“Ahh. How curious,” he murmured, twisting the hair a little tighter. Then, as if she were something remarkable that needed fixing in his memory, something he’d never seen before, he examined her, inch by inch.
When she tugged against his hold and found herself still held fast, heat flooded her. The chair wouldn’t move back. He must have hooked it with his foot. He leaned in and wound another curl of hair onto his finger until it pulled at her scalp. Beyond the bitter richness of the coffee, she smelled the cologne she’d come to associate with him—a dark, masculine aroma that made her imagine the grinding of cogs and engine parts.
This isn’t inescapable. If she struggled, she might near upend the table. If she screamed, someone would come running. He waited, holding her, gray eyes watching, as if some choice teetered in the balance. She tensed again. His grip adjusted an infinitesimal amount on her wrists, as if to say I have you.
Yes. You do. Everything about him enveloped her, made her crave exactly this. His possession. In her mind something relaxed; the balance shifted. She welcomed every way he could touch her, the heat from his body, the atoms of his breath. Everything.
As if he sensed her surrender, she felt the warm shift of air as he exhaled. Then his lips met hers, kissing her ever so gently.
The touch quaked her to the core. She shut her eyes, wanting only to feel. With each press, his mouth ventured more—harder, more urgent, drawing each lip under his teeth, then releasing it, parting them and pushing, until his tongue slipped warm into her. Beneath the coffee flavor, he tasted strange and foreign—exciting.
She had his tongue in her mouth, and the way she lay, her breasts half-swelled from the bodice of her dress. If he touched her there… She moaned into his mouth.
He pulled away. The loss made her ache for his lips on hers again.
“Better,” he said. “Much better. An obedient woman. It suits you.” He let go of her hair, ran his hand under her chin.
She should move. Resist. All she could do was blink up at him, then jam her eyes shut and shudder.
Timber grated on granite as he moved his chair closer to the corner. Without freeing her, he reached under the table. His fingers touched her dress, then inexorably inched the fabric up past her knee, along her thigh, upward. Her heart hammered. There was bare skin under those fingers. Where was he going? Not there, surely. Not here, at the table. She opened her eyes and found his waiting for her. He smiled back, smoothed those fingers higher to the juncture of her thighs.
“Open your legs, Claire.”
She shook her head, trembling.
“Am I hurting you?”
Heavens, no. This feels so good, so dark and wicked. Can anyone see? She chanced a look. Beyond the veil of flowering wisterias, nothing stirred. Though her stitches ached, with every new sensual advance on her body, the discomfort shrank further into the background.
“Claire? There’s only us. Open your legs.”
She swallowed and slipped out her tongue a second, then gave in and parted her thighs, groaning as he slid his hand under the edge of her panties and onto her wet cleft. When his hand pressed again, she opened her legs more. His thick fingers trailed along, dipping in here and there, just enough to part her swollen lips. Hot sensation pulsed. She clenched down there, inner muscles acting of their own accord.
I can’t stop him. Not now. That thought made her muscles spasm again, her pelvis nudge forward. Touch me. More. Deeper.
Panting, struggling not to writhe, humiliated by this consuming need, she moaned quietly.
“So wet.” Amusement tinged his voice. “So very nice. I’d bare your nipples as well, and taste them, but I doubt you’re ready for that much exhibitionism. Are you?”
She couldn’t answer; the sensations made thought impossible.
With his finger, he found the entrance to her, fingertip pressing barely in, then out again, sending fiery pulsations to her clit. He put his forehead to hers and waited like that while his finger moved in and out and in… She gasped.
“Mmm. I love hearing you.” He kissed her forehead. “This is lesson two, by the way.”
Vivid, delightful ideas inundated her—his mouth, his tongue there, licking her. She’d used her fingers on herself, and it had never felt like this. Everywhere throbbed to the beat of her heart.
His thumb weaved in rhythmic circles around her clit; then another finger and another joined the first, delving in a little farther each time. A ring at the base on his finger let her gauge the depth. Slipping, sliding, deep, shallow. She could hear the liquid noises, her panties so wet the air cooled her. Her clit rose up into a tight ball, expanding, blood thumping through it, and so sensitive she bit her lip when his thumb brushed her.
Now his thumb rolled over the center of that nub, up and down, smearing her juices. Her * tensed around those invading fingers.