He shifted, and the disappointment of denim brushed the backs of her legs. But, oh God, the heat pouring off his bare chest mingled with hers and plastered her flesh. He slid down her body until his breath brushed the apex of her legs. The throb there was met with the warm stroke of his tongue.
He covered her * with his mouth, his licks deep and urgent. She raised herself toward him and ground against his face. His groan vibrated inside and out as his hands heated every inch of skin he could reach.
His warmth disappeared, replaced with the chill of the A/C vent somewhere above her. She remained still, tried to follow the rustling sound of his jeans.
Whack.
Pain fired over her ass. Holy fuck. Didn’t he say he didn’t need to hit her—
Crack. Crack.
Both thighs. Low and sharp. Damn it hurt good.
The hollow sound of wood clattered to the floor. The bamboo pole? The scratch of his zipper lowering produced a clench between her legs. The velvety head of his cock rubbed against her folds, and she pressed her ass against him, needy and impatient.
Leaning against her back, his body engulfing her from head to toe, he must have caught his weight with a hand on the bedpost. His lips skid over her shoulder, his breath hot and rushed, his free hand squeezing her breasts and lowering over her belly, between her thighs, and guiding him to her center. Right there. Oh God.
He pushed in, and the sure-fire stroke shot ripples through her womb.
“Aw fuck. Your * just lets me right in.” His hips moved into a pounding rhythm. In and out in driving circles, his pelvis slammed into her backside and her mound rubbed against the unforgiving wood post. “Jesus, you feel good.”
The absence of sight intensified the scratch in his voice and the burn of his lips on her neck. He kicked her feet farther apart and his hands were everywhere, yanking her hips against him, squeezing her breasts, tugging on her clit. His torso, taut and smooth, glided over her back, flexing against her, controlling her movements.
He pinched her clit, and she sucked in a breath. His teeth sunk into her shoulder, and he pinched harder. The pressure was overpowering, demanding, pulling her in until nothing existed but the mounting stimulation.
She clenched her inner walls, tried to hold back the orgasm, to suspend the sensation, to savor the moment.
His tongue flicked across her skin between the brace of his teeth and his thrusts rolled and bucked. When his breath caught, she lost her self-control, her release pouring over her in powerful waves. “Ahhh, Jesus. Oh fuck.” Her body tingled, slumping in the clutch of his.
He rocked once, twice, and rammed to the hilt, grinding as he moaned a delicious cacophony of noises.
Hands slid over hers, and the shackles released. The blindfold followed, and she squinted against the brightness of the room. He scooped her up, arms behind her back and thighs, and tumbled them into bed. He positioned her on her side, tucked her chest into his, her head under his chin, and caressed a palm up and down her back. “Okay?”
“Mmm. More than.” She angled her head back and fell into his heavy-lidded eyes. “You used the pole to keep me guessing, didn’t you?”
His smile softened the strong lines of his gorgeous face. “If the threat isn’t there, if I never hurt you, you won’t anticipate.”
Hurt. The way he whispered that word reminded her of what it cost him. “Thank you.” She stretched her neck and covered his mouth with hers.
He parted his lips and rolled his tongue with hers. Tilting her head, he deepened the kiss, shifting her to her back and blanketing her with his body. His hands raked her hair, jaw working and tongue stoking a low burning fire.
When he slowed to a gentle slide of lips, she touched his cheek, smiled. “Good lord, you know how to kiss.” His head jerked back, and his eyebrows crawled together. She guessed he’d never tried to please a woman before, never needed to. But, holy shit, he was good at it. “What’s wrong?”
He rolled them to their sides, face to face, and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “When I kissed you in my room in New York—” he smiled, traced the shell of her ear “—that was my first kiss.”
Her heart gave a thump. He had intimacy issues, but surely he’d kissed someone at some point. “Ever?”
He shifted close, so close their noses touched. “Ever.”
73
Charlee emerged slowly from a content sleep. The bedside lamp shed a soft glow through the bedroom. She was alone in bed, but not alone. Jay’s silhouette reclined in a lounger on the veranda, the back of his head a smudgy shadow against the winking lights of the L.A. skyline.
The waning moon drifted beyond the open doors. She must have dozed off in his arms an hour or so earlier. She snagged one of his t-shirts from the closet in case of a chill in the evening air, shrugged into it, and swiped her cell phone from the desk on her way out.
A puff of smoke billowed above him. With his back to her, he seemed lost to a million thoughts, or perhaps just memorized by the view of the distant lights. He lowered a cigarette and scattered the ash to the breeze.