As he told her how to raze every defense he possessed against her and bring him to his knees…
Realizing, he looked down, saw her red head at his groin, felt the silk of her hair brush his exposed skin… felt his control sliding. Dragging air into lungs locked tight, he forced himself to act-to slide a thumb between her lips and withdraw his throbbing erection from the haven of her mouth.
She complied with his implied directive. Sitting back on her ankles, she looked inquiringly up at him-undaunted, uncowed, undeterred.
All he saw in her eyes was desire and brazen willfulness.
Delight and the unalloyed anticipation of pleasure.
His own lips tightened. Clamping his hands about her shoulders, he lifted her to her feet-and slanted his mouth over hers. Kissed her-devoured her. Passionately, possessively demanding, commanding, then ravishing without quarter. As he wished, as he wanted.
As she wanted, too.
She met him in a clash of tongues and rapidly escalating desire.
He couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of her like this, wild and wanton, and so patently, potently, his.
Surrendered, but joyously, gladly, eagerly.
Dangerous, so dangerous…
He was supposed to be teaching her about what she didn’t want, what she shouldn’t invite…
Wrenching his mouth from hers, he spun her around to face the side of the bed. Her hands were tied; grasping her waist, he lifted her. “Kneel on the edge.”
She did. The mattress brought her hips to the perfect height; her knees spread for balance, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Face forward. Keep your gaze fixed directly ahead.”
His words were little more than a guttural growl. Linnet deciphered them well enough to obey, breasts aching, pulse thrumming, as she waited for what came next.
A hard, hot, masculine presence, he stood close behind her, between her calves, and touched her again, but differently.
He showed her how force could be wielded against her, taught her how feeling helpless could add a sharp edge to passion, how through nothing more than touch her senses could be razed, how desire could be honed into a whip to lash her until she sobbed.
Until she moaned.
Until desperation sank to her bones.
He showed her how waiting for his touch could make her quake, how receiving it could make her gasp, then moan. Then sob, then scream.
Showed her how passion could build, and build, until it grew claws and raked her, then shattered her.
Taught her how pleasure could flay her, how raw need could beat her from the inside out, how pleasure could become a raging fire that consumed her.
His hard hands moved over her with unveiled intent. Harshly, compellingly, driving her on. If he’d pressed possession on her before, now he gave her fire and conflagration-gave her no choice but to take it in and let it rage. Let it have her. Consume her.
Eyes closed, giddy, she fought to keep upright, to keep her head from tipping back. Tried not to notice how her breathy pants converted again to moans, then to hitching sobs.
Greedy passion again leapt high, flared cometbright, then raced over her skin, spreading beneath, then building like a fever.
Until she burned again.
Until primitive passion ran molten in her veins.
Until visceral desire was an empty furnace in her belly and she ached with the need to feel him within her. Had to fight the compulsion to writhe under his hands.
His wicked fingers continued to knead, to squeeze and explore, to possess every curve, every intimate hollow. From behind, he probed her sheath again, but purely to confirm that she was ready, wet and hot and slickly prepared to receive him.
Gasping, sensually reeling, she felt him move closer. Between her thighs, he slid his fingers further forward, with the broad tip of one circled the delicate nubbin throbbing behind her curls, sending sensations spiraling and rising, pushing her arousal to even greater heights.
“What do you want?” The words were a guttural whisper by her ear.
“I want you inside me.” Eyes closed, she licked her lips. “Deep inside me. Now.”
“Good.”
She felt him at her back, then one hand flattened and pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her down.
“Bend over. Put your elbows on the bed.”
Her skin crawling with need, she did. His hands clamped about her hips, gripped.
She had an instant of warning-an instant for her nerves, every sense she possessed, to seize with expectation, then he drove himself into her-hard, deep, powerful and sure.
Into the weeping furnace of her sheath.
She couldn’t hold back a moan as he filled her, then he withdrew and thrust powerfully in again, pushing deeper still, and her moan turned to a strangled sob.
The fabric of his breeches rode against the sensitized skin of her bottom, reminding her that he was all but fully clothed while she… was bent naked and helpless before him on her bed, her wrists tied, her sheath flagrantly offered for his use.
Another layer of arousal, a deeper possession.
She sobbed, panted, unable to do more than shake her head from side to side as he pounded into her, and she gladly-so gladly-received him. As she tightened and clung, embracing the fullness of his shaft as he pressed deep and filled her, as she desperately clung to sanity as he drove her ever higher up the peak of sensation.
She wanted every last moment, every senses-shattering instant of pleasure.
She fought to shift, to ride his thrusts and prolong the engagement-and discovered she couldn’t. Discovered just how helpless she was as he held her immobile and repeatedly, relentlessly, filled her.
As over and over he worked his erection, all steel and fire, deep in her sheath, until the friction felt like living flame.
Logan held her in position, refused to let her buck, let her move her hips at all as he stroked repetitively, pressing deep, as he felt her instinctively clamp and cling, the most primitively intimate caress of all.
Her head threshed as he drove her harder, higher up the peak; the sounds falling from her lips were gasping sobs of entreaty and surrender.
He felt her muscles clench, closed his eyes, and thrust forcefully deep-heard her scream as she came apart, her sheath clamping hard, pulling him in.
Jaw tight, he hung on, pumped steadily through the powerful, rippling contractions, until he felt them slowly ebb, then fade.
Opening his eyes, he looked down at her. Her hair had come loose; a rumpled red curtain, it flowed over her shoulders and veiled her face as she lay slumped, panting, still gasping, her cheek on the covers as she struggled to catch her breath.
Her skin glowed like a pale-rose-tinted pearl, flushed with desire, sheened with spent passion.
He still held her hips clamped between his hands, was still sunk to the balls in her bounty.
He’d slowed his thrusts while he’d looked. He picked up the pace, worked his erection deeper into her surrendered body, enjoying the sensations of having her so open, so intimately exposed and conquered.
He stroked deep, felt sensation shiver through him, long, luscious, a lingering sense of triumphant possession.
He’d planned to let go and plunder her body anew, to finish like this, in this position, reinforcing what he hoped was the lesson she’d learned-that she could be made helpless by passion, then taken, conquered, and used in whatever way her conqueror desired…
He’d thought that was what he would want, but… no.
She’d demanded he use her to satisfy his most potent desires.
There was no reason he shouldn’t.
Withdrawing from her, he stepped back, and stripped off his clothes.
Lifting her, he laid her on her back in the middle of the bed, her body flat, her head barely touching the pillows, her arms extended above her head, her hands, still tied, between the pillows. Her limbs were still lax; she struggled to lift her lids, tried to frown. Naked, on his knees, he grasped her ankles and spread them wide, then moved between and let his body down on hers.