Uncommon Passion (23 page)

Everything was serious. Nothing was a game. She was awake, aware, alive, the opposite of drifting from

one superficial distraction to another.

“No.”

“Why not?” she asked calmly.

“Because I don’t want to do it.”

“I understand,” she said. “That’s fine.”

“That’s not what you say, Rachel.”

She blinked.

His heart was pounding again, hard enough to drown out her low voice, so he focused on her face,

watching for nuance. “Talk me into it. Negotiate. Persuade me.”

She considered that, and the scent of danger grew stronger in his head. She didn’t just memorize, repeat

by rote what he’d done. She improvised. “Why don’t you want to do it?”

“Because, in general, cops have a thing about control. I’ve got this thing about a total amateur using my

handcuffs on me. Something goes wrong and I’m the laughingstock of the department.”

Amusement danced in her golden eyes. “I see. You did open them with a bobby pin on Tuesday. I may

not be an expert with handcuffs but I am an expert with bobby pins,” she pointed out.

“No cuffs.” Blunt. Flat. Final.

“All right,” she said. Holding his gaze, she reached for the scarf and tugged it loose from her neck. The

movement revealed the strong length of her neck, the dip where throat met collarbone, and sent blood

pounding south. “What about this?”

He considered it. “Do you like it?”

“Very much,” she said. “A friend wove it for me and I miss her terribly. The colors aren’t really my

thing now, but she made it with love.”

Fuck sentiment. “If you can’t get the knots loose you’re going to have to cut it.”

She looked at the fabric dangling from her hand. “You don’t have a scarf?”

He laughed. “If I want to get kinky I use the cuffs.”

“Neckties?”

“One.”

“I’ll tie loose knots,” she said seriously.

Silence. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to say no, either. A gaping maw opened inside him,

widening the distance between the man he used to be and the man he was with Rachel.

“How am I doing?”

An A plus so far, given that they were still talking about it. “Tell me you’ll make it good for me.” His

voice was low and rough, like he’d forced the words through gravel. “Tell me why I’ll like it.”

Tell me you’ll stop the rain.

She slid her hand under his shirt, cupping his hipbone, then around to flatten at the base of his spine.

The move, confident and sure, brought her close enough to bring his hardening cock against the gentle

swell of her belly. “Has anyone ever set out to satisfy you? Focused only on giving you pleasure?”

He didn’t understand what she meant. He got what he wanted. Sometimes he took it but he was never

an asshole about it. He shrugged, unwilling to admit ignorance. “You don’t need to tie me up to do that.”

“If I don’t, you’ll take charge,” she said.

He laughed. “Bet your sweet ass.”

“Trust me, Ben.”

She’d gone on tiptoe so the words drifted into the rough skin on his jaw. Her tongue followed, licking

so close to the corner of his mouth that the sensitive spot tingled in response. Muscles in his neck bunched

as he almost sought her kiss, but the words stopped him.

Trust her. It was just sex. No big deal. She tied him up, did whatever she was going to do until it ended,

then she turned him loose. How inventive could she possibly get? He’d taught her everything she knew. If

anything, all he had to do was not act like it felt awkward, like she wasn’t turning him on.

In other words, be kind.

Don’t make such a big fucking deal about it.

The hand not resting at the base of his spine drifted from his shoulder down his biceps, along his

forearm to his wrist. Her gaze fixed on his, she wove her fingers into his and tugged. Three steps took them

from the living room to the dining area, where she turned a chair away from the table so it faced the living

area.

“Not in the bedroom?” he asked.

She shook her head. Her face was serious but a small smile danced at the edges of her mouth as she

pointed at the chair. “Trust me, remember?”

He eased onto the seat. “You don’t know anything about this, remember?”

The words came out sharper than he intended, because she’d guided his wrist to the bend where the

curved metal was holding the back to the seat. She looped the scarf around his wrist and the brass, then

repeated the maneuver on the other side. He tugged experimentally, and to his total shock the knots held.

He’d expected girl knots.

When he looked up into her face, that small smile was back. “I tie up goats,” she said conversationally.

“Goats are escape artists. I’m good at knots.”

No fucking doubt, because she’d tied his guts in knots. His heart rate careened between full stop and red

zone. He didn’t say anything, felt his face going blank as the realization hit. He’d seriously underestimated

Rachel Hill.

“As for what I know,” she continued, “I guess we’re about to find out.”

She slid her finger into the knot, testing the give between his wrist and the metal. “Not too tight?”

“No,” he said through his tight throat.

If his brusque answer offended her, she didn’t show it. Instead she reached for her purse, still sitting on

the table at his back, and when she opened it, every muscle in his body went rigid.

“No cameras, Rachel. You take your phone or a camera out of that bag and this is over. Today and

forever.”

She blinked, and withdrew a small, cylindrical object wrapped in brown paper folded flat at the ends.

The paper unrolled to reveal a jar of honey. Still standing to his left, she set it upright on her palm and

showed him the label. One hundred percent pure honey, made from the busy bees at Silent Circle Farm.

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” she said.

Then she hiked her skirt up and straddled his lap. Her hair swung forward, hiding her breasts as she

snugged up against him, notching his cock between her thighs. She made a greedy little sound, then lifted

both hands to his jaw and kissed him.

She held him where she wanted him and took her time, brushing her slightly open mouth back and

forth across his lips, striking sparks, sending rivulets of sensation trickling along nerves. Only when his jaw

slackened and he opened his mouth did she lick first his lower lip, then his upper lip, adding wet heat to

sparks. Lips on lips again, then another swift lick, again and again while his cock throbbed uncomfortably.

He forced himself to stay still until he couldn’t resist any longer and touched the tip of his tongue to hers.

She sat back a little. When he opened his eyes, she shook her head gently. “No. Not yet.”

A tremor rippled through his body but he controlled it, his gaze flickering between her eyes, so calmly

intent, and her mouth. She bit her lip, then, as if inspired, leaned forward and bit
his
lip, gently trapping the

teased flesh between her teeth. She was slow, excruciatingly slow, holding his lower lip long enough for

him to feel blood pulse and swell in it before letting go. Another slow swipe of her tongue, then it was back

to the lip-to-lip pressure. His awareness collapsed to nothing more than her mouth on his, her weight

anchoring him to the chair, and her shallow puffs of breath against his skin when she went for the sensitive

corner of his mouth again.

What the fuck did she want from him?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed like this. Maybe never. Each heated kiss seeped

into the unacknowledged seams in his armor, melting him with tenderness. He lifted his hands to cup her

head, anchor her hips to grind against her, and felt the woven fabric bite into his wrists. A low growl

reverberated in his throat, and Rachel pulled back again.

“Shh,” she said.

If that was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t. If the last timeless minutes were indicative of the

rest of Rachel’s lesson, he’d never make it. She was proving herself on his body, then gauging his

response. Methodically, passionately, taking him apart.

“Rachel. Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you,” she whispered against his mouth.

The hell she was. The last time he’d been so aware of his mouth was just after a resisting suspect landed

an elbow. Adrenaline jacked into his system, hardening his cock painfully in his shorts. He shifted and

Rachel sat back, reached into the waistband, and adjusted him to remove the painful bend. The confident

caress had him gritting his teeth but she just snugged up against him again, close enough for him to feel

slick heat behind the layers of fabric separating them.

Then she went back to his mouth, holding him and prolonging the moment until she made an impatient

little noise. Her hands slid from his jaw to his shoulders, then down his arms to lace her fingers with his as

she slanted her mouth across his and kissed him.

Passionate. Deep. Confident. She pressed against him from her pussy to her breasts, close enough for

him to feel every beat of her heart, every breath, the way her fingers tightened on his. She smelled exactly

like the night Sam left, like rain and dangerous lightning. His heart thundered in his ears like the rolling

booms that night, ominous, accusing.

Then her mouth covered his, her hands holding his face where she wanted it, and the heat and need in

the kiss immobilized him. It was complex, an intricate blend of tongue and lips brushing, nibbles and sucks

to his lips, calling him out of the past, and when it ended he was in a state of sexual arousal unlike any he’d

ever known. Maybe,
maybe
he’d taken this kind of time with a woman. Never had a woman taken this kind

of time with him. Before he would have said there was no difference.

There was.

She reached to the floor beside the chair and picked up the jar of honey. The lid gave easily under her

strong hands. Inside was honey in a nearly raw state, not like the processed stuff that poured freely from

the bear’s head, but thick, with a white rime and a subtle scent. With her thumb she wiped his mouth dry,

dipped the thumb into the thick honey, and dragged it across his lower lip.

“Don’t lick it off until I tell you,” she said.

Sweet seeped along the taste buds on the sides of his tongue, the scent mingling with sweat and rain, but

he restrained himself. He should have felt ridiculous, tied to his own chair, honey smeared on his lip, but all

he could think was that if this was what Rachel came up with now, what would she be like in a year? What

would she be like in his bed, forever?

Silent again, she stroked her hand down his throat, pausing where stubble gave way to skin, then

unsnapped his shirt, working her way down to his groin. She spread the fabric and worked it off his

shoulders until it caught between his triceps and the back of the chair. Her gaze lingered at all the usual

places, shoulders, pectorals, abs, but in odd ones, too. The hollow where his collarbones met, for one, and

the spot where jaw met ear met neck. He knew that’s where she was looking because she set her hands on

his ribs and leaned in again to put her mouth to exactly that spot.

Excruciatingly slowly she moved from that hidden spot down his neck, kissing and nipping with

enough force to sting. The mix of gentle and sharp made his heart pound, something she noticed when she

put her lips to his pulse for a heated moment, then kept going. Down, down, exploring skin over muscle

and bone much as she’d explored his mouth, and when she could no longer hunch over and keep going,

she slid to her knees, put her hands to his inner thighs, and spread his legs.

Once again adrenaline jacked through his system as vulnerability surged. He’d keep this in mind, oh

yes, the next time he spread a woman’s legs and settled between them. He could do things with this, with

Rachel. His wide stance let her press against him, her breasts hot and soft against his aching cock as she

resumed her exploration of his abdomen, and when her mouth reached his waistband, she casually

unbuttoned his fly and tugged his jeans and shorts down just enough to release his aching shaft.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked as she settled between his legs again. He felt more

restrained than before, hands tied to the chair, shirt trapping his arms, jeans tight around his thighs. His

cock ached, lifting toward her mouth. “Gotten oral sex while you were tied up?”

He spoke carefully, because the honey was softening on his lip. “No.”

She made a sweetly satisfied noise. “While she was?”

Memory and the hot, slick pressure of Rachel’s tongue from base to tip had his head dropping forward.

“Yes,” he said through the thick haze of pleasure building against his skin.

“Something for you to talk me into,” she said.

Then she set out to destroy him. She used her mouth and her hands, one at the base of his shaft, the

other cupping his balls, mouth and hands working in tandem to stimulate every inch of his cock, but