Full Exposure: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (16 page)

He whispered something low and guttural and obscene, his breath hot and welcome against her. And then he thrust his tongue deep inside of her.

She came with a scream, her body spiraling completely out of her control until she shattered—completely and irrevocably. She felt—actually felt—herself break into myriad pieces, her mind fragmenting until she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Serena spun outside of herself to a place where only feeling existed, sensation after sensation flooding her, swamping her, frightening her with its intensity. She struggled against the tidal wave for long moments, terrified of losing herself in the never-ending pleasure. She bucked against his mouth but he held her still, his incredible strength allowing her no surcease from the emotions all but ripping her apart.

“Kevin, stop. I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice was lower, harsher than she’d ever heard it and when she glanced into his eyes she was trapped by the flames flickering there, building to a towering inferno that threatened to consume every part of her.

His tongue—his wicked, wonderful tongue—went from deep thrusts to long, luxurious licks that had ecstasy trembling along nerve endings that hadn’t yet recovered from his first embrace. His teeth found her clit and closed gently over it even as his eyes stared deeply into hers—claiming her, branding her, demanding a response she wasn’t sure she could give.

She made a high keening sound, her hips moving against him as he thrust first one finger and then another inside of her. He stroked her G-spot—once, twice—then pulled out to spread the hot liquid of her response over and around her anus. He circled the tight bud again and again and she nearly screamed, pleasure rocketing through her.

Finally—finally—he thrust his finger inside at the same time his tongue swept over and around her clit. Another orgasm slammed through her—fast and hard and never-ending—and this time she did scream before she could stop herself.

Kevin grinned against her even as he pulled her clit into his mouth and began to suck. His hands held her hips still, poised above him for perfect access. He continued to torment her—sucking, licking, spearing his tongue deep inside of her—until one orgasm blended into another. And another. The more sensitive she grew, the more he continued. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe and still he persisted. She bucked wildly against him, twisting and pulling in an effort to get away from his ravenous mouth. But he refused to relent.

“Kevin, no,” she finally gasped. He had to stop. He
had
to. She couldn’t survive another—

His tongue speared deep and hurtled her into another climax. She’d lost count of how many times she’d come, lost track of everything but the ecstasy ravaging her body with each movement of Kevin’s mouth. He was
devouring
her, pushing her beyond any and all limits until she couldn’t recognize the tormented, pleading woman she was fast becoming.

“Yes,” he growled as his tongue fluttered from her clit to her anus and back again. “You’ll come for me over and over and over again. I’ll never get enough of you, Serena. I’ll never get enough of
this
.”

Once again he pulled her clit between his teeth and began to suck and once again she came, stars exploding in front of her dazed eyes as she trembled and sobbed and
pleaded with him to take her.

Finally—finally—when she was on the brink of insanity and control was a word she could no longer comprehend, he pulled her away and rolled so that she was suddenly beneath him, her body shaking as yet another orgasm ripped through her.

She grabbed on to his shoulder, her nails digging deep without her knowledge or consent as she pleaded, “I’m dying, Kevin. I’m
dying
. You have to fuck me. You have to—”

Serena’s breathy pleas ran through him like a live electric current and he felt his control snap. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself balls-deep within her. She was slick and wet and so fucking hot that for a moment he was afraid he’d come before he could bring her to orgasm again.

Then she whimpered—her hands pulling at his hair, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, her cunt pulling at his cock—and he knew he wasn’t ready for it to end yet.

He rode her hard, his hands braced beneath her hips to lift her higher, open her wider, for his penetration. Over and over he thrust into her velvet heat until he was on fire, flames of ecstasy burning through his brain, down his spine, over his cock. And still he slammed into her, determined to make the pleasure last. Determined to bury himself so deeply inside of her that she could never get him out.

Sweat beaded on his chest, rolled down his back and still he continued thrusting, over and over again—as hard and as deep as he could go. His arms trembled, his cock screamed for relief and still he pushed himself inside of Serena.

She was sobbing, screaming, her muscles clutching more tightly at him with every thrust. Her nails were digging into his back, drawing blood with every push of his body. Her back was arching, her legs shaking as he drove into her—over and over—with all the power and strength that he had.

He was buried deep when he felt the climax rip through her, a deep, dark tsunami so powerful that it swamped him, buried him, dragged him under before he could fight it. He felt his own orgasm tear through him, the never-ending pulses of her body sending him so far over the edge that he feared he’d never recover.

It started at the base of his spine and spread outward—through his cock, his
stomach, up his back, around to his chest. Pleasure, pain, passion roaring through him, flowing from him to her and back again as he emptied himself inside of her in a series of powerful, all-encompassing waves.

When it was over, when he’d given her everything that he had, he rolled so that she rested above him. And wondered, grimly, if it was enough.

That bitch! He’d trusted her, taken care of her, loved her for years and she would dare throw it in his face like this? Bad enough that she stayed out in that bayou with him taking pictures for that absurd book. Worse still, that she’d come to San Diego with him. But to cancel her room—to decide to stay in his suite with him. Had she no shame?

He imagined that filthy laborer’s hands all over her and he wanted to scream in denial. Serena was his
. His.
How dare this man think to touch her? How dare she let him?

The fury was back—so hot and uncontrolled that it spewed out of him before he could stop it
.

“Bitch! Whore!” He wasn’t aware of throwing his scotch until the glass shattered against the mirror lining one wall of the luxurious hotel suite he’d checked into only hours before. The mirror cracked and he walked toward it, fascinated. Amber liquid dripped from it, catching in the cracks and sliding slowly onto the plush carpet. The closer he got, the more of himself he could see in the mirror. But he was distorted, in pieces, his features randomly placed on his face
.

“No!” He screamed in agonized denial. Not here, not now—when he was so close to having her as his own. “It’s just the mirror,” he muttered to himself. “Just the broken mirror.” He was whole, normal, perfect. It was just the mirror that—

His hand—a tightly curled fist—lashed out and struck the broken glass. Agony ripped through him as the skin over his knuckles shredded. But a few pieces of the cursed mirror had fallen and the pain was worth it. With a hoarse cry he hit the mirror again, this time slicing a deep gash into the side of his hand as more of the mirror crumbled away
.

He watched, fascinated, as blood slowly dripped from his hand onto the carpet—decorating the long shards of glass lying facedown on the plush thickness. He grinned—he couldn’t help himself. It was such a beautiful sight
.

His hand hurt and the bleeding continued, but he made no move toward the
bathroom. Blood dripped, pooled in front of him, around him, and still he didn’t go for a towel. Instead he watched the crimson pile grow, watched a little bit of himself slowly leak into oblivion
.

The headache was back, creeping up from the back of his neck to the top of his head—until the pain from his hand was but a small annoyance compared to the growing agony behind his eyes
.

They were getting worse, coming more often, until he’d almost been unable to work last week. But control was everything, and he refused—refused—to let the pain take over his life. He’d have her soon and then everything would be okay again
.

When the bleeding slowed to a trickle, he walked to the bathroom and absently wrapped a towel around his wounds. Such a shame to cover up all that beautiful blood, but he had an appointment tonight he didn’t want to miss. It wouldn’t do for him to show up a bloody mess. It wouldn’t do at all
.

He crossed to the bar, poured himself another scotch. Wondered what Serena was doing right now. Pondered whether or not she’d found his surprise—or better yet, if that bayou rat had found it
.

It hadn’t been easy getting that close to her things without being seen, but he was more than pleased with the result of the extra effort. Hurting her wasn’t his intention—at least not yet—but still, there were rules. She had to pay for her duplicity. Pay for letting that animal, that laborer, lay his filthy hands on her
.

Tonight was just a warning, but if things continued this way—the punishments would be much worse. For both of them
.

Serena was his and he would have her. And once he did, no one would ever take her from him again. He’d kill anyone who tried
.

*  *  *

Serena studied herself critically in the hotel mirror. She looked good. Really good, if she did say so herself. She had been a little leery when the boutique manager had proclaimed it perfect for her, but with her makeup and hair done, she could see that the woman had been right. Though the raspberry silk was a little low-cut for her taste. She tugged at the
halter bodice for the third time in as many minutes.

What had possessed her to buy a new dress? Two new dresses. Especially since she had two perfectly good ones still packed in her suitcase. When she’d packed for the trip to San Diego, she’d had every intention of wearing her old cocktail standbys. But when she’d gone to unpack last night suddenly they hadn’t seemed right.

She snorted before she could help herself. Meaning they weren’t beautiful enough—sexy enough—for Kevin. She wanted to wow him, to make his mouth drop open and his cock get hard at his first glimpse of her.

She couldn’t stop herself from contemplating her reflection for a few long seconds. Who was this woman who had invaded her body and when was the real Serena Macafee planning on making an appearance? This was so unlike the real her—dressing up for a man, planning to seduce him. The real Serena didn’t have incredible sex with the subject of her assignment. She didn’t wear red lipstick
or
red dresses. And she certainly didn’t leave her hotel room without a stitch of underwear on. Unless a red garter belt counted?

With a sigh, she spritzed cologne at the hollow of her neck, at her wrists, and after a moment of debate, between her thighs. Who was she trying to fool anyway? The best part of wearing this dress was imagining Kevin peeling it off her in a few hours.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. “Serena, are you ready?” Kevin asked.

“One more minute,” she called, reaching for her jewelry bag. She heard Kevin prowling the sitting room of the suite, and she couldn’t blame him. She was the one who had insisted they leave early. Really early. He thought she was crazy, but she had plans for the extra ninety minutes. Big plans.

She slipped the pearl necklace her mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday around her neck, grateful that it suited the dress. Her earrings hadn’t and the saleswoman had talked her into spending a lot more than she had planned to on a pair of ruby and pearl chandelier earrings that were totally wrong for her.

But they didn’t look wrong, she admitted, taking one final glance in the mirror. They made her look sexy and just a little bit wild. Of course, that could also be attributed to the raspberry Jimmy Choos she hadn’t needed to be conned into buying. The second she’d laid eyes on the five-inch sequined stilettos it had been love at first sight. Her feet
would be dying by the end of the night, but it would be worth it. No pain was too great for these shoes.

She reached for her purse, started to slip her cell into the small evening clutch. She hesitated, her hand frozen in midair over the small phone. He’d called again, twice while she was shopping and then once more as she was doing her makeup. He’d left messages the first two times, spewing obscenities, demanding to know where she was. By the time she’d accidently answered his third call, he had calmed down, had tried to keep his voice seductive and his words sweet. Somehow she’d found that more disturbing than the threats.

Taking a deep breath, Serena turned toward the door without picking up the phone. She didn’t want anything to ruin her night with Kevin, particularly explanations about an obsessed and unknown caller.

With a sigh, she grabbed her wrap and stepped into the sitting area of the suite the Matthias Corporation had booked for Kevin. He was on the balcony, leaning negligently against the iron rails as he watched the boats cruising the bay.

Her nipples peaked at her first sight of him. He’d been gorgeous in dirty jeans and bare feet and even more beautiful naked. But nothing could have prepared her for her first glimpse of his public persona. She’d seen pictures, of course, but they didn’t do justice to him. She wasn’t sure anything could.

His suit was perfectly fitted—black with a barely visible silver pinstripe. Beneath it he wore a silver silk shirt open at the collar. His glorious hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and he’d traded his signature gold hoop for a small diamond stud. Her mouth watered before she could stop it.

Telling herself to get a grip on her out-of-control libido, Serena crossed to the open door and murmured, “I’m ready.”