she sucked it in. He still held her hand to his chest, where she could feel his heart hammering as hard as her own. As hard as the pulse beat of desire in her breasts, her sex. And as his hand moved up her thigh,
leaving a trail of heat as it went, she pulled in a gasping breath. Pulled in the heady scent of him: rain and the earth and the night.

She trembled when she felt that first brush of his fingers at the edge of her lace panties. At the idea that he’d feel right away how wet she was, the lace soaked. He groaned into her mouth, and she felt a strange sort of satisfaction at his realization, at his reaction to it.

He spread her thighs wider with a firm hand, and she let him do it. Held perfectly still as he brushed his fingertips over the wet fabric, against her aching cleft, over the hard nub of her clitoris.

Need him. Need more.

As if reading her mind, he slid his fingers under the fabric, moving right away in between the swollen folds of her sex.

“Mmm…,” she moaned against his mouth.

He didn’t pause, didn’t stop kissing her. Instead he began a steady, lovely rhythm, his fingers rubbing over her slit, his tongue pushing into her mouth. Desire rose, burned into her like a flame. She arched, coming up off the seat of the cab, but immediately he used his other hand to press down on her hip, to hold her still.

Some part of her rebelled against his control. Another part of her loved it even more. She was too far gone to question it.

She breathed him in, kissed him harder—it was the only thing she could do. She was helpless against him, against the tide of pleasure washing over her. When he pushed his fingers inside her she gasped again. Was sure she felt him smiling against her mouth. Then he was fucking her with his fingers with a steady pressure. In, then out, his thumb circling her clit until she was sure she would come at any moment.

He pulled back.

“We’re here.”

Oh yes, almost there…

She blinked. Her breath was a rasping pant. He was watching
her. His fingers were still working inside her. She could barely stand to see him watching her face.

“Are you ready, my girl?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip.

He smiled, a wicked grin on his gorgeous face as his fingers stilled.

Bastard.

He slipped his fingers from her, and she wanted to cry out. She was so close to climax she was shaking all over.

“Shh, Mischa. Let me help you out.”

She was dizzy with it all—his lovely manners, her body burning with almost-met need. Who the hell was this man?

Her legs were shaky, but he helped her from the cab, one strong arm around her. They were standing on the sidewalk in front of an older brick building. He pulled her right up against him, and she felt the hard-packed muscle of his big body.

“I’m going to get you upstairs. And I’m going to make you come. We can talk after you’ve come for me. After you’ve come down from it. Still with me, girl?”

Was he crazy? Where else could she possibly be at this moment?

She nodded. “Yes, damn it.”

He laughed, a low, rumbling chuckle of delight.

“Oh, we’re going to have ourselves a night. I can hardly wait.”

Neither could she. In fact, if he didn’t hurry and take her up to his apartment, if he didn’t carry through with his promise, bring her to orgasm soon, she was going to explode right there on the sidewalk. It was all she could think about.

Connor.

Need.

Out of control.

Totally out of control.

Why didn’t it matter as much as it should?

He led her up two flights of stairs, keeping her hand in his. It was large, warm. She remembered how it had felt between her thighs, which were rubbing together as they climbed the wide staircase, teasing her heated flesh. She was breathless when they got to the third floor. Not from the climb. It was everything he’d done to her in the cab. What he would do once they got inside. The possessiveness of his touch.

He opened a door painted bright blue, took her into his apartment. There was light coming from a floor lamp, illuminating the space. In a brief glance she took in the sleek, modern furnishings, the long wall of exposed brick. There were sketches all over the walls, framed in simple black or pewter frames. Robots, spaceships. One really excellent nude of a woman reclining in a chair. But she didn’t have time to think about it. He was slipping her coat from her shoulders, leading her to the big L-shaped sofa done in a heavy dark blue canvas.

“Have a seat.”

It wasn’t a question. Why did that make her entire body vibrate with need? She sat, and he settled next to her. She noticed once more the way his dark shirt pulled against his broad chest, making her want to reach out and stroke the fabric. To feel the bulging muscle she knew lay beneath. She flexed her fingers.

“Are you nervous, Mischa?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“What, then?”

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe just that I know something different will happen tonight. Something more than what I’ve experienced before. I’ve done a few things…been to a couple of fetish clubs. But you’re more…serious about it, I think.”

“Does it make you afraid?”

“No.” She shook her head, not wanting to admit it. “No.”

He smiled. “We’ll see if that turns out to be true.”

“You seem to take some pleasure in the idea,” she said.

He grinned, his green-and-gold eyes glittering. “I
am
a sadist, Mischa.”

That made her laugh. “Fair enough.”

He took her hand then, brought it to his mouth. Brushed his lips over the back of her fingers, making her shiver. With his gaze still on hers, he unfolded her fingers, one at a time, kissed each one. She’d never had such attention paid to her hands before. Had never imagined what it might do to her. With each press of his warm lips against her skin, her body was going hot, melting all over.

He paused to ask, “Do I have your consent, Mischa?”

“Mmm…what?”

“To have my way with you.” He grinned gorgeously.

She grinned back. “Definitely.”

“What about a little pain with our pleasure? And I’m asking now in this abbreviated way because, to be honest, I can hardly wait.”

She loved to hear him admit that he wanted her, loved the husky tone in his voice. “Yes. Definitely.”

“We still need to have that talk before anything more serious happens. But right now I just need to touch you.” He slipped one hand around the back of her neck, exerted the smallest pressure there, and she was surprised—shocked, really—at her response to it. It made her feel commanded by him. And also taken care of in some weird indefinable way she couldn’t explain to herself.

“Yes, later,” she murmured in agreement.

“Come on, now,” he said, his tone low. “Lie back for me, my girl.”

He used the hand on her neck to guide her, until she was reclining
on the sofa. He got up so that he had one knee on the cushions, leaning over her.

“You really are beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself.

He let the hand slide from around her neck to her collarbone, then down between her breasts, stroking her cleavage, the tops of her breasts. The heat of his hand scorched her, her nipples going hard.

“I love these stiletto heels. That you wear these thigh-high fishnets beneath your dress. Come now, let me see you.” He kept his gaze on her body as he swept the soft knit fabric of her dress up her thighs, revealing her black lace panties. “Very nice,” he murmured. “But let’s have off with them, shall we?”

He slipped them off, smiling as her bare flesh came into view. His gaze flicked up to hers for one moment before he looked back at her shaved sex. He touched her, just his fingertips, a light, feathering touch over her aching cleft, and pleasure shimmered over her like heat lightning, making her squirm.

“Ah, I have to taste you,” he said.

She had one brief moment to think
Yes, please
. Then he was bent over her, his tongue stroking her swollen folds, pushing between them.

“Ah, Connor…”

Her hands went into his short crop of dark hair, and she watched his fingers biting into her thigh. Loved that hard pressure on her skin. Loved even more the lapping motion of his tongue as he moved up her damp slit to the hard nub of her clit.

“God…”

He kept licking her pussy in a slow, steady rhythm. She wanted to come, but it was just the tiniest bit too slow to allow her to reach climax.

“Please, Connor. Faster.”

He paused, and when he began again he moved even more slowly, licking her almost lazily.

“Oh, you’re torturing me.”

There was no response from him, simply another pause in which she understood that the more she complained or begged, the slower he would go.

Wicked man.

She loved it.

She sighed, settled into the soft cushions, let her thighs fall farther apart. And as soon as she did he really went to work, his tongue pushing inside her, then moving back to her needy clit and licking, licking, then sucking hard.

“Oh!”

She felt her climax bearing down on her, let the pleasure shiver through her body as the spasms began. And as she began to come, he thrust his fingers inside her.

She exploded, calling out, hips arching hard against his mouth, his surging fingers. Pleasure was a hammering jolt, echoing through her over and over.

“Connor…ah, God…”

The waves subsided, but he didn’t stop. He was fucking her with his fingers, as he had in the cab, but this time with hard, almost punishing strokes. And he was sucking on her clit, making it hurt a little. But she loved it,
needed
it, somehow. In moments, it seemed, she was coming again. Unbelievably. Her body trembled with pleasure, her hips bucking so hard he had to hold her down with his hand. Or maybe he simply wanted to. She loved it all—his hard hands, his lovely, hot mouth. His command of her.

After, she lay shivering, small frissons of pleasure still shimmering through her. Connor raised his head, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiled at her.

“That was beautiful, my girl. To feel you come like that, in my mouth. Shall we do it again?”

She laughed shakily. “I may need a few minutes to recover.”

“I’ll use that time, then, to get you undressed and into my bed.”

Before she had time to answer he’d lifted her in his arms and was carrying her down a short hallway. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had held her this way—in his
arms
. It made her feel small. Utterly feminine.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of more framed sketches on the walls of the hallway, then he was moving into the bedroom, flicking on the light switch with his elbow. The room was thoroughly masculine, with large pieces of sleek black furniture, an enormous bed in the same black wood, framed by four posts. The downy comforter was varying shades of gray, from dark to pale, done in bold horizontal stripes. But all she could really think about was that he was going to fuck her there.

He set her down on the edge of the bed.

“Stay right there, Mischa,” he said, his voice low, quiet. But there was still unquestioning authority in his tone, and it was making her hot all over. Making her heart pound.

She watched as he kicked his way out of his shoes, then unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it off. She took in a breath as his muscular shoulders and chest, the tight six-pack of his abs, came into view. His skin was a pale gold, as if he’d seen a little sun over the summer. Around his right biceps he had a tattoo in black and red—a Celtic warrior armband, complicated knotwork with thorny tribal spikes. As purely male as the rest of him. There was heavy black text in Gaelic in a line down the inside of his left forearm, but she had trouble focusing on his tattoos as he stepped out of his black slacks, revealing strong thighs, and the even stronger bulge of his erect cock under his black boxer briefs.

A shudder of need went through her.

Have to touch him, to feel his cock in my hand…

She licked her lips.

“Now you,” he said, moving toward her, a glint in his eyes.

He bent over her, helped her unzip her dress and slip it over her head.

“Ah, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said, real awe in his voice. “But let’s get this off.”

He reached around her, unsnapped her black lace bra, and she felt the weight of her breasts, the heat of them, her nipples hardening in the cool air.

“Yes, gorgeous girl. Lord. Even better than I’d imagined.”

He knelt on the bed, towering over her as he pressed her down onto the mattress. The cotton quilt was soft against her back. His breath was hot on her cheek as he whispered, “I need to see your tattoos. To see how you’ve marked your skin before I do that myself: mark you. To see just how beautiful you are.”

He gathered her breasts in his hands as he spoke, and all she could do was sigh at the warmth of his palms, his skin pressed against her stiff nipples. He kissed her cheek, her neck, playing with her breasts, gently at first, then he gave her nipples a small pinch.