Dangerously Bound (15 page)

“You make way too much sense for a woman who was deep in subspace only a half hour
ago.”

“Then can we?”

His tone dropped until she had to strain to hear him. “When you look at me like that,
I can’t refuse you.”

“Then kiss me, Mick. Please.”

He stared at her, that intense gaze seeming to look right through her. Then he bent
his head and brushed her lips with his. So soft, at first, then he did it again, his
hand coming up to hold her cheek, his thumb slipping under her chin to hold her still.
To take control.

He pressed his lips to hers hard, making her moan. Pleasure and heat spiraled in her
body, and her heart raced. His arm around her waist pulled her in tighter, the blanket
falling away as he crushed her to his chest until the buttons on his shirt dug into
her bare breasts, until they were crushed against the hard wall of his chest. Until
there was no doubt in her mind that he was claiming her as his tongue slipped into
her mouth.

Oh, it was good—his lips pressed to hers, his sweet tongue searching, twining, demanding.
She gave him everything he asked for, with her mouth, with her pliant body, with the
surrender she felt in every muscle and bone and cell. Desire surged, expanded until
she was wet and wanting.

He pulled back and studied her face closely. Her heart was beating wildly.

“Allie?”

“Mick, I need you.
Need
you. Can we just . . . start there?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned in to feather his lips across hers once more.

Somehow they got up and together they got her clothes back on. He bundled her out
the door and into his truck. He was gunning the engine and pulling onto the dark street
before he asked her, “Your house?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “You’re right. It doesn’t. It never has.”

He reached over and took her hand, kept it in his as they moved through the city,
down Magazine Street past the warehouses, under the Pontchartrain Expressway and into
Allie’s neighborhood in the lower French Quarter. He made a turn onto Orange Street,
then they were in front of her house, and he parked.

She waited while he walked around the truck to open her door. He lifted her down,
his big hands around her waist, and his touch burned into her, making her need all
the more acute. She could barely stand to wait as he led her up the walkway, up the
steps, took her keys and opened her front door.

He grabbed her wrist, encircling it with his strong fingers.

“Bedroom,” he demanded. “Or it’s going to be right here on the hall floor.”

She nodded and led him down the narrow hall.

He was on her almost the moment they passed through the doorway, stripping her down
until she was naked and barefoot once more. Her pulse was a hot, thready beat in her
veins, her chest, between her thighs. Desire was something solid, palpable, nearly
unbearable.

She put her hands on his chest, tried to unbutton his shirt.

“Mick . . .”

He took her wrists in his hands and pulled them down to her sides, held them there
as he looked into her eyes, and she understood, her mind shifting gears. If they were
going to be together right now they would be in role, submissive and Dominant. She
understood his need to leash his desires. Understood how dangerous he felt he was
to her.

She would show him tonight she could take it. That the full darkness inside him was
exactly what she wanted, yearned for.

He moved around her, one hand on her body, sliding over her stomach, her side, her
back. He stood behind her, and she waited for whatever would come next, her heart
hammering, her body aching for more.

When he wrapped his arm around her neck and tightened just enough to restrict her
breathing, she felt his command with an enormous sense of relief.

Oh, yes.

She closed her eyes as he pulled tighter. With his other hand he swept her hair aside
and kissed the back of her neck tenderly. She loved the combination of roughness and
gentleness. Even trusting him enough to do this bit of breath play with her was erotic.
Her body flooded with desire, her legs going weak. Even weaker when he bit into her
skin, just hard enough to hurt.

She moaned.

“Yeah, baby girl. I want to hear it now. I want to hear everything you’re feeling.
Every groan. Every panting breath. Give it to me.”

She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, and he slid his hand into her hair, grasped
it at the roots and pulled tightly.

“Oh . . .”

“You like this. It makes you feel taken over, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I like the way your whole body bows when I pull your hair. The way I can see your
yielding in the way you move. It’s beautiful. And so, so hot.”

He pulled harder, the pain making her gasp.

“You like that, too.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.

“Yes, Mick.”

He pulled until her neck bent back as far as it could. He pulled harder and she had
to arch her back. And groaned when he bent to kiss her throat right where it met her
shoulder—her favorite spot.

“Oh, yeah, I remember, Allie. I remember everything about you,” he murmured against
her skin before he bit her.

“Oh!”

Her legs nearly went out from under her, but he had a firm hold on her. He licked
her skin, then bit again, harder this time, hard enough to make her draw in a long,
deep breath as she tried to manage the pain. Then his tongue bathed the sore skin
once more, a lovely sensation.

When he lifted her arm and bit into the delicate skin on her inner bicep, she gasped.
He followed the bite with a soft, lingering kiss, then helped her straighten up and
turned her around to face him.

“Can you stand by yourself?”

She nodded.

When he let her go she swayed on her feet, and he steadied her. “You okay, baby?”

She smiled. “Perfect.”

He stroked a finger across her cheek. “Yeah, I think you are. But let’s sit you down.”

He moved her until she felt the edge of her bed at the back of her knees, and he helped
her to sit. He was so caring of her,
so protective. It was one of the things she’d always loved about a dominant man. It
was one of the things she’d always loved about Mick.

As he took off his shirt, she remembered what else she’d loved about him, but his
chest and arms were even more developed now. The tattoo he’d gotten right out of high
school, the fleur-de-lis that was the symbol for the city of New Orleans with the
words
New Orleans Fire Department
in a bold font arching around it, stood out against his pale golden skin, and she
noticed once more the Latin script on his forearm. She’d always loved tattoos on a
man.

And his abs . . . they were absolutely flawless, a full six-pack that looked as if
they’d been cut from granite. She’d felt those hard planes of muscle when he’d held
her close, but seeing his body was another thing altogether. It was all pure male
beauty, rough and masculine in the same way his face was. All of him matured in a
way that made him seem all the more male.

The lines of his body flexed and rippled as he bent over to unlace his big black boots.
When he straightened she saw the jagged scar on his ribs from the old motorcycle accident,
and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers over that hurting place. She wanted
to run her fingers over every inch of him. But that would have to wait until—if and
when—there was going to be sex between them without these roles. He was clearly in
charge now. And tonight, their first night together again, it couldn’t be any other
way. She didn’t want it to be.

He kept his gaze locked on hers as he kicked his way out of his boots, then his jeans.
He was bare underneath—that hadn’t changed since high school. She pulled in a breath
at the sight of his cock—strong and masculine and so beautiful she had to lick her
lips. She wanted to taste him. She needed him inside her. Her fingers fisted in the
soft duvet.

“Good girl. Stay still for me.”

He watched her, both of them naked, two feet from each other. Her gaze traveled over
his body, and there it was—the two long lines of heavy scarring on his left shin from
the surgeries that had repaired the badly broken leg and put the metal rod in. She’d
only had a small glimpse of it when they’d been in bed together that one time, but
the room had been nearly dark then. Now she could really see what he’d been through.
But she didn’t let her gaze linger—she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable—and his
beautiful, naked body was a hell of a distraction.

She looked up at his face, saw his unflinching gray gaze on her, saw the power there,
shivered with it.

He stepped closer, until she swore she could smell his desire, feel it running like
surges of heat over her skin, making her nipples go hard. Excruciating to have him
so close and not be able to reach out and touch him. Even more when he ran a hand
down his stomach and brushed his fingers over the head of his cock. She bit her lip
but remained unmoving, other than her clenching fingers.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he murmured. “I need you so badly it hurts. Are you hurting,
too, Allie girl?”

“Please, Mick . . .”

He stroked himself once more, a long, lingering caress up the long shaft. “Is that
a yes?”

“Yes.”

She thought he smiled at her, but she was too mesmerized by his hand on his cock,
stroking with his fingertips, then fisting for a moment before beginning to stroke
again.

When he took a step toward her she pulled in a breath, and realized only then she’d
been holding it. One more step and he
was right in front of her. It took everything she had not to reach out for him, to
remind herself that he was still in charge.

He placed his hand between her breasts, and his palm scorched her, sent shivers of
desire over her skin, making her nipples harden immediately. He pressed down, and
she lay back on the bed. He went with her, one knee bent next to her thigh. She was
acutely aware of every inch of him: his hand on her chest, his strong thigh next to
hers, the scent of him seeming to drown her senses with every breath she took. And
above her, his face, which was beautiful to her despite the scars, the sharp lines
of jaw and cheekbones, or maybe even more so.

“Still,” he commanded.

She wouldn’t have tried to argue right now. And she loved the authority in his tone,
her body going warm and weak all over.

He began a slow sort of exploration, his hand caressing, squeezing, pinching: her
stomach, her ribs, her sides, and finally, her breasts. He smoothed his palm over
the full flesh, along the underside, around the nipple. Her sex was absolutely flooded
with heat, soaking wet. She had to force herself not to arch her hips, not to arch
her back to bring her aching breasts closer to his touch.

“You need me to touch you, baby? Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Oh, God. I want . . . everything. I want your hands on me. I want you to pinch my
nipples hard enough to hurt. I want your hand between my thighs. I want your mouth
everywhere. I want you inside me.” She had to pause to draw in a long breath. “But
what I
need
 . . . is for you to kiss me, Mick. Please.”

He smiled, then leaned in, hovering over her until his mouth was an inch from hers.
His tongue darted against her lower lip. She moaned quietly. Waited.

He did it again, catching her upper lip with the sleek, warm tip of his tongue. She
didn’t dare move. When he did it once more, this time one long, slow lick of her lips,
she sighed. His tongue felt amazing, but she needed so much more.

“Please,” she whispered. Begged.

“Shh. You’ll have to wait until I’m ready, baby girl.”

Oh, that pet name again! That and being told she’d have to wait for everything she
so desperately needed. He was killing her.

He shifted until his knee was between her thighs and his hands were braced on either
side of her head. He lowered his face and brushed a kiss on her cheek, his lips soft
and almost unbearably tempting. He moved to kiss her other cheek, leaving her mouth
empty and wanting. But desire was pouring through her system like liquid fire, fueled
by his teasing. Her pussy was drenched. He knew just how to play her, to bring her
need to the edge, sharp as a knife blade.

He returned to her mouth, his lips feathering over hers, and she couldn’t help but
groan her frustration as well as her pleasure.

“Spread your thighs,” he whispered, but there was no less command there despite the
softness of his tone.

She did as she was told, opening her thighs for him. But he did nothing except kiss
the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, God, Mick.”

“Is this hard for you, baby?” he asked. “Imagine how hard I am for you. I won’t let
you look now, but I think you know. I feel like I’m about to explode. Pure torture
not to touch you, to fuck you, with your naked body so close to mine. Do you feel
the heat passing between us?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Like a volcano about to erupt, isn’t it? That burning hot. That’s why I can’t kiss
you.”

“Mick!” she cried, her heart thundering.

A small chuckle from him. “Do you really think I’m not going to kiss you, Allie? Do
you really think I can stand not to?”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” she muttered.

“Yeah.” He chuckled again. “A sadist who can’t resist you, girl.”

He leaned in and kissed her, kissed her so hard she was instantly breathless. His
lips pressed against hers, hurting her, but she welcomed it. Welcomed his tongue as
he pried her lips apart and plunged into her mouth.

She was panting against him, her tongue finding his, twining and wet. She’d never
needed anything so much.

He was still kissing her when he grabbed her wrists and held her arms spread wide,
held her down on the bed. He used his legs to kick her thighs even wider apart, and
she spread as far as she could. But he didn’t touch her, other than his hands on her
wrists, weighing her down, rendering her helpless. His demanding kisses rendered her
every bit as helpless.