Wicked Games (7 page)

She called him another rude name, but stopped struggling. A few more gentle passes over the slick silk had her widening her stance and arching her back to give him better access.

The urge to tear her panties off and bury himself inside her rushed through him. Somehow he resisted. “If I let go of you, will you stay put?”

A muffled, affirmative sound served as her reply. She’d turned her head back to the chair and he couldn’t see her face. He decided it wouldn’t do. “Say, ‘Yes, sir. I’ll stay put.’”

Her head popped up at that, and he caught the flash of hot blue eyes in the mirror. “You arrogant son of a—”

“Now, now. You’ll hurt my feelings.” He stopped stroking between her legs, and then removed his hand completely when she tried to grind against the base of his unmoving thumb.

Her frustrated groan had him choking back a laugh. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” he prompted.

Stubborn Stacy held out another moment, but then finally surrendered. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

“Good girl.” He let go of her wrists and waited to see if she’d keep her word. She lowered her arms and held on to the seat of the chair. “Good girl,” he repeated. “Since tonight is Halloween, good girls get a treat.” Then he knelt behind her, lifted the ski mask up over the lower half of his face, and bestowed hot, openmouthed kisses over every inch of her punished backside. Her throaty moan vibrated along his lips, his spine, his aching balls. He ran his tongue down the line of her thong, deliberately leaving a wet trail. She gasped and bent farther forward, offering him more.

“Greedy,” he teased and retraced his path, enjoying the way she writhed and lifted in an effort to increase the contact. With his tongue between her cheeks, he reached around and swept his hands up her ribs until he cupped her breasts. He massaged the soft undersides, while he kissed his way along the now-wet groove nature had so generously provided. He could happily spend hours right there, in part because she had the world’s best ass, but also because he knew she loved having him tease her like that. Some nights, Stacy was the one to roll onto her stomach, shove a pillow under her hips, and let him amuse himself—kissing, licking, biting his way ever closer to her tasty little clit, and then backing away, again and again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Then he’d spread her legs wide, lift her hips, and keep the pressure on while she pushed herself to the very brink…and beyond. But he wasn’t sure she’d permit the intimacy tonight, under circumstances where, in her mind, she didn’t know him from Adam. Only one way to find out. He pushed his tongue under the strip of her thong, pinched her nipples and took the plunge.

She cried out.

His heart hammered in his chest. His pulse pounded between his legs. Whatever blood was left in his head abandoned ship, making it hard to think, or decide if she’d uttered a cry for more or a plea to stop. “No holds barred,” he reminded her.

“Oh, God, I know, but…”

“Whatever you want, Angel”—he brought his hands to her waist and licked her again—“just ask nicely. Faster? Deeper? Lower?”

“Lower,” she panted and leaned so far over the chair he worried she might topple.

He draped one arm over her hips to secure her, slid his other hand up the back of her thigh, thumb going deep at the top to spread her cheeks a little wider. “Lower,
sir
,” he corrected, and sank his teeth into the lush curve where thigh turned to buttock.

“Lower, sir,” she managed. He angled his head between her thighs and went lower. The next sound he heard was her soft, helpless whimper when he slid his tongue under her panties and into the sweet, wet heat waiting so impatiently for his attention. He set to work, teasing, tormenting, laving in, and out, and around his favorite playground, but never actually touching her tender, swollen clit.

Her whimpers turned sharper, more urgent. She started arching her back, jerking her hips higher, trying to get him exactly where she needed him. Typical. There he had her, bare-assed and bent over a chair, and still she fought for control. How could he not love her?

He jerked her panties down. “Beg me to make you come.”

This time there was no pride, no hesitation. “Oh, God, yes. Make me come. Please, sir, make me come.”

He dove in and delivered a tongue-lashing she’d never forget. Her orgasm rolled through her like an earthquake, in ever-intensifying stages, and he felt every one of them. Her knees went weak. The thigh muscle under his hand fluttered uncontrollably. Then she bucked, and squirmed, and finally reared up on her arms, threw back her head, and cried out to high heaven, so loud and long he wondered if someone might hear her over the racket of the party and come pounding on the door. He would have loved to keep right on kissing, sucking, and stroking her straight through the first orgasm and headlong into the next, but the crisis in his pants couldn’t be ignored another second.

He stood and toed his shoes off. Then he grabbed the condom from his pocket and shoved his jeans and shorts down. He pulled them off, careful to remove his leg holster and clutch piece in the process, but kept those tucked in his jeans, out of sight. Stacy stayed put for once, leaning limp and breathless across the back of the chair. He lifted her into his arms and dropped down onto the chair so she straddled his lap.

“Was that what you were looking for, Angel?”

…

Stacy rode out the last trembling aftershocks from the mind-numbing orgasm—the kind of full-body meltdown only Ian could deliver. Shaky, sweaty, and tingling like she’d been struck by lightning, she barely registered when he lifted her and put her on his lap. She opened her eyes and immediately tumbled into his. Dammit. He pinned her with an expression she couldn’t fully read, but made her heart want to flip over in her chest and expose its soft underbelly. Which only proved she was, in fact, her own worst nightmare. No faceless stranger could lay claim to the title. She held that honor all on her own.

Was that what you were looking for, Angel?
He’d spoken quietly, but she heard the test in his voice, as if daring her to push him even one more inch.

Oh, she dared. Pushing him was about the only thing she did dare do at this point, because she knew full well her resolve would collapse like a house of cards if she came clean about their charade. And God only knew what confessions would come spilling out next. She could think of only one thing more frightening than admitting to him that she’d secretly longed for more than he’d offered. Namely, him offering it.

Staring down a no-win situation had always made her do reckless things. Why should tonight be any different? She twisted her lips into a calculating smile, cocked her brow, and went on the attack.

“That was a nice start. I hope the rest of you is as talented as your tongue, because it’s been way too long since I’ve had a good, hard, anonymous fuck. I’d forgotten how much I liked that kind of thrill. And that, Mystery Man, is
exactly
what I’m looking for from you tonight, just so we’re clear.”

The minute the words left her lips she knew she’d pushed him too far. His eyes narrowed and burned with a heat that practically singed her skin. The hands at her waist tightened, and for a minute she thought he might push her off his lap and walk out the door.

Her lips trembled in spite of her best efforts to lock her smile in place. She held her breath.

…

Jesus effing Christ, nobody on earth could piss him off like this woman. His vision actually went red. A part of him he barely recognized wanted to shake her until whatever goddamn block she’d put up in her head against their relationship rattled loose. Another part—one he recognized as raging and hurt and ravenous to pay some of that back—burned to give her the good, hard, anonymous fuck she claimed to want. He’d give it to her until he had her crying for mercy again, and then, when he had her ready to do anything…promise anything…to get some relief, he’d pull the damn mask off, look her square in the face, and make her say his name like a prayer while she came.

“You got it, sweetheart.” With that, he slammed his mouth down on hers and kissed that infuriating smile right off her lips.

She moaned. Her hands dived into his hair, and she held on and kissed him back with the same fervor. He felt himself sinking under and fought to stop the descent.
Hell no
. This was not going to be a duel for control. He was going to
have
her.

He wound her hair around his hand, jerked her head back, and proceeded to dominate her mouth. When she wrestled against him, and helpless sounds came from the back of her throat, he lifted his head a fraction.

One look into her big, stunned eyes and his anger warped into something painful and unstable. Six weeks ago they’d been as close as two people could be, known each other inside and out—or so he’d thought. Now all she wanted was a
good, hard, anonymous fuck
. She enjoyed the thrill of giving herself to a nameless, faceless stranger. Didn’t she miss him? Didn’t she think about him at all? Apparently not. He should get the hell out of here. Immediately. Before he did something they’d both regret.

She must have sensed his mood shift, because she wrapped her arms around his head, pulled him in close and said, “Help me forget. I’ve got this man stuck in my head…or my heart. I can’t take it anymore. Just for tonight, help me forget.”

His heart sped up, and the rest of him froze. She knew it was him. She had to. Maybe she was playing him—God knew she had a sadistic streak—but he let himself believe the words anyway, and his anger eroded like sand under a wave of hope. Maybe now…finally…they were getting somewhere?

“You love him?”

She pulled back, looked him straight in the eyes, and his earlier doubts disappeared. She wasn’t playing him. Not here. Not now. “It doesn’t matter. He and I—we’ll never work.”

Two seconds ago he would have bet his gun arm she couldn’t inflict any more damage on his battered heart, but he’d have lost the bet, because it broke a little more now. For whatever reason, she honestly believed what she said. “Why won’t it work?”

She stared at him. He could feel the answer forming in her mouth and wished for the power to pull it out of her. But she closed her eyes and shook her head, and her look of utter hopelessness tore his trampled heart right out of his chest.

“Why doesn’t matter. Please. This—” She writhed against him. “This will work.”

He wanted to argue, but the hopeless look haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he could face it again.
Later. Ask her later, when her guard is down and her filters are off and she won’t hold anything back
. He handed her the condom. “I’m here. Take what you need.”

Somehow he managed to hold himself together while she rolled the latex on. He kissed her throat, her breasts, skimmed a hand down her stomach and between her legs, just to make sure she was ready for him.

“Oh, sweet heaven.” She reached down and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t touch my clit. Please don’t…I’ll come.”

“I want you to come.”

“I want to come with you inside me.” She wriggled down onto him.

His eyes closed. She felt so good, so amazingly, incredibly right. The words “I love you” threatened to pour out of him. To stop himself from opening his mouth and screwing everything up, he leaned in and captured her lips.

Talk about coming home. He filled his hands with her gorgeous breasts. He plunged his tongue into her mouth at the same time he buried his grateful cock to the hilt in her unbearably hot, tight body. Her inner muscles clenched around him like a welcoming embrace.

This might be the last time he sat there, buried inside her. The unbidden thought floated through his pleasure-warped mind. No matter how good this was, afterward, she’d try to shut him out again. She’d walk.

The only connection he could count on was right here, right now. The only thing she’d willingly share with him was her body, and he intended to exploit it to the utmost one last time. Own every part of her. Claim her so completely that any time anyone else so much as brushed up against her, she thought of him. He ran his hand down her spine. She moaned and worked herself on him with renewed vigor while he gently circled the one part of her left to possess. “A good, hard fuck, I think you asked for?”

She shivered, broke the kiss, and mumbled something against his neck that sounded like “Yes.”

“A good, hard, anonymous fuck.” His next move was going to shatter that ruse, but he really didn’t care. He had to have her. All of her. In a way that was unquestionably
theirs
, back when they’d had trust, and some measure of honesty, and she’d wanted
him
and not some anonymous fuck. Using his index finger, he traced her lips, and then slipped past them and into the silky heat of her mouth. She knew exactly what to do. She swirled her tongue over the tip of his finger, down the length, past the knuckle and all the way to the base, and she sucked for all she was worth. Slowly, he withdrew, put his hand under her skirt, ran his wet finger along the tight seam of her ass, and then circled her again.

She arched her back and murmured, “Don’t make me sore.”

“I want you sore,” he said, and bit her earlobe as he pressed his way into the tight opening, barely penetrating her, “so every time you move, you remember this, and you remember me. I plan to be the first person you think about in the morning, and the last goddamn man you dream about at night. You are never, ever getting me out of your head. Understand?”

She shuddered against him and wrapped her arm around his neck. Before he could guess what she intended to do, she pulled the ski mask off. He returned her gaze for a long, tense moment, trying like hell to hold her in place with the sheer weight of his stare, because he didn’t want to think about what he’d do if she tried to break away now. Then she closed her eyes and, with a low, wrenching sob, surrendered. She cupped his face with both hands, and plunged into the kiss. His mind spun while she owned
him
, claimed
him
. He felt her shudders. Tasted her tears.