Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair. Lauren HawkeyeЧитать онлайн книгу.
if she disobeyed.
“Take off your dress,” he repeated, his words now edged with steel. Still, she remained frozen, dress clutched to her chest.
She wasn’t prepared for him to strike. She cried out as he rounded her, catching both of her wrists behind her back. She tugged, but with him holding her like that, she could do nothing when he used his free hand to yank down her dress, where it caught around her hips.
“If you don’t do what I tell you, then I do it for you,” he informed her. Cupping her left breast in his palm, he found her nipple and tugged. She gasped at the bolt of pleasure/pain.
“You’re not allowed to hide your body from me.” Dipping his head, he sank his teeth lightly into the curve of her shoulder. She pressed back against his solid frame, knowing he would hold her up when she trembled. “I need to make sure you remember that. On your knees.”
Oh God. She shouldn’t love this, should she? She shouldn’t feel like her entire core had turned to molten liquid, shouldn’t feel as though she stood on the edge of a cliff and was ready to jump?
This time, she listened. She dropped to her knees, facing the bathtub. John still stood behind her, but she felt it when he followed her down.
Moaning shakily when he touched her ankles, he slid her feet out of the wedge heels she was wearing, then traced a path up the sole of each foot. She was wearing a baby blue lace thong, and her eyes went wide when he slid his fingers under the strap that divided the cheeks of her behind and tugged. It pulled the remaining fabric into the slick heat between her lower lips, and when he experimentally pulled the fabric up and down, she gasped at the delicious friction on her clit.
“Do you remember the day we met?” He continued to toy with the lace, and she felt her pulse, right between her legs. She arched her hips, empty and aching.
Though she hadn’t replied, he continued, “You weren’t dressed in any of your designer dresses. Your face wasn’t contoured. I could count every freckle on that adorable little nose of yours. You were with your sisters, who are all attractive women. But I fucking wanted you.”
This time he yanked on her thong, and she heard the fabric rip. Breath coming in pants, she arched her back, begging for more.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” With the torn fabric of her underwear in his hand, he leaned forward and traced it over her lips. She could smell her own arousal, and it forced her excitement up another level. “Your body is the sexiest thing I could ever conjure up, even in my filthiest dreams. Because it’s yours.”
Meg heard the sound of flesh cracking against flesh before she registered the fact that his palm had just swatted her ass. Her spine stiffened, and he paused, presumably to let her absorb what had just happened.
Her skin stung, stretched hot and tight where his hand had connected with it. It was uncomfortable.
As she shifted on her knees, somehow the newly awoken nerves traveled in a direct line to her clit. Oh—oh, that was new.
That was amazing.
Groaning, she felt herself sliding down until her chest touched the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The position offered her ass up, and she heard him growl.
He was breathing hard when he swiped his fingers through her exposed slit.
“You’re drenched, kitten.” A pleasant fog started to drift through her brain as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back up to her knees. “This body was made for me.”
His hand found her center again. She heard someone crying out over and over—was that her?—as she was pushed higher, then higher still. Then two fingers were inside her, scissoring against her swollen tissue, and she shattered.
She had no awareness of her limbs, of moving or of being moved, but suddenly she was in the steaming bath. John reclined in the scented water, and she straddled his lap. His latex-covered cock pressed against her, his hands at her hips, and she melted around him as he pulled her down, or he surged up, filling her to the brim.
It was too much. It was not enough. She couldn’t handle it, and when he began to thrust, she came again, and again, riding a series of aftershocks that had a scream tearing from her lips. He muttered filthy words in a rough voice, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he followed her over the edge.
The fog overtook her. When she came to, she was lying on the bed, wrapped in a giant plush towel. Her nose was pressed to John’s chest, his arms around her.
Holy crap.
She felt as though she’d been turned inside out. What the hell had just happened?
HE WAS SCREWED.
He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of different women. He didn’t see any shame in that, because he’d always been up-front with his partners about what he could—and couldn’t—give.
What he’d just experienced with Meg had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered it with crystal clarity—he’d wandered into the Marchande family garage to offer Jo a job, and there she’d been. She’d only been wearing a bra and a pair of faded overalls—none of the fancy clothes she loved. There had been no makeup on her face. She’d been surrounded by her sisters, and yet he hadn’t been able to look at anyone but her.
She’d looked right back. He’d thought that when they got together, any attraction they succumbed to would burn itself out, then be something they could exchange glances over at any future encounters.
He’d been stupid. Having Meg made him think of the tasting menus she put together for clients. So many different flavors. He could eat and eat, stuffing himself and never have his fill.
He had... He had feelings.
He was also leaving. Usually, that was appealing—moving on, a clean slate, a fresh start.
Right now, all he could think of was the fact that when she’d surrendered to him, something had clicked into place. Something that neatly filled all the empty places he ignored.
Pulling her against his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have any answers, but right now, just having her in his arms was enough.
Except she wasn’t all warm and pliant like she’d been just a few minutes ago. She was stiff. Tense.
“What’s wrong?” Pulling back enough that he could see her face, he took in her pale skin, her wide eyes. “Hey. Talk to me.”
She sighed, squirmed with avoidance, then huffed out a breath of exasperation and finally spoke.
“My dad died when I was twelve.” She eyed him warily, and he knew she was searching for signs that he didn’t care, that stories about her past weren’t what he was here for.
He was here for everything, so he nodded for her to continue.
“Mamesie was a stay-at-home mom when it happened, and suddenly, she was responsible for four kids and a house.” Meg’s chin quivered. “I was the oldest, so a lot of responsibility fell to me. I’m the normal kid. The one who doesn’t create any trouble.”
“The one who doesn’t cry?” He traced a fingertip belong one of her eyes. It came away wet. “There’s no shame in crying.”
“Except that I don’t know why I am!” Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed back until there was a ribbon of space between them. He wanted to close it back up but understood that she needed it. “I’m just... I’m not used to having my needs made a priority. It brought out some stuff.”
“Hey.” Placing