Sinful Desire

He was so strong she couldn’t wriggle away if she wanted to. His thumbs dug into her wrist bones, pinning her hands above her ass, rendering her helpless. The pressure from the twist in her arms bordered on pain, and felt oh so good.

There was no space between the two of them. Only breath. Only words and his bare, husky voice. “Do you know what else I’ve been thinking about all day?”

She shook her head.

He inched closer, his mouth mere centimeters from hers. Her lips parted, so ready for him. God, she needed him to kiss her. Needed it badly. He was making her wait for it. Making her nearly ask for it. His mouth hovered so close she wanted to dart out her tongue and lick him. Draw him to her. His forehead brushed hers, and her breath fluttered.

Somehow, she managed a please.

“Please kiss you?” he asked. “Is that what you want me to do?”

She nodded, too turned on to form another word, even a yes.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about all day,” he whispered.

Then he kissed her, and he wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t sweet. He was rough as he claimed her mouth, kissing hard. She moaned as he drew her bottom lip between his teeth then fused his mouth to hers.

His stubble rubbed against her chin. She’d have whisker burn later. She longed for the redness, the proof, the evidence of a bruising kiss.

The kiss lit her up. She felt it everywhere—in her toes, in her hair, in her belly.

And, deliciously, between her legs.

She ached for him there. She angled her hips closer as they kissed, desperately seeking contact from him. God, how she wanted him. And she didn’t even know his name.

But he knew her body.

He knew her desires.

He held her hands so tightly they might as well be cuffed. In a flash, he changed his grip, wrapping both her wrists in one hand, keeping them pinned behind her back. He moved his free hand to the front of her dress and found his way up her skirt. He broke the kiss as his fingertips brushed above her knee, touching her stockings and her garter. “Are you wet for me, Sophie?”

“Yes,” she said on a pant.

“Are you hot for me?” he asked, racing closer to her heat.

“God, yes.”

“Was I wrong about anything I told you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Do you still want to ask me if I’m a good lover?” He flicked his finger against her clit. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She inhaled sharply and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out loud.

“No. I don’t need to ask you,” she said as he stroked her through her black lace panties.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered as sparks shot through her bloodstream.

“Why not?” he asked, as if he were truly so damn curious.

“Because you’re showing me.”

His fingers glided across the wet panel of her panties, stroking faster as she rocked into him. He kept a firm grip on her wrists as she greedily sought his friction. “That’s right,” he said roughly. “I’m showing you, Sophie. I’m showing you exactly what I can do to you.”

He stopped momentarily. Her eyes widened. A trace of fear zipped through her. Fear that he might not let her come. “Did you want to question me again?” he asked, taunting her. “I can stop if you have questions.”

“No,” she said, her breath staccato.

“Good. But I want to question you.”

“Anything,” she panted. “Ask me anything.”

He fixed her with a serious stare. “Are you sure you want to go out on stage having just come all over my hand?”

“Yes,” she said, begging.

He leaned in closer to her ear. “I can’t hear you. Say it again.”

“Yes, God yes.”

He ran his fingers across the wet lace. He narrowed in on her where she wanted him. She was so close to the edge, and she needed him to keep touching her. She needed his fingers flying across her clit. Touching her until she fell apart.

“Beg for it,” he commanded.

“Please,” she whispered in his ear, her knees shaking, so desperate was she for release. “Please make me come.”

He rubbed fast and expertly, and she rocked into his hand as bright white fireworks blasted in her brain, radiating throughout her body. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she heard the song nearing the end, and she knew she’d have to come in seconds to make it to the stage on time.

But seconds were all this man needed.

“I want to taste your lips as you fuck my hand,” he said, then dropped his delicious mouth to hers once more, kissing her fiercely as she rode his fingers. He wasn’t even touching her flesh. He was getting her off through the lace. He was that good. She was that turned on. The tension in her body escalated, rising up like a rollercoaster car nearing the top of the hill. Then she reached it, hovered for beautiful seconds in that suspended state of bliss, then raced downhill as if it was an orgasmic joyride. As her own pleasure crashed into her, he ravaged her mouth with his lips, swallowing her moans, tasting her cries, and somehow it felt like kissing was coming, and coming was kissing.

Only it was more. It was being held back. And that was a hint of all that she craved.