The Keeper (12 page)

He lost his mind in the pleasure;
lost it in the sweet draw of her mouth, the pressure in his balls, the heated
ache boiling up from deep inside. The little sobbing sounds of gratification
coming from her throat aroused him all the more, and he convulsed in a fiercely
intense surge.

He would have been humiliated to
pass out after climaxing with any other woman. When he awoke, just before dawn,
she curled around his back. He reached behind him to smooth exploring fingers
over her, loving the warm softness of her skin. She responded immediately, as
if she were waiting for him to wake. She purred as he rolled over between her
thighs and thrust inside her already slick, primed cunt. All without a word.

A laugh of pure joy burst from him.
Her body was a welcome home for his cock, her heart a home for his. Rejoicing
in the fact she'd come to him, proving she trusted him after all. He would not
let her regret it. Making love to her in the early morning hours was sweet and
satisfying. She arched into him, grasped his ass, wrapped her legs around his
thighs, and answered every one of his thrusts with her own.

While they dressed for work in the
morning, he asked, "Are you free this weekend?"

***

"Share?" Pete hovered
over her naked body and held her wrists at either side of her head.

"Yes?" Smiling up at him,
she decided she could get used to the familiar penthouse, the same one as on
the wedding weekend. It was a magical, luxurious place made even more special
by the man on top of her.

"Baby, do you trust me?"

Instantly wary at the tone of his
question, she sobered for a moment. Did she?

"Do you trust me enough to put
yourself in my hands?"

She tried to shift her arms, but he
tightened his grip. A frisson of awareness raced through her. Not fear. Her
pussy throbbed. She liked the feeling of his capturing her. She'd worked
through her demons, knew she had trust issues and insecurities, but there was
no doubt in her heart and mind Pete Rayne was different from any other man she
knew and definitely different from her father. She'd finally been able to speak
her mind to that man and survived.

There was only one answer to Pete's
question. "Yes," she hissed.

He tugged her wrists above her head
and held them together in one hand.

Something soft brushed along her
upraised arm, back and forth, tickling her. She couldn't see what it was. Then
it circled one wrist like a silky fur cuff. She heard a click.
"Pete?" Her voice held a note of alarm.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she whispered, her
mouth suddenly dry. He enclosed the other wrist in another furry circlet—and
clicked. She was defenseless, vulnerable, and open.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart.
I promise you'll enjoy this. I'll never hurt you."

She believed him. Her heart thudded
hard in her breast. Nevertheless, she tugged at her restraints, testing them
and herself. At his mercy and now attached to the headboard of the four-post
bed. He kissed her then, a consuming mating of their lips, his tongue plunging
and curving into her mouth. It ended all too soon.

He drifted his lips down her neck
to the cushions of her breasts. Arching in expectant passion, she offered them
as she whispered encouragement and pleas. He toyed with her until she squirmed.
"Baby," she whimpered. "Suck my nipples."

"I have something better.
Close your eyes." His voice dropped an octave as he looped a scarf around
her head, covering her eyes, and tied a knot by her ear.

She gasped at the loss of her sight
and rolled her head on the pillow, complaining at the loss of his body's heavy
warmth when he sat up. Her nipples ached, and he wasn't touching her.

Cool air raised the fine hairs on
her body. She groaned. Something soft swept, with the lightest of touches,
across the pebbled tip of one breast. "Oh, yes," she whimpered. The
swish, back and forth, brought goose bumps.

He dragged the feather down her
center, tickling her belly button.

Her hips lifted, seeking the
feather's movement as he slowly curled it over her thighs. Muscles quivered and
her pussy flooded, the swollen tissues hot and pulsating. Her whole body
throbbed in anticipation.

He must have knelt between her
legs, because his muscular biceps pushed them wide to expose her completely. He
nipped at her inner thigh, sucking the skin into his mouth, his teeth leaving a
sharp sting.

"Pete!"

His chuckle sent waves of sensation
rolling through her. The feather stroked up her slit, from her back hole to her
clit. Up and down. Down and up.

Her mouth opened in a shriek. Her
hips pumped, lifting right off the bed.

He tickled and tormented.

It was agonizing. It was wondrous.
"Please, please," she begged. "I want you inside me."

"Me too." He groaned the
words, his heated breath puffing over her face. The insistent, thick head of
his cock pulsed at her vaginal opening. Slowly, tauntingly, he pumped in the
tip.

She tugged at her restraints,
wanting desperately to touch him, to pull his body into hers.

"You feel so good," he
murmured, broken and husky, his in-stroke confident and persistent, the pulling
out heady and with a little erotic twist.

Arching her back, seeking more, her
head tossed on the pillow. It was maddening to be blind. She didn't like it.
She wanted to see his face, to gaze down the length of her body to see his cock
straining toward her.

He thrust completely in, grunting
harshly in her ear.

She screamed her pleasure as they
plunged and withdrew in counterpoint to the other, their bodies meeting with
satisfying wet slaps. His pleasure was a guttural rumbling sound in her ear.
His chest abraded her breasts. Her senses narrowed to her pussy, her hole, to
his cock in her hole. She bit her lower lip and took his thrusts until her
orgasm bloomed, forcing its way to the very tips of her fingers and toes,
coating her skin with a sheen of perspiration.

Her shoulders ached a bit when he
released them. Too spent to care, she rolled to her side with his hard, equally
sweaty body curled up behind her. Secure in his tight embrace, an exhaustive
and satiating sleep claimed her.

Chapter Seventeen

Sharon floated into consciousness,
to warm, plush awareness. It didn't feel quite familiar, not like her bedroom
at home—oh, right, the penthouse suite of The Sanctuary, the most expensive
hotel in Chicago. Everything had been perfect with Pete. He was amazing, sexy,
and sweet.

Rolling her head to one side, she
peeped at him from under her lashes. Sprawled on his back, arms above his head
on the pillow, face relaxed into a little boy expression, he looked magnificent
and innocent—which he was not. Innocent, that is.
God, he's a good lover.
She smiled and gazed at him tenderly. She didn't really want to think of all
the women who might have taught him a thing or two over the years. Besides,
she'd learned a thing or two herself. Remembering the furry cuffs, she rubbed
her wrists and wondered if he'd done what they did last night with anyone else.

Easing out of the bed, she strolled
over the thick Oriental carpet into that stupendous bathroom. This time, she
didn't want to leave the place without sampling the whirlpool tub. Huge and
deep, it sat right in front of a picture window overlooking the skyline. The
blinds didn't need to be drawn, since the penthouse was above the rest of the city.
Besides, who else would be up at this hour? It was five in the morning. She had
a strong yen for this tub.

Starting the water and turning on
the jets, she dropped in scented bath salts from the vanity. Mm, coconut. It
reminded her of a Piña Colada. She sank into the hot, frothy water with a
contented sigh. This was heavenly. Surging water soothed her well-used muscles.
She was accustomed to Pete's energetic lovemaking and reveled in it, but it had
a cost. This was completely soothing and, if she angled just right, arousing.

Relaxed into limpness, her head,
with hair in a topknot, dropped back onto the neck cushion. She stretched out,
and sighed again. Champagne and shrimp? Cheese? Grapes?
That's what she
needed.
How decadent.

The pedestrian sound of the toilet
flushing in its little room woke her from a hazy doze. The steam from the
whirlpool had melted her muscles and clouded the mirrors, but the masculine
body stepping into the water was clear as lust.

"Private party?" he
purred, sinking until the only parts of him visible were his head and
shoulders. "Ahh," he groaned appreciatively.

"Not any more," she
replied, sensuous excitement pulsing through the parts of her already made soft
by passion and hot, frothing water.

"Hi." He lifted his arms
to rest on the sides, fingertips dangling, twitching. Flicking.

"Hey!" she giggled as she
put her palm out to keep water out of her eyes. His calf drifted along hers,
toes poking into places he'd already claimed. "Hey." The sound
strangled out of her, breathy and truncated. She suddenly felt very petite and
delightfully trapped in this bubbly, steamy bath. His tall, broad-shouldered
body overwhelmed her even from three feet away. His warm, hazel eyes gleamed
mischievously, and his lips quirked before he broke into a smile.

"Got a problem?" He
wiggled his toe, sliding it delicately over her clit.

"Oh." The heat rose up
her neck. All of a sudden, she was inordinately hotter than the water
temperature.
Mm, it does feel wonderful.
She pressed back. Parting her
lips, running her tongue over the ridge of her upper teeth, she watched the
unholy gleam in his gaze as he pushed off and glided slowly toward her.

She bit the corner of her lower
lip. He ducked his head under the water and surfaced right in front of her.
Muscular arms rose to run fingers through wet hair, sweeping it off his
forehead, an act that showed off every line and curve in the muscles of his
chest and biceps. Even the soaked tufts of underarm hair aroused her. Gauzy
ruffs in the center of the most tender skin on his body, and as she knew, the
most ticklish.

She clasped her fingers around his
chest, sliding them around to his back, caressing the firm skin. Tearing her
gaze off his puckered, pointy nipples, she met his eyes. He stilled, watching
her, his hands in his hair, muscles bunched, his chest the only part of him
moving—in and out in rough, uneven breaths.

"Don't you dare." His
warning was deep and powder-puff threatening.

He knew what was in her mind. It
was the one thing he feared. She pursed her lips and blinked in what she hoped
was an unsuspicious, coy way.

His chest broadened, tensed in her
hands. Her own breathing became more and more irregular. She inched her fingers
up. He hated being tickled. Her thumbs twitched. He watched her face like a
jungle cat watching prey, waiting for the slightest telltale movement.

She kissed him instead, a long,
tongue-dragging slide from one coffee-brown male nipple across to its mate. Her
insides jumped in rapturous shivers.

A sound escaped him, half giggle,
half-rough, lusty sigh.

He had extremely sensitive nipples.
His cock could go from soft to spike hard with just a light, pursed-lip blow of
warm air across them.

His arms lowered around her, and he
pulled her against him, flattening her breasts, then slid his palms down her
back to cup her bottom. She didn't have the smallest butt on earth, but she
loved the way one huge hand of his could hold her whole bottom easily. He made
her feel amazingly petite and protected in his arms.

His morning beard-roughened cheek
abraded a path across her neck. His soft growl, a purr deep in his throat,
followed as his lips nuzzled her breasts, licking, and nipping a trail all
around the silken skin.

"Mm, you taste good,
honey."

He held her shoulder blades in his
palms and finally—finally—lit into her nipples. She clutched his shoulders,
digging fingertips in until she scratched. She wanted to rake her claws over
his hard muscles, wanted to wrap her thighs around his hips. Open. She was
soft, achy, and open.

Lifting her up out of the water, he
feasted.

She gripped his head, speared
fingers through his fair strands and held him captive against her breasts. She
looked down her nose at his face, at the sight of his lips tugging and tugging,
working her nipples. His lovely, wet, spiky eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks.

One of his hands slid down the
wetness of her back and kneaded her bottom again.

"Share, Share, I love how soft
your skin is. I love to touch you." He demonstrated, sliding fingers
through the water from behind, slipping through her cleft, caressing her
thighs.

She moaned his name, cupped his
nape, and surged against him, sinuously drawing his fingers deeper into her
heat. "Yes," she whispered. He switched from back to front, and she
sobbed when he fondled her clit. Soft touching, firm petting, alternating until
she didn't know which would happen next. She didn't care as long as he didn't
stop.

Dropping her hand below the water,
she found him, grasped the firm cock in her palm, and wrapped him, stroked him
from base to tip.

He growled deep in his throat,
lifted his head to take her lips, to thrust his tongue in concert with the
thrust of his hips into her hand.

She brushed her thumb over and
around the flared head, his skin hot even in the steamy water. "Oh, Pete,
I think LW's ready," she murmured into his ear.

"Well, then, why don't we bury
him right inside your deep, soft, slick, tight pussy." He sat back in the
tub, pulling her toward him.

"Um hum," she sobbed.
"Now would be good." She settled over his hips, and even their sweet,
deliberate ballet of touches and kisses couldn't stop them from coming together
in a fierce connection of bodies and hearts. She came almost instantly as the
head of his penis caressed her sweet spot with his tormenting, magical,
masterful skill of swiveling hips. Usually she didn't come to orgasm so easily,
but her emotions of late, the hot, tender bondage, the way she felt complete
and secure in his arms, toppled her over the edge. She cried out then buried
her open mouth against his shoulder, biting it in the beautiful, frightening
joy of wanting this man forever. He'd said he loved her, but did that translate
to wanting her—forever?