Tristan's Temptation (12 page)

The balls nearly popped out.

She whirled on him, instinctively covering her breasts with her hands. His face was stony, obdurate. But she could tell he was just playing the part. He wasn’t really the cruel master. Rather her partner in the game. Her game. Lust bubbled in her belly and she dropped her gaze, slipping into her role. “Yes Master.”

He tipped her chin back up. “Louder. I want to hear those words. See them on your lips.”

“Yes…Master.”

“Nice.” He kissed her but it was like no other kiss he’d ever given her. This kiss was hard, commanding. He sucked at her mouth. Thrust in his tongue. Possessed her.

Her mind spun, her body wept.

He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, observing her coldly. “Well?”

“Well?” Well, what?”

He gestured to her person. “Remove your clothes, slave.”

She shivered. For heaven’s sake. Why did she feel so vulnerable? He’d seen her naked before. Still, she trembled as she complied. It was difficult to slip the dress from her shoulders. Difficult to let it fall in a pool at her feet. Very difficult to remove her bra, one strap at a time.

Even more difficult to meet his gaze when she stood there, bare but for the wisp of her panties.

He stared at her with a hunger that made her heart hitch. The planes of his face were taut with it. His eyes burned. His nostrils flared. She felt the heat in his scrutiny as it skated over her exposed breasts, across her belly and down to her lace-clad cunt. She longed to cover herself but she didn’t.

“Turn around.”

She did. Slowly.

He exhaled in a hiss, stepped closer. His hot hand drew a line of fire on her ass. He massaged one cheek and then another through her panties. She jerked as he landed a little slap. It stung, but only a little. She reveled in the warmth.

“You are so beautiful, Shannon.” Boldly, he caressed her breast. He ended the stroke with a tweak of her nipple and she whimpered. His mastery felt so good. Fed something deep within her.

“Tristan?” She jerked as his warm lips caressed her nape.

“Yes?”

“These balls…they have to come out.”

He chuckled. “Well hell. I completely forgot about those.”

She smacked him. The wretch. She’d been in agony all day.

“Do you want me to do it?”

“No.” She didn’t snap. She never snapped. But she was so tightly wound, if he so much as touched her, she would lose all control.

“You’ll have to take off your panties too, I suppose.”

She shot him a scorching look and slowly eased them off. Dampness trailed all the way down her thighs.

She stood before him, completely naked, and spread her legs. Just spread them.

His face was etched with harsh lust that tightened when, with no prompting at all, the balls slipped out and fell to the carpet with a dull, heavy thud. The sensation, the relief, the ravaging hunger for more made her lightheaded.

His lips thinned, paled. His throat worked. “I want to see you in the chair.”

A skein of sizzling arousal snaked through her. She knew what the chair was for. She desired it and dreaded it. But she couldn’t hesitate. Would not disobey.

He led her there and seated her.

It was a very special chair. Hewn of wood, it had a high back and removable arms. The seat was split so her bottom perched on a small ledge. Everything—the globes of her ass, her breasts, her cunt—was totally exposed.

Tristan took his time arranging her, slowly lifting one arm and securing her wrist to the straps high above her head. He took his time, tasting and tormenting her. And then he did the same with the other arm.

When he finished, he stood back and inspected his work, relishing the vision of her, helpless and constrained as she was. He licked his lips.

Shannon sat there, arms bound overhead, and burned. The leather bindings at her wrists were not painful but they reminded her she was helpless. His captive. She tugged just a little to test them and a shot of excitement ran down her spine.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her fantasy coming to life…and with him! She couldn’t stop her hips from rolling as sheer lust washed through her.

“Ah ah ah.” Tristan waggled a wicked finger. “I didn’t say you could move. Hold still.”

“But…”

“No talking, Shannon. I’m the Master here. You will do as I say.”

He seemed so domineering, so indifferent, it startled her. For a moment, she was paralyzed with fear. But there in his eyes she saw him. She remembered. And she relaxed.

“Good girl.” He walked to the rough-hewn table and surveyed the implements. Her pulse thudded in anticipation. What would he choose? The whip? The strap? Or something more heinous?

He chose the feather.

Ah. Definitely heinous.

As he approached, a swirling ball roiled in her gut. Anticipation and dread and dizzying desire skirled through her. He stopped in front of her, running the feather through his thick fingers. Just stood there and observed her reaction.

Imagining what he would do with it, would do to her, had her crying out, tugging at her bonds.

Really. She really should change her mind. Perhaps…

But it was too late. Tristan brought the feather down and dragged the soft fronds against her neck.

“Ah!” She arched up, helpless against the sensation. She mewled in agony, not because it was too intense but because it was not nearly enough. It was barely there. He allowed the feather to drift down her chest and around the circumference of one breast. He tormented her thusly for a long time, never once touching her straining nipples. He tormented her until she squirmed in the chair, dampening it with hopeful passion. “Please, Tristan! Please.”

He paused in his ministrations—Shannon had no idea what he was doing because she’d long since closed her eyes—but then the sensation returned…only harsher.

Her lids flew open and she was stunned to see he’d turned the feather around and was using its quill to score the torment on her flesh. Liquid horror trilled through her as the quill traced closer to her nipple and closer still.

She almost came out of her skin when it touched her, scratched across her aching nub.

The breath hissed out of him at her reaction. “Do you like that, Shannon?” And when she didn’t respond, “Do you?”

“Yes. Yes, damn you. Yes!”

His smile was wicked. He flipped the feather around again and repeated the torture on her other nipple. And then—oh heavens—the feather made its way lower.

Shannon wriggled and moaned, tugging at her bonds in earnest. She knew where he was heading. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t!

Determined to avoid the torment, she pulled her legs together. The feather froze.

“Shannon. Open your legs.”

She glared at him mulishly.

“Open your legs or I will have to bind them too.”

The hint of an orgasm wracked her at his words. She was helpless before him but not completely helpless. If he tied her legs apart, she would be utterly at his mercy. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t obey. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself what she really wanted, really needed.

Complete submission.

He shook his head and tsked, setting the feather down on the table. He returned to the chair and slowly unfastened and lifted one of the wooden arms. Though she fought him, he took her leg and slipped it far to the side and set the heavy arm back in place, securing her thigh exactly where he wanted it.

To her fascinated mortification, he did the same to her other leg.

Now she was completely restrained. Her hands were tied over her head and her thighs were trapped on either side of the chair. Splayed wide.

The realization made her quiver. He could do anything to her—
anything
. She couldn’t stop him. And she delighted in it.

He returned to the table. This time he brought the feather but he brought something else as well. A thick leather strap.

She swallowed. “What’s that for?”

He ignored her and began his torment with the feather once more, starting at the very beginning and making his way down her body in agonizing increments. First with the soft side and then with the torturous point. He ended at her cunt, rubbing the dampening feather back and forth against her tender flesh until she wept and begged and pleaded for more.

Her orgasm was almost upon her, hovering, imminent, when he stopped.

She cried out, “No! Please. No.”

Tristan was close, kneeling before her as he worked. He wiped the sweat from his brow and met her gaze with a smile.

“Please, Tristan. I am almost there.”

Again, the smile. It was wicked. He was wicked. He picked up the strap and showed it to her.

A delicious shudder licked through her body. “W-what are you going to do with that?”

“Tenderize the meat.”

She put out a lip. “The ‘meat’ has been tenderized all day.”

Without warning, the strap came down, right on her throbbing clit. Agony. Ecstasy. Lashes of pleasure. Lashes of pain. Every muscle in her body clenched deliciously.

She didn’t come, but just barely.

When he followed the slap with a swipe of his tongue, shivers of impending orgasm slashed through her. But his touch was tantalizingly brief. And before she could grab hold of the bliss, he was gone.

“Ohh. Tristan!” she growled, throwing back her head in agony. “I’m going to make you pay for his!”

He chuckled. “I do hope so.”

She stilled as something wonderful and fat nudged at her opening. Two fingers eased in and Shannon convulsed around them. “Yes. Oh yes. Please.” But then they withdrew and she changed her tune. “No. No. Please.”

“Don’t worry, my sweet. It’s coming. It’s coming.”

And then his mouth was on her, his fingers in her. He sucked and stroked, plying insanity upon her. She arched madly, trying to force him deeper, harder, more, more. She was supremely aware of the straps binding her hands, aware of the restriction over her thighs, aware she was helpless to do anything but come. To be anything but his.

And she did. She was. For one brief, beautiful eternity, she was completely and utterly
there
.

When she came back to herself, he had already released her from the chair. Already carried her over to the divan. Was already stroking the lust back into her. He urged her, with heat and hunger, to unbearable heights until she wanted nothing more than to open for him, allow him in.

Fortunately, Tristan was not a tentative lover. He knew when she was ready and he knew what she wanted, needed, more than breath itself. He levered himself over her dampened body and spread her legs and eased himself in. And…

Ah! Bliss.

The moment he entered her, the very second he filled her and stroked her and took her, she came. Again. And again. Each thrust took her further and further into the bliss he’d drawn upon her with a feather quill.

He sped up, his breath panting and hot in her ear, his grunts and groans and moans reverberating through their bodies, vibrating at the very point their bodies joined. He sped up and drove deeper, harder, sending a thousand shards of agony and ecstasy through her with each lunge.

Her body tightened. She felt it, that something, stalking her and she wanted to be captured. Wanted to be consumed. Just as his cock swelled inside her, just as his essence jerked and gushed into her, it took her. Took her utterly. Took her completely.

She exploded. Imploded. Flew.

And after their hearts, floundering in tandem, had once again calmed, she looked into his eyes. And she knew what that something was.

It was love. And it possessed her.

Completely.

Chapter Ten

Afterward, once they recovered their sanity and reclaimed their clothing, they enjoyed an exotic meal of lamb and jasmine rice. There were no implements so they ate with their fingers and reveled in licking sweet oils from each other’s hands.

“So.” Tristan leaned back on the fat velvet pillows and stared at her. “What did you think of that?”

Shannon took another sip of the delicious wine and sighed. “It was wonderful, Tristan. But…”

A frown flickered across his face. “But?”

She glared at him. “But if you say we shouldn’t do
that
again, I’ll smack you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that again.”

“Though…” She tapped her lip with her finger. He tracked the movement with glittering eyes. “Perhaps next time?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps next time,” she purred, “you can be the one in the chair.”

His expression was priceless. Horror and curiosity and arousal at the prospect of being bound helpless before her ravening desires.

Before long, she had just that. Tristan Trillo. Writhing in the chair and begging, begging for sweet release.

It was sublime.

Something unusual happened the next day.

Tristan and Shannon were late for work. They were never late for work.

He drove her home after their amazing night at the Pleasure Palace and he kissed her on her doorstep. And he kissed her in her foyer. And the hallway. And her bedroom. They spent the remainder of the night in each other’s arms, cuddling and kissing and making love.

Not surprising she forgot to set her alarm.

Not surprising they slept in. Way past ten.

When they awoke, they were both in a state, madly scrambling to dress and wolf down hastily scrambled eggs. He sent her to the office first—he had to stop by his house and change clothes because it would never do to show up in yesterday’s outfit. Besides, if they came in together,
late
, good God, everyone would notice.

By the time he got there, she was situated at her desk and working diligently. He refused to be annoyed by the way she glanced up, offered him a tight, tiny smile and went directly back to work. But then, Adam was there, riffling through a sheaf of papers.

“Where the hell have you been? We had a conference call with Proctor.”

Hell.
Tristan slapped his forehead. “Damn it, Adam. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

Adam boggled. “You…forgot? Proctor? Our biggest client?”

“I’m sure you handled it.”

“Of course I handled it.” Adam put his hands on his hips. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Tristan shrugged and pushed past his brother into the sanctum of his office. “I’m fine. I just didn’t get any sleep last night.” He heard a snort from Shannon’s desk. He ignored it.

Adam followed him in and shut the door behind him. “Are you sure you’re all right? Damn it, Tristan. You’ve been weird lately.”

Tristan stilled. “Weird? How?”

“Everyone’s noticed.”

“Everyone?”

Adam leaned against the door and fixed his gaze on his brother. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Something?” Tristan pretended to be busy. He shuffled some papers around on his desk, thumbed through his messages.

“Tristan. Are you…sick?”

He froze. They both remembered, were haunted by the day, long ago, when their father had sat them both down and announced, quite calmly, that he was dying. “No. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You aren’t acting fine. Maybe you should go see Doctor Rafferty.”

“It’s nothing.”

Adam sprawled in one of the visitor’s chairs. He rested his chin on steepled fingers and pursed his lips, as though he was trying to unravel a mystery. “Something’s going on.”

Damn it all. Why did Adam have to be so fucking observant?

Tristan blew out a breath. “All right. Yes. Something is going on. But it’s something personal.”

“I’m your brother.”

“Something
very
personal. I’m…just not ready to talk about it.” He tried to ignore Adam’s hurt expression. As brothers and business partners, they’d never kept things from each other. Well—Tristan steeled his spine—until Adam started courting Kat.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready?”

Tristan fiddled with his paper clips. “Yeah. Sure.”

“And if you need anything—
anything
—you’ll come to me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay then.” Adam slapped his knees with both hands. “In that case, if it’s not too much trouble, we have a staff meeting.”

“When?” Tristan instinctively checked his watch.

Hell. He’d forgotten to put it on.

Adam grinned. “Ten minutes ago. Come on. Everyone’s waiting. And they’re in a really bad mood.”

“Why?”

Adam’s grin broadened. “Jenny made the coffee.”

The rest of the day was torture. Pure torture.

You would think, after a night like he’d had last night, a man’s body would be sated. Quiescent. But every time he looked at Shannon, Tristan’s ardor stirred anew. It was as though he’d taken a drug that made him want nothing but more and more of the same.

Another torment in his own personal ring of hell was that Shannon was gorgeous today, glowing with an inner light that attracted every male in the office the way a porch light attracts moths. Okay. Not a particularly romantic analogy but Tristan wasn’t in a romantic mood. He was in a predatory mood and he didn’t like the other lions eyeing his gazelle.

And damn it all anyway, whenever he approached her, she was surrounded by people, laughing and chatting and having a good old time. While he was left in the corner stewing. What he really wanted, more than anything else, was Shannon all to himself. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.

And then something occurred to him. He could have her to himself. If he took her away for the weekend. He checked his calendar—nothing important—and logged on to the internet and began researching bed-and-breakfasts in the local area. His fingers froze over the keys. No. Not a bed-and-breakfast. They could run into someone they knew.

A cruise? Yes!

One of the national lines had regular weekend runs down to Ensenada out of San Pedro. Ah. That would be perfect. They could sequester themselves in their cabin, order food and champagne and delight in each other’s company for the whole weekend.

And no one would be the wiser.

The idea so lifted his heart, so intrigued and excited him, he practically thrummed with anticipation. She’d just better say yes.

As soon as she returned to her desk, he called her into his office.

“Yes, Tristan?”

“Shannon. Shut the door.”

The look she shot him was as dry as the desert.

He grinned and shook his head. “A conversation. Nothing more.”

She chuckled and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her, and sat before his desk. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. Hell. Now he was too nervous to broach the subject. What if she said no? “Um. I really enjoyed last night.”

She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “Did you? Which part?”

The light in her eyes sent a jolt of excitement through him. “All of it, Shannon.”

“Even being tied to the chair yourself?”

He shifted restlessly at the memory of the torment she’d inflicted upon him. Hell yeah. “You’re a naughty girl.”

“You deserved some payback.”

“Oh, I suffered.”

She leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Not nearly enough.”

“What are your plans for this weekend?”

Perhaps that was a bit too blunt. She sat back, frowned. “This weekend?”

“Yes.” Why did he feel like a pimply faced high school boy asking a girl on a first date?

“Nothing.”

He realized he was holding his breath and blew it out in a gust. “Let’s go away.”

“Away?”

“Together. For the weekend.”

She laughed and crossed her arms over her chest. “We can’t go away together. People will notice.”

“It’s a weekend. No one will notice.”

Her tongue darted out, wet her lips. He fixated on the sight. “What did you have in mind?”

Why did his heart leap like that? God, he was nervous. “How does a cruise to Ensenada sound?”

“A cruise?” Her tongue peeped out and wet her lips, distracting him. “I’ve never been on a cruise.”

“Do you have a passport?”

“Yes. But…” Her face fell. “Tristan, I can’t go away for the whole weekend.”

“Why not?”

“Bosco!”

Bosco?
Tristan gaped at her. “Can’t you get a sitter?”

“Who? Kat? Sara? How do I explain where I’m going?”

“Don’t you have a sister?”

“She’s allergic.”

He was starting to panic. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted this until now. And man, did he want it. “Can’t you tell Kat you have to visit your sister for the weekend?”

“Lie to my friend?” Shannon stilled. Every muscle in her body went tight. Her eyes, large and limpid, were laden with sadness. “Tristan. I hate this.”

“This?” His heart shot up into his throat, pounding hard. “You hate…this?”

“Not this,
this
. I hate all the lying and sneaking around. I hate pretending like we’re nothing but coworkers. It’s just not in my nature to prevaricate.”

Hell. He hated it when she got all British and used big words. “Shannon…”

“Tristan, I just… I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

The throbbing moved up into his head. A big fat Viking pounded on his temple with a hammer.

“Shannon. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Tristan. I just can’t. Not right now.” Were those tears on her lashes? God. He hoped they weren’t tears.

When she stood and left, rushing to the ladies’ room, he didn’t follow. He sat at his desk, fiddling with his letter opener and feeling like a worm.

Several hours later, she poked her head into his office. Her eyes were red, her skin pale. “Tristan?”

“Yes, Shannon?”

“Do you have a minute?”

He began to rise, to sprint to the door to help her in, help her sit. And then he remembered. That was something a concerned
boyfriend
would do. Not a boss. “Sure.”

She came into the room but didn’t close the door. Didn’t sit. She stood before him, mangling a piece of pink paper. “It’s about this weekend.”

“Yes?”

“Um.” She cleared her throat. “My vet says he’ll take Bosco.”

A wash of relief flooded him. But then concern arose. She didn’t seem happy about this. Certainly not as happy as he was. He would have her to himself for three whole days. On a boat. In the middle of the ocean. And she would have him. So why did she look so peaked? He reached across the desk and took her hand in his. She stilled, glanced over her shoulder into the hall and slowly drew her fingers away.

“Shannon, are you all right?”

She dipped her head. “Yes. I’m just a little…” She put a palm to her belly. “My tummy’s upset.”

“Are you sure?” He meant about his weekend, not about her tummy, but she understood.

“Yes, Tristan.” She met his eyes then and he saw it there, the spark he was hoping for.

“Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. You know. Catch up on your sleep?”

It was a weak attempt at humor but her lips twitched. “I have things to do.”

“You need your rest.” He lifted a brow so she would know, would realize he had plans—big plans—to keep her from sleeping this weekend.

She nibbled at her lower lip. He was transfixed by the sight. “I can sleep tonight.”

“Tonight?” He sat back, beset with annoyance that he wouldn’t be keeping her awake all night once more.

She shook her head, reading his mind. Or perhaps his expression. “No, Tristan. Not tonight. For one thing, I’ll have to pack. What kind of clothes do you take on a cruise?”

Clothes? “You won’t need any clothes.”

“Tristan,” she growled at him. Growled. He kind of liked it. “I’ve never been on a cruise. I want to experience everything.”

“You’ll experience everything, all right.”

But she was having none of his teasing. She threw back her shoulders and became all British and stiff. “If I’m going—”

“You are.”

“
If
I’m going, I plan to have a wonderful time.”

“You will.”

“And not just in the cabin! Why, there are so many fun things to do. Scuba diving, buffets, fancy dinners. Baked Alaska!”