Red Hot Obsessions (14 page)

Calder's footsteps move forward, toward the far wall. He pauses only briefly when he reaches the corner adjacent to mine. He's no more than twelve feet away from me now.

How much time is left? It can't be more than a minute.

His steps turn, and now he's moving along the wall. I can hear his fingers graze against the stone. His steps are slow, deliberate. He's only ten feet away from me now.

I should run. Or better yet, crawl. Maybe I can stay beneath his arms. If he doesn't touch me, then he doesn’t win. Even if my shoe squeaks against the stone, I might be able to evade his hands in the darkness.

It’s risky, and I’m too close to winning. There can't be more than thirty seconds left.

But Calder can't be more than five or six steps away.

I lift myself off the ground, only just enough to slide myself a couple feet to the left.

Calder doesn't break his step. He doesn't appear to notice my presence at all.

I shift another couple of feet. Why haven't our phone alarms gone off yet? How much time is left?

Calder has reached the corner where I was hiding just a moment ago. If he could see through the darkness, he could grab me easily.

Are there ten seconds left? Twenty? I'm so close. Just a little longer…

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. Relief sweeps over me, but dread follows just a quickly. It's not my alarm going off—it's my normal ring tone. Someone's calling me.

Calder reacts before I have time to recover from the shock. He dives toward me, and his hands grab me in the dark.

“Caught you,” he says, his fingers digging into my skin.

Then, only then, do our respective alarms go off in unison.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s not right.

I was so close—
so close
. To lose like this, with only second left—to lose because my phone went off… no. No. I won't go down like this.

“You can't—” I start, but Calder surprises me by yanking me to my feet.

He doesn't say anything. He just pushes me up against the wall. I try to argue again, but his fingers close across my lips.

I reach up and grab his shirt. I intend to push him away, to explain to him why his victory shouldn’t count, but instead I find myself pulling him closer. After an hour fantasizing about this moment of capture, I realize I don't have the will to refuse him.

His warm breath sweeps across my nose, my cheek, my ear. In the darkness like this, robbed of my sight, I feel like all of my other senses have exploded. The side of his face brushes against mine, and his stubble scratches my jaw in a hundred tiny places, but it's the sort of pain that only increases the heat building in my core. He pulls my earlobe between his teeth and sucks. Pleasure surges through my body, and I start to whimper against his fingers, but he tightens his grip on my mouth and pushes me harder against the wall.

His free hand slips beneath my shirt and glides across my stomach, up toward my breast. His touch sends waves of heat across my skin, my core throbs in anticipation. His fingers slide beneath the bottom edge of my bra and push the cup up over the curve of my breast. I moan, but once more he tightens his hand across my lips, this time so much it hurts.

He pulls his hand away from my breast and tugs at my tank top. I’m so flustered that it takes me a moment to wrestle it over my head, and before I can throw it aside, Calder grabs it from my hand.

“What are—”

He cuts me off by shoving the shirt in my mouth. I nearly choke on the fabric, shocked by the force of the movement, but I don’t fight him.

He wants me to be silent
, I realize. Here we are, with no speech and no sight—we're like two strangers coming together in the darkness.

That realization excites me more than I want to admit.

I clamp my teeth down on the makeshift gag and reach around him, slipping my hands beneath the back of his shirt. I trail my nails across his skin as I move upward, hoping to remind him of our earlier encounter, and I’m rewarded when a tremor passes beneath my touch.

And then suddenly he grabs me by the elbows and yanks my hands away from him. He captures both my wrists in one hand, and before I can twist away from him I hear the telltale metallic clink of his belt buckle. I playfully struggle, but his grip on me is firm. When he manages to free his belt, he brings it up and wraps it around my wrists, so tightly that the leather edges are digging into my skin. Then he jerks my bound hands upward, pinning them to the wall above my head.

I writhe against him, and he responds by grinding against me, hard. The button of his fly digs into my stomach, and his arousal presses against my lower belly. He moves only enough to allow his free hand to slip between us and undo the button on my own pants. He undoes my zipper in one swift motion, and then he jerks my jeans down over my hips and pushes them toward the floor.

His leg forces my knees apart, and I step out of my pants as I obey his silent command. I strain against his hands, wanting to grab him and feel his hot skin beneath my fingers, but he won't let me move.

Only when I stop wriggling does he release the hand on my waist. He grinds against me once more before leaning back just enough to reach for his own pants. There's a slight crackle as he pulls something from his pocket—a condom, I'm guessing—and then the rustle of fabric as he wrestles his way out of his pants. When he presses against me again, I can feel the smooth hard length of him against my own heated skin.

I want to kiss him, but my lips are frozen around the gag. He doesn’t seem particularly inconvenienced by this. His own mouth moves past mine, brushing against my cheek on his way to my ear. He buries his nose in my hair and pulls my earlobe once more between his lips. I twist beneath his grasp.

His grip on my wrists tightens as he shifts again, and even though it's painful, I find myself fighting back a cry of pleasure.

I don't know how much longer I can bear this. I buck my hips, urging him to meet me, and quickly, but he responds by pushing me forcibly back against the wall. The message is clear: he's in charge here. That was the prize, wasn't it? I'm truly at his mercy.

Maybe I should be ashamed at the reaction that realization sends through me, but I'm not.

When I've stilled again, Calder reaches between my legs. His fingers slide back and forth across the wetness there before he shoves my legs further apart.

This time his cock slides between my thighs. My clit throbs as the smooth skin of his shaft brushes against me. Another couple of touches would send me right over the edge, but Calder doesn't seem interested in gentle erotic caresses. His length nudges between my folds, seeking my core. And then he pauses, his head just inside my opening, and I throb again in need as I feel myself start to stretch around him.

Fuck me, I want to scream. Ram yourself inside of me.

But he moves with such excruciating slowness that I'm afraid I'll burst before I’m completely full. He guides himself slowly deeper, and when I shift to try and hurry his progress, he pushes me against the wall again, holding me immobile.

He makes it only about halfway inside of me before he stops. It's all I can do not to whimper in tortured frustration when he begins to draw out of me again. He's doing this intentionally. He's driving me mad on purpose.

He withdraws from me completely, then pauses for several long, excruciating seconds. It's the encounter in the gallery all over again—he's getting off on my desperation.

He begins to move into me again. My fingers curl into fists and then uncurl again as he pushes slowly along my passage. Every moment is agony, yet I've never been so aware of my body before. Every time Calder shifts, a thousand new nerve endings respond. I'm intensely aware of every adjustment my body makes for his, every tremor of my flesh, every firm, hot inch of his arousal.

I'm half-delirious when he stops and withdraws the second time. I nearly sob in desperation, but I'm afraid that if I don't remain silent—if I refuse to play by his rules—he'll leave me in this horrible state forever. If he releases me now, if he leaves me empty and unfulfilled this time, then I'll dissolve into a puddle at his feet.

I can’t take it anymore. I spit out the gag and twist my head, capturing his ear in my teeth before he has the chance to move away. I suck the lobe into my mouth, returning the bite he gave me earlier.

Now it's his turn to fight down a growl of pleasure. He tries to push me away from him again, but I only clamp down harder. The hand that doesn't hold my wrists reaches around and grabs my ass, half lifting me even as he grinds against me once more.

Suddenly he yanks me down onto his length so hard and so fast that my teeth break the skin of his ear. This time he doesn't manage to stifle the sound that rises in his throat, but he doesn't seem to care anymore. For a moment we both freeze, locked around each other, while the metallic tang of his blood fills my mouth and my other opening throbs around the fullness of his cock. I slowly loosen my jaw and lean my head back against the wall, reveling in the mind-numbing sensations pulsating from my core.

And then he begins to move.

No longer with tortuous slowness, thank God, but with steady, eager strokes. He thrusts into me, over and over again, while I rock against him as much as our position allows.

His fingers dig into the underside of my thigh as he lifts my leg, allowing for deeper access. I strain against the belt around my wrists, against the hand that still keeps them pinned against the wall. I want to tear at his hair. I want to suck on his lips and tongue. I want to dig my nails into his back and leave new scratches next to the marks from this afternoon. But I can't move. I'm completely at his power, subject to his lust.

It's the thrill of that thought that sends me completely over the edge. My entire body convulses, and it's only his strong arms around me that keep me from collapsing at his feet as the orgasm sweeps through my flesh. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as I struggle to keep from crying out.

Calder keeps moving, even when I fall limply against him. I turn my face and close my teeth around a bit of skin at his neck, nipping at him as I squeeze the muscles between my legs once more, tightening myself around him.

He lets out an unrestrained grunt, nearly dropping me as he shudders in release. I pull my teeth away from his skin and slide my leg off his hip, only just managing to regain my feet before he slumps forward against me and the wall.

For a moment, neither of us stirs. His mouth is against my ear, his warm breath stirring my hair. I'm warm from the inside out, and while a part of me never wants to move, the other, more practical side of me remembers we're standing in a cold, empty room in his basement.

I shift from beneath him and reach down to collect my jeans, remembering too late that my wrists are still bound. I strain against the belt, trying to twist myself free, but in the end Calder has to untie me himself.

It's too dark to see much, but I feel his eyes on me all the same as I fumble again for my pants. My wrists are throbbing from their confinement, but I don’t let that on to him. There are a dozen feelings rushing through me right now, and I'm not sure which ones to acknowledge. Part of me is still giddy from passion, while the other half can't allow me to forget about why we ended up like this in the first place—I lost. Once more Calder won our bet, and there's little chance he'll give me yet another opportunity to win the money for the Center. I'm back where I started.

Calder seems far less confused by all of this.

“There's no need to put your clothes back on,” he says.

I yank up my zipper, angry at the hungry way my body responds to his words, even now.

“You've had your prize,” I respond.

“We agreed you'd be mine for the night,” he says, his voice low and husky. “And I'm afraid, Ms. Frazer, we're just getting started.”

He reaches out and brushes a finger down my arm. I shiver at the contact and curse myself again for falling so easily for his charms.

This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to hate this man. I
do
hate this man. He's poised to destroy everything I love.

So how is it that, time and again, he can say a simple word, or touch me just so, and make me forget everything but the way the blood is rushing through my veins? I'm a modern, sensible woman. I’ve allowed myself to be swayed by a man before—with Garrett—and I’m not going to let that happen again. So why am I having such trouble now? Why do I still feel like throwing myself in his arms and letting him take me again?

If I'd managed a moment longer in our game, things would be different. If I'd secured the money for the Center, then I could fall into his embrace without this guilt weighing down on my shoulders. Instead, it feels like every surge of pleasure I feel, every sigh he draws from my lips, is a betrayal of the Center and my dad and everything we've ever worked for.

It's all the fault of my fucking phone.

I jam my hand into my pocket and whip out my cell, determined to see who cost me everything. I want to cry foul, to call for a rematch, but even if I thought Calder would oblige me, I know it's too late. I didn't fight him when he pressed me up against the wall and had his way with me. I as good as accepted defeat.

I pull up my missed calls list. The blue light of the screen seems unnaturally bright now, but I don't even blink as I gaze down at the name.

Surprise, surprise. “Dipshit” continues to ruin my life. I
knew
asking him to help would come back to bite me in the ass.

“Lily?” Calder reaches out and touches me again, this time along my exposed collarbone. “Is something wrong?”

Only that my ex is insane and won't leave me alone
. I shouldn't have asked Garrett for a favor. I should have listened to my gut. But desperation makes people do crazy things.

“Everything's fine,” I say, sliding the phone back into my pocket. I'll deal with Garrett later.

“It doesn't seem fine,” Calder says. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say there was genuine concern in his voice.

“It's nothing you should worry about.” I reach down again and grapple about in the darkness for my tank top. “I don't know about you, but I'm freezing down here. I hope you don't intend to keep me here all night.”

Calder sighs behind me. I hear the rustle of fabric as he grabs his own pants from the ground and pulls them back on.

“I suppose it's about time we moved this party to an actual bed.” If he's offended by my sudden coldness, he doesn't sound it. “There are a few things I'd like yet to show you.”

The promise in his voice stirs something in my belly, but I push the feeling away. I can't afford to keep giving into these sensations. I already feel like I'm going mad.

Calder's hand brushes my shoulder in the darkness, then slides down my spine to settle on my lower back.

“Come on,” he says, his tone like warm honey. “Let's head upstairs. I'll have Martin bring us something in my bedroom.”

I want to refuse him. I
should
refuse him. But I've lost this argument with myself so many times already, and I'm still too weak to win it.

Besides
, I tell myself,
I've already lost the Center. What happens now doesn't matter
. I have nothing more to lose, so why not give in to the urges that seem to have taken control of my body?

When Calder leans over and slips his tongue in my ear, I know I'm lost. I follow him from the dark room without hesitation, giving myself willingly to the night ahead.