Bound to Seduction (9 page)

She threw the cotton on the floor at her
back. Smiled down with that sexy, heated, all-consuming look. And
desire bunched in his stomach as he watched. Followed by a swift
slap of reality.

Words weren’t going to work anymore. She
wanted him. As much as he wanted her. If he tried to stop things
now, it would only result in her feeling rejected.

He never wanted to hurt her.

Indecision rippled through him. Power was something he’d
been forced to relinquish long ago to Zoraida. But even with his
assignments, he still maintained control. He gave them what they
wished, but he did so at his leisure, tempted them in a way he knew
would corrupt their souls just as Zoraida wanted. This time,
though, he could give that control to Mira. If he played his cards
right, he could give her what she wanted
and
protect her soul from Zoraida at the same
time.

She slid down his body and pressed her lips
to his chest before he’d even made up his mind. “I love how smooth
your skin is here. I love how muscular you are.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed his pecs,
as she lowered and laved her tongue across his left nipple, then
his right. Electricity arced through his body, shot into his groin,
made him harder than he was sure he’d ever been.

“Do you like this?” she asked, trailing hot,
wet kisses down his abdomen. “Do you like my mouth on you?”

Allah,
did he. “
Hayaati
—”

She moved lower, pushed her fingers into the
waistband of his jeans. Then tipped her gaze up so seductively, a
wicked shot of desire made him lift his hips and rub his aching
cock against her breasts. “I want to taste you, Tariq. I want to
feel you harden against my tongue. Is that okay?”

Okay?
Okay
? She wanted
to know if that was okay?

He ground his teeth against the raging need
but couldn’t stop himself from pressing up on his elbows so he
could watch while she slid to the floor and maneuvered between his
legs. Somehow, he found the strength to say, “I am yours to do with
as you wish, Mira. Anything. Everything.”

Confidence burned in her eyes. A confidence
that hadn’t been there before. She popped the button on his jeans.
Slid the zipper over his erection. Looked up again with that
sinful, sexy, seductive expression. “I want you to tell me what
pleases you. Right now, I want to learn how to make you come.”

Just her words was enough to make him do
nearly that. His erection twitched as she pressed her hands inside
his jeans, ran them down his hips, pulled the garment from his
legs, and let it drop to the floor.

She
sucked in a breath when his cock sprang up, hard and pulsing and
hot. Then licked her lips as if in anticipation of a wicked taste.
“Commando. I like that. Tell me what to do,
mu’allim
.”

The word sounded dirty on her tongue. Nasty.
Hotter than hell. His pulse grew faster.

This was about her, he reminded himself.
About letting her have control, letting her take what she wanted.
It wasn’t about him.

“Touch me,” he managed.

When her hand closed around his length, he
nearly jumped. Her fingers were so dainty, her skin like silk. She
moved her hand up, tightened at the head, then stroked him
slowly.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Do you want more?” she said as she circled
the head again, and tremors ran through his flesh. When he nodded
once more, she added, “Tell me.”

He was
in so much trouble here. He pushed his hips against her hand,
groaned as her fingers slid down his length. “Taste me,
hayaati
.”

She smiled again, that Cheshire-cat grin he
was growing to enjoy. And pleasure gathered in his groin as she
leaned close, as her tongue flicked out to lick the tip, as the
warm wetness of her mouth closed around his cock.

His eyes slid closed. He dropped his head
back. Shuddered as she lowered and drew him deeper. Her tongue
stroked the underside of his cock, her lips closed tight around his
length. And when she suckled, he saw stars. He didn’t have to show
her what he liked; she instinctively knew. Her hand stroked the
base while her lips and tongue drove him completely mad. Then she
drew him so deep he brushed her throat. He groaned in pure
ecstasy.

“Allah, Mira. Just like that. Deeper.”

Her mouth was like nothing he’d ever felt.
And the fact she was doing this for him, when she didn’t need to
be, only amped his arousal. Her free hand brushed his thigh while
she suckled, moved to his lower belly. The touch sent shards of
electricity racing along his nerve endings. His balls tightened,
and pleasure zinged down his spine. And when she groaned around his
cock, sending vibrations through every bit of his flesh, he knew he
wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

“Mira…” He threaded his fingers in her long
hair, rubbed her skull as she continued to push him closer to the
edge. Her free hand slid down his hip and brushed his inner thigh,
then gently squeezed his balls.

“Mira—”

He tried to pull free of her mouth, but she
clamped on tighter with her lips, sucked harder. And then it was
too late. He couldn’t do anything except shudder and groan as
pleasure slammed into him and stole his breath.

The pressure eased around his cock. She
continued to stroke him slowly as he came down the other side of
the best orgasm of his life, her teasing tongue flicking the head,
making him shudder all over again. When she finally let go, he
blinked several times, looked up, and watched as she swallowed,
then grinned with the wickedest of smiles.

“Did I do a good job? Did you like
that?”

He answered by levering up off the bed,
closing his arms around her, taking her down to the mattress, and
kissing her flushed, swollen, insanely erotic lips.

She groaned as she opened to him, as she
wrapped her arms around his back and eased her legs apart so he
could sink against her body. He tasted himself and the wine she’d
sipped earlier. And a hunger like nothing he’d tasted before.

Thought fled. Need consumed him. He pushed
her shirt up, palmed her breast. Loved that she wasn’t wearing a
bra under the thin cotton T-shirt. She arched her back, kissed him
harder. But she was wearing too many clothes. There wasn’t nearly
enough skin.

“Mira.” He pulled back, dragged her torso
off the bed, and stripped the shirt over her head, then threw it on
the floor. “Need you naked.”

She giggled, reached for him as soon as her
shirt was gone, and brought her mouth back to his. “Yes,” she
whispered against his lips, lifting her hips as he pushed his hand
into the waistband of her jeans and slid it around to cup her ass.
“Naked.”

He kissed her again and again, squeezed her
ass, pressed his renewed erection against her mound. He wanted to
draw out the foreplay, to make her writhe as she’d made him writhe,
but all he could focus on was getting inside her. Finding out if
she was as tight and wet as he knew she’d be.

He dragged his mouth from hers, kissed her
ear, her throat, breathed hot against her breasts as he flipped the
button on her jeans and dragged the denim from her legs.

She was as beautiful as he remembered. Pale,
soft, her hips flared just right, her waist trim, her breasts the
perfect size for his hands. For his mouth.

He closed his lips around her right breast,
suckled the tip. Shuddered when her fingernails scraped his skull
and she dropped her head back, arching toward him and groaning all
over again.

“
Have to
be inside you,
hayaati
.” He
moved to her other breast.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Want to feel you come around me.”

“Oh yes.” She lifted her hips.

“I want you on your hands and knees,
offering yourself to me.”

She trembled, groaned, squeezed her knees
against his sides. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He was too far gone to think. To stop. To
wonder why she was willing to do anything he wanted. He eased away,
flipped her to her stomach. Brushed her hair to one side and
pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

She shuddered, moaned. Pulled her knees up
under her and pushed up to her hands. And when she looked back over
her shoulder with nothing but lust in her eyes, the last of his
resistance broke.

He knelt on the bed behind her. Trailed his
hand down her spine. She closed her eyes, pushed back against him.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her upper body back
flush with his. His cock pressed against the cleft of her ass as
she gripped the wrist at her waist to balance herself. He kissed
her ear, nipped at the lobe. Whispered, “Spread your knees.”

She did as he asked, and he skimmed his free
hand down her stomach, into her curls, then finally brushed his
fingers across her sex.

He’d given lots of pleasure during his years
in prison, but this was the first time giving pleasure brought
pleasure to him. He felt every wicked burn of desire as he slid his
fingers along her wetness, circled her clit, then dipped lower to
press inside.

“
You are
so tight,
hayaati
,” he
whispered in her ear as he pushed in with one finger, felt her
clamp on tight, then slid out again. She dropped her head back
against his shoulder, moaned, and rocked her hips against his hand.
“Do you like that? Do you like me fucking you like
this?”

“Yes, yes. God, yes.”

“Do you want more?”

She swallowed. Nodded. Gripped his wrist
tighter at her waist.

“Tell me.”

“I want all of you, Tariq. I want you inside
me.”

He closed his mouth over hers, kissed her
deep, then let go. She fell to her hands on the mattress. He moved
in closer, palmed her ass with one hand while he stroked her sex
with the other. When she moaned and pressed back against him, he
wrapped his hand around his cock and guided it toward her sex,
stroking her with the tip until she shuddered.

Heaven
. It was
the only thought he had as he sank into her wetness. As he pulled
out, then pushed in again. Her whole body tightened. She shifted
back to meet his thrusts. Groaned again and again as their coupling
picked up speed.

He felt himself slipping. Felt his control
loosening. And knew—for the first time ever—what it was like to be
on the other side. To be the one who was tempted, influenced,
driven to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do. A blinding desire to
take her harder, to use her in any way he wanted overwhelmed him.
To disregard her wants and needs in favor of his own. This was what
he did to the humans he granted wishes. This was the way he
corrupted. By giving them a taste of something erotic, then
twisting it until that desire consumed them.

The realization slammed into him, stole the
air from his lungs. He gasped, pushed away from Mira, tried to slow
his racing pulse as he dropped back to sit on the side of her
bed.

Mira turned, looked at him with half lust,
half surprise. “Tariq? Is everything okay?”

No,
everything was most definitely
not
okay. His chest was strung tight as a drum, his ears were
ringing, and he was pretty sure those were spots firing off behind
his eyes. Not to mention, every soul he’d ever corrupted was
flashing in his brain. “I…I’ll be fine. In a minute.”

Mira scooted closer. Soft fingers brushed
his bare thigh. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything. It was me.
I—”

His
words cut off when he looked at her—
really
looked at her—and saw her for the first time. So honest. So
real. So unlike any other person he’d ever met. It was as if he
could see her soul for what it was. And it wasn’t tainted. It
wasn’t black. It was…pure.

“You what?”

“I…” His brow dropped low. “Who are you,
Mira Dawson?”

A slow, winsome smile spread up her face.
“I’m just a woman.”

But she wasn’t. She was more than that. For
whatever reason, she was special.

He kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Unable to do
anything but touch his mouth to hers. She groaned against his lips,
slid onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He opened to her, didn’t try to stop her
when she pushed him to his back, when she levered herself over him.
When her hand stroked his cock and she positioned it back at the
entrance to her body.

“Mira,” he whispered.

Slowly, she sank down, and they both groaned
as he filled her. Arousal flushed her cheeks a warm pink. She
rocked against him, pressed her hands to his chest. Never once
looked away as she rode. And as his orgasm barreled close, he
brushed the hair back from her face and knew, wherever he went, no
matter how long he was chained to Zoraida, he would always remember
this moment. Of finally being wanted. Not for what he could do but
for who he was. Of finally doing the right thing in the sea of all
the bad he’d ever done.

“Tariq…” Her rocking picked up speed. She
grew tighter, hotter, wetter.

He sat
up so he could taste the pleasure from her lips when it hit.
“Yes,
hayaati
. Ride
me. Take me. Come for me.”

Her mouth dropped open. A long groan echoed
from her chest. He captured it with his mouth, kissed her deep
again and again as he lifted his hips, as he thrust deeper, as he
tried to milk every inch of desire from her before it was over.

Electricity raced through each cell in his
body while she rode the wave. And before he realized it was coming,
his own orgasm slammed into him. Stole his breath. Made those stars
he’d seen earlier explode in a mountain of fireworks. Everywhere.
Until want and need and dreams and wishes all condensed into a hot,
burning point of light that sucked up everything in one giant
vortex of pleasure.