“Please,” I begged.
But he wasn’t interested in my demands. Instead, he shifted his attention, trailing kisses along my trimmed line of pubic hair, then up to tease my navel with his tongue.
Every touch was erotic, sending heat swirling through me. But it wasn’t the heat I wanted but the explosion, and as I moaned in both pleasure and protest his mouth closed hard over my breast and his teeth teased my erect nipple.
“You’re tormenting me,” I whispered, when his hand slipped between my thighs. I gasped as he slid a finger inside me, then stroked me in long, slow movements designed to let the pleasure build and build—but never quite reach the pinnacle. “You bastard,” I moaned. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Clever girl.” He cupped his hands over my breasts, then brought his mouth to my neck. His kisses along my neck were a different kind of torture, and I instinctively tilted my head to one side. “But is it really torment?” he murmured, his lips brushing my skin with each soft word, and sending shockwaves rippling through me. “Or is it heightened pleasure borne from anticipating what’s yet to come?”
“Torment,” I said firmly, making him laugh. “And here I was starting to think you were a nice man. You’re not.”
He eased back so that I could see his face. Desire and heat and a feral ruthlessness that cut straight through me. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m not.”
While I worked hard to keep myself from whimpering, Tyler rose to his feet. He held out his hand, and I took it with both curiosity and anticipation. I hoped he was leading me to the bedroom; I hoped he intended to finish what he’d started. I feared that he had something else in mind, though—and, damn the man, I couldn’t help that sizzle in my blood that came from the mixture of curiosity and, yes, anticipation.
Without a word, he led me into a short hallway, then through yet another formal room.
To be honest, I was swimming in such a sensual haze, it’s a wonder I noticed anything at all. But small things jumped out at me. The paintings. The molding. There were antiques tucked into every corner, yet the room still looked elegant, not cluttered.
We moved down yet another hall, and I entertained the insane idea that all he was really doing was walking me in a circle. More torment. More anticipation.
When I said as much, he laughed. “I’m not that cruel. The place is just huge. You could get lost in it. I do sometimes.”
“Really?”
“No, but it makes a good story.”
“Is that what you do? Make up stories when the truth isn’t good enough?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Absolutely.”
“Well,” I said. “That’s a conundrum.”
“What is?”
“You’re being honest about being dishonest.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to keep you interested,” he said, a hint of heat returning to his voice.
I didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about there.”
We’d reached the open door to the master bedroom, and I was surprised to see the contrast between its interior and the rest of the penthouse. This room contained the modern furniture that Tyler had said he preferred. Sleek lines that accentuated function over form, but nonetheless suggested money and taste.
Interesting. It told me that he was a man who was willing to compromise—but not on the things that were personal and important to him.