His black eyes switch back and forth between mine, assessing me in the way only a true businessman does. Once he’s weighed all his options, he gives one curt nod. “Deal.”
Maintaining eye contact, I lean down and begin tracing his lips with my tongue, collecting all the sticky syrup. Hopefully, the gesture will soften him a little towards me, make him lose some of that attitude he’s throwing off so we can have a little more fun before we check out.
“Mmm, you taste so sweet, Rebel. I wonder what other body parts taste good enough to eat.” His cock jumps between my legs, and I know I’ve got him.
“You have all morning to find out,” he says, his voice a husky drawl.
Diving in for a real kiss, I cover his mouth with mine as I reach up and pull at the knots on the ties. One at a time, they give way. Rebel drops one hand to my hip and slides the other into my hair to cup the back of my head. He holds me to him, his grip tight enough to bruise, and plunges his tongue into my mouth. Beneath me, his hips lift and retreat, rocking his erection against me. A moan escapes me when the tip of his cock grazes over my clit, my juices providing him an easy glide.
Breaking the kiss, I drop my mouth down to trail wet kisses over his neck, swirling my tongue over his throbbing pulse. Like his drink of choice, Rebel tastes as incredible as he smells—rich, dark, and sensual. Inhaling deeply, I fall powerless to his spell, feeling wild and wanton, eager for more.
“You like being in control?” Rebel rumbles in my ear. The hand he has on my hip slides down to cup my butt cheek, and squeezes.
“Yes,” I say breathlessly, rocking my hips faster, increasing the friction between my legs.
“Are you in control now?”
“Yes.”
In an instant, I’m on my back with Rebel above me, his body planted firmly between my spread legs. A rush of excitement tears through me. Instinctively, I hook my ankles around his back and reach up, intending to pull him down to me, but he stops me before I can touch him.
Gathering both of my hands in one of his, he pins them over my head, pressing them into the pillow so hard I feel the beat of my pulse in my fingertips.
“Wrong, pussycat. I’m in control here. You do what I say, when I say, how I say. Are we clear?”
“Not entirely,” I say huskily as I lift my hips and shamelessly rub my body against his. “Make love to me, Rebel. Fast, slow, I don’t care how, just do it.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You know that’s not my style, pussycat. If that’s what you’re looking for, then you need to leave this room now. Is that what you want? Do you want to leave?”
He’s a damn tease. And he’s full of shit. What Rebel doesn’t understand is that he makes love to me every time we have sex. Just because his style is typically rough and dirty doesn’t change that. It’s what’s behind the sex that counts. He cares about me, or else we wouldn’t be here now.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him fiercely. Holding his gaze, I bear my teeth in a vicious snarl. “You want to fuck? Then let’s fuck.” Whatever gets him to give up the pretenses and get inside me, I’m willing to say and do. Being in his arms, at his mercy, makes me desperate for more.
“Ah, pussycat,” he says, his tone chiding. “How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not the one calling the shots here?” Lowering his voice, he tells me, “If I want to fuck you, I will. So shut your dirty mouth and spread your legs.”
Impossible man. Opening my legs as wide as they’ll go, I expect him to give me what I want despite all his big man talk. But he doesn’t.
Instead, Rebel reaches beyond my field of vision. A moment later, his eyes return to mine and I glimpse a hint of laughter in them. Holding up the bottle of syrup that came with breakfast, he wiggles his brows playfully. “You like to play, pussycat? Let’s play.”
A mixture of horror and anticipation wash over me as I watch him upend the bottle and the thick stream of golden brown syrup comes rushing out.
It hits my chest with surprising weight and spreads out like branches on a tree, traveling in opposing directions between my breasts. Rivulets cascade over my collarbones and drip onto the sheets, pooling beneath my shoulders. More traces over my ribs and collects in my bellybutton. The syrup is warm and sticky against my skin, instantly uncomfortable. But Rebel quickly turns that sensation into something erotic and delicious.
With one hand continuing to hold both of mine to the pillow, he lowers his head and begins lapping up the sweet nectar starting with my left shoulder. His full lips send tingles of awareness bursting between my open legs, and I turn my head to give him more space to work.
His magic tongue circles my collarbone and then dips lower still, cleaning up the mess between both breasts. Even though the syrup never touched them, he pays close attention to my breasts, licking and sucking each nipple into his warm, wet mouth.
My head presses back into the pillow, my back arching up as the pleasure grows more intense. “Rebel.” His name leaves my mouth on a gasp as he moves lower still, his lips and tongue working in tandem along my ribs, inciting goosebumps that prickle down my legs and across my chest, turning my nipples into tight, erect buds.
Finally, he releases my hands in order to creep lower until his wide shoulders nestle between my legs. Picking up the syrup again, he dumps the last of its contents over my mound and then tosses it aside without a care.
His scorching gaze is fixed between my legs as he traces my lips with a single finger. His touch is too light, too subtle, and my body is on fire. Lifting my hips, I silently beg him for more, but he’s not willing to give it.
“Rebel, please...”
“Who’s in charge, Josephine?”
I don’t want to give in to him, but he knows exactly how to make me beg. I watch as he dips his head and flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue. The contact is intense and fleeting, and it leaves me panting for more.
“I’m waiting for my answer, pussycat. Who’s the boss? You?”
“No.” My head whips back and forth on the pillow, and my back arches off the bed.
“Then who? My brother? That frat boy at your apartment?”
“You,” I tell him, desperate for him to touch me and mean it. “You’re in charge.”
A dark smile curls his lips and he rewards me with another flick of his tongue that acts as lightning to my senses. My mouth drops open and I throw my head back, a pained gasp bursting past my lips.
“And who owns this pussy?” Rebel asks, tracing the syrup through my cleft and fingering my opening.
“You do.” My hips swirl of their own accord, trying to get closer, but he only continues to tease me.
“Say that again. I didn’t quite hear you.”
“You do!”
“Say the words, Josephine. Say you own my pussy.”
This is why Rebel always gets his way. He knows the right buttons to push, and he’s pushing all of mine. He’s using my need for sex, for the orgasm he’s going to give me, against me. And I don’t give a damn. Words are just words.
“You own my pussy, Rebel. You own it,” I tell him through labored breaths.
Instantly, his fingers fill me, stretching me open and plunging deep. I cry out, pleasure gripping me so hard the muscles in my legs lock up. He works them in and out as his mouth attacks my clit, sucking and licking up all the sticky syrup and bringing me to the edge of what I know will be an earth-shattering release.
My fingernails dig into his scalp and my knees clamp down around his ears, but I don’t give a damn if I hurt him. Right now, the only thing I can focus on is the orgasm that’s barreling down on me like a freight train.
This isn’t some rolling ocean wave this time. No, this is the kind of energy that rips through your body like an electric current, blowing fuses in my brain and short circuiting the motherboard. My entire body convulses, my mouth opening on a silent scream. The world grinds to a halt and for a second I forget to breathe, forget my name, what day it is. Euphoria descends on me and I swear I’ve touched heaven.