Pleasure Point-nook (5 page)

“Ah, what you do to me,” he murmured, biting his lip, making her want him to kiss
her, needing him to.

She moaned.

“Yes,” he said. “I want to touch you. To do every dirty thing to you that’s been whirring
through my head since the moment I saw you.”

“God, Roan.”

He blinked once, twice, then he yanked her body in to his, so hard her hips crashed
against his, the chains clinking, her wrists pulling on the leather cuffs. Then the
delicious length of his erection pressed into her belly and she thought she would
drown in need—need she’d kept dammed up for years, finally overflowing in the safety
of his arms.

“Please, Roan. I just…please, please, please. I need…everything.”

“Lord, girl.”

Then he was on her, his mouth opening hers, his tongue sinking in. His arms were crushing
her body to his and she could feel every hard muscle beneath his shirt. And none harder
than his rigid cock.

He fisted a hand in her hair, drawing her in tighter before pulling her back, then
further back, as he bent over her to keep his lips on hers. His tongue was wild in
her mouth—wild and sweet and as commanding as his fingers against her scalp. And God,
his fist dragging her head down until she had to arch her back, bowing under the force
of his pulling. The pain was nothing but exquisite pleasure and that sense of his
command. That and the pure pleasure at his panting breath, his rock-hard cock snug
against her heated flesh. And all she could do was give in. She wanted nothing else
at that moment.

This was what submission was, she thought through the fog that gathered in her head,
seeping into her body like smoke, hot and sinuous, obscuring everything but the connection
between them.

Yes. Connection.

Suddenly he released her, catching her with an arm around her waist as she stumbled.
She was only vaguely aware of the mind-fuck he was orchestrating in making her lose
her balance, only to catch her. Oh yes, he was very good at what he did.

Don’t think.
Just feel, as he told you to.

He moved his lips over her throat, brushing the surface, not quite kissing. He murmured,
“How attached are you to this lovely lingerie?”

“What? I don’t know…”

“Tell me exactly.”

“Not terribly, I suppose.”

“Excellent.”

There was a soft
snick
as he cut her bra off with something that was cold against her skin.

“Oh!”

She glanced down, saw the gleam of a knife blade and gasped.

One of his hands went to the back of her neck while he held the flat of the knife
close to her cheek with the other. The sight of  it, right at the edge of her vision,
stole her breath and set her heart racing. He whispered, “Does this frighten you?”

“Yes,” she murmured, barely moving her lips.

“Say it. Say it properly.”

She swallowed. “Yes, it frightens me, Roan.”

“I can feel you trembling, you know. You’re scared of the knife. But not too scared
to play? Tell me something, Miranda—does the knife make you want to safeword?”

“No,” she answered at once, even as she blinked a few small tears away.

Roan laughed. “Oh, I do like you.” He squeezed the back of her neck. “Hold very still
now, beauty.”

He kept his cheek close to hers as he lowered the knife, sliding it beneath the edge
of her panties, the steel cold on her hip bone as it moved slowly downward.

“I can hardly wait to see you naked,” he said quietly. “But anticipation is part of
the game, isn’t it?”

She pulled in a breath. “Yes, Roan.”

“Very still now,” he ordered.

She closed her eyes. Felt the knife turn against her skin until the edge of the blade
was on her flesh. It felt…strange. Exciting as he pressed it into her skin. Even the
fear was exciting.

“Take a breath,” he told her.

She did as he asked, her muscles tensing all over, waiting for him to cut her. Would
he? She didn’t know. Bu he didn’t—instead he turned the knife and with one quick motion
sliced through the fabric of her panties.

She yelped, opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Your fear. Your trust in me.”

Before she had a chance to think about it, he slit the other side of her underwear
and she felt it fall to the floor, the wispy fabric brushing her legs on the way down.

He held onto her shoulder and stepped back.

“You are every bit as lovely as I imagined. Perfect breasts. So full. Just waiting
to be caressed. Pinched. Kissed. “

A current of desire surged through her system, from belly to breasts and sinking deep
into her aching sex.

Yes, please.

But she didn’t dare say it aloud. She bit her lips, moistened them with her tongue.

“Miranda, if you continue to do that I’m going to have to stop the play and just fuck
you while your unbelievably gorgeous body is chained up here. Is that what you want?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He shook his head. “We haven’t negotiated sex. As much as it pains me—and I mean that
literally—fucking you shall have to wait. I’m certain I’ll find other things to do
to you.”

“I’m sure you will,” she muttered.

“Are you getting mouthy? Do I need to gag you?”

“No! No, Roan.” She pulled uselessly against her bonds. “No gags.”

One corner of his sensual mouth quirked in a small grin. “The fear play works well
on you, my dear.”

“Goddamn sadist.”

He reached out and stroked his hand over the curve of her breast, and she wanted to
arch into his warm fingertips. Then he pinched the flesh there, making her gasp.

“But you like that about me. I can see that already, even if we hadn’t discussed it.
But time to move on.”

Her body was simmering with a raging desire. She craved his touch, hard or soft, sensual
or painful. It didn’t matter as long as he touch her.
His
hands and no other.

Already.

But she couldn’t figure out what she meant by that.

Just be in the moment.

He moved around behind her, keeping one hand on her waist. Then he moved in close,
the heat of his body almost touching hers. She leaned back against the cuffs, felt
the fabric of his shirt brushing her shoulders before he moved away.

“Are you eager? I think you are.” He grabbed a handful of her hair again, pulling
tight. “Let’s find out. Spread your legs.”

Her body froze. She couldn’t do it. She wanted to. She was afraid. Afraid of her own
need.

“Spread,” he ordered, his tone firm.

A small whimper escaped her as she did as she was told, her mind madly trying to process
that she was actually doing these things. Submitting. Taking pain. Sinking willingly
into subspace, that most vulnerable place. For some reason the idea of the pleasure
was harder than the pain. More raw. More frightening than the knife.

“Roan…I can’t.”

He knew what was going on with her—had expected some resistance earlier. But she was
made for the submission she’d gone so long without. And he
needed
to bring her pleasure. Needed it even more than he needed to take his own.

Part of being a Dominant.

Yes, but something else, too. He couldn’t stop feeling that with her.

His arms went around her and he pulled her into the front of his body, her buttocks
arching beautifully against him. His cock pulsed.

“Miranda. I understand. But you can allow yourself this. Allow it because I ask it
of you. Allow it because you deserve to be pleasured. Allow it because
I
need it.”

He smoothed a palm over her stomach, loving the small curve there, the valley where
belly met hip. She didn’t protest as he moved his hand lower, and he felt her body
begin to relax against him.

“Come on,” he urged her, using his thigh to guide her in spreading hers for him. And
she did it with a small sigh. “Yes, that’s it. Good girl.”

He slid his hand down, slowly, slowly, until he felt that softer, silky flesh of her
mound. He loved a woman who was completely shaved. So much more naked. More enticing.
He brushed his fingertips over her clit, which was already beautifully swollen. It
went harder beneath his feathering touch. His cock twitched. Her breathing quickened.

He caressed the lips of her pussy. She was so damn wet, it nearly killed him to do
nothing but this. To touch her without grinding into her.

How had he talked to her about fucking her without taking his cock out and plowing
into her hot, naked body?

He bit back a groan as he moved lower, sliding his fingers into her soaking wet heat.

“Ah…” It came out of her on a breathy sigh.

He slid in, deeper, deeper.

Lord, but she was tight and wet and like fucking heaven inside.

Need her.

No.

But he could fuck her with his fingers. And he did, moving his hand in and out, two
fingers, then three, then four, filling her up. Her body writhed against his, her
breath catching. He thrust harder, deeper.

“Oh!”

“Are you going to come? Tell me.”

“Oh, God… Yes. I need to come.”

“No, Miranda. Hold it back.”

He continued his assault on her lovely pussy, fucking her hard with his hand. She
clenched.

“No. Not until I say you can.”

A small sob escaped her. It only made him smile. Made his cock swell more.

He shifted his hand so the heel could press onto her clit.

“Oh…”

She was shaking all over, moaning softly, and he didn’t remember being so turned on
in his life. So damn hard for a woman that he could barely control his lust.

Focus.

“Do you know how much I love fucking you like this?” he murmured against her ear,
saying it as much for his sake as hers. “How much more I’ll love to fuck you properly?
But oh, this is good. Your beautiful pussy in my hand.” He thrust up hard, then slid
his fingers out and did it again. “Just fucking you like this… is so. Damn. Hot.”

He pressed his hips against her soft, warm body, the heat of her going through him
like a shock of pleasure.

“Do you feel how hard I am for you, beauty? How badly I need to fuck you? To sink
into your sweet little body?”

“Please, Roan,” she begged.

He forced himself to move his hips away from her, biting back a groan.

“Not yet. Because now it’s time for you to come for me.”

A sharp, panting breath gusted from her as her velvet pussy squeezed around his fingers.
His cock jumped.

Have to be inside her!

No.
Make her come. Do your job.

He pumped into her, the heel of his palm grinding her hard clit.

“Now,” he ordered.

Her entire body clenched, and she shook as she came, soaking his hand—it was like
a small earthquake moved through her lean frame, followed by a sweet flood from between
her parted thighs.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, yes. Come for me.”

Ah, Jesus God, he was going to have to shove his aching, rock-hard cock into her.
Had to!

No.

He ground his jaw tight, fighting the need searing his body and clouding his brain.

“Come on,” he murmured, urging her on.

She didn’t need encouragement. She came and came, low cries from deep in her throat
filling the air. Finally she went slack in the cuffs, and he held her body tight against
him. Pure torture. But he had to take care of her. Even if it killed him.

As his cock throbbed with the fire of nearly uncontrollable desire—fucking
hurting
—he thought it actually might.

Miranda breathed out a sigh as she came back to earth. Pleasure still spiraled through
her body, coiling and uncoiling in a series of tiny climaxes. Aftershocks. She thought
if Roan put his hand between her thighs now she could come again in mere seconds.

No man had ever had this effect on her. Not even Daryn.

Don’t think about him now.

No, not now when she lay across Roan’s lap on one of the red sofas, with his strong
arms around her, holding her in a soft leopard-print blanket that felt like real fur—which
it might very well be, here in the supremely exotic setting of the island of Eden.

She almost had to laugh at the way her mind was wandering.

“Feeling better, my beauty?”

“Hmm, yes, I feel wonderful. Except…”

“Except what? What do you need?”

She dared to sit up and look at him, catching his guarded green gaze. Oh yes, there
it was. He was as beautiful as ever, but it was as if a shadow had settled over his
features. She knew she’d felt a shift. Reassuring because it meant they had a true
power exchange happening—when that ability to sense and feed from each other’s energy
worked in both directions. But he was shutting her out suddenly.

“Where did you go, Roan?”

“What do you mean? I’m right here with you.”

She shook her head. “No you’re not. You’re here physically. But as soon as you took
me out of the cuffs I could feel it. Something changed.”

Why did she feel like crying? She must be bottoming out, is all. Crashing. It had
happened to her a few times before. She didn’t like it. But she also knew what she
was saying to him was valid.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he repeated.

“Yes, you do. Please don’t make me fight it out of you. I can’t do it right now.”
She sniffed. God damn it! A tear formed in her eye. She blinked. “I can’t.”

“Oh, fuck, Miranda, don’t cry,” he said, making her chest twist up. “No, no, I meant
don’t be upset. That was lovely play. You were beautiful. Breathtaking in your chains.
I couldn’t have asked for more.” He pressed a thumb to her cheekbone, wiped the tear
away.

“Fuck. I do
not
cry,” she mumbled, sniffing again. Not since she’d lost Daryn. Not a single fucking
tear since a year after his death. She’d given herself that year to cry, at which
point she’d become disgusted with herself. It was enough.