His Private Pleasure Read online

  “Italian women. Passionate, stubborn.” He brushed his fingers along her inner leg, from knee to thigh. “Interesting combination.”

  “Glad you think so,” she managed to say through clenched teeth. Now do me for God’s sake. No man had ever played with her this way. This infuriatingly calm, controlled way.

  Then she felt him tugging at the thin zipper that ran up the center of the back of her pants. Finally, she thought, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Slowly, torturously, he slid the tab down, and she smiled against the cold tabletop, anticipating his reaction at what he would find.

  “Well, that would explain the lack of panty lines in these fine white pants of yours,” he said approvingly, but didn’t touch the thin strip of white spandex that slid down between her cheeks.

  “I find them functional,” she said, ever so calmly. And men find them erotic and hopelessly inviting, she thought wickedly. Close, she was so close to having him where she wanted him.

  He peeled her capri pants down and off, making her hiss as more of her came into contact with more of the island top. He moved between her legs, then nudged them just a bit wider.

  She smiled and shivered in anticipation. It was wetly arousing, not being able to see him, to gauge his reaction to her as she revealed herself to him. But rather than pushing against that part of her that so badly required attention, he hitched his hips up on the table between her legs—facing away from her and all that she so gloriously had to offer him!—and lifted up, almost lazily, one of her feet.

  “I—um,” was as far as she got in her planned protest when his fingers started kneading the sole of her foot. In fact, she groaned and let her head drop back on her arm. “That feels amazingly good.”

  “Standing on those toothpicks like you do, I thought you might enjoy this.”

  She wanted to argue about what they could be enjoying right now. She wanted to pout and push her hips up at him, remind him of just how close she was and how easily he could take care of her real needs. But then he pressed his thumbs into her arch and the pleasure that radiated all the way up her calf was too damn distracting.

  When he had that foot good and limp, he picked up the other. “This feels…almost better than sex,” she said drowsily. “Almost.”

  It wasn’t until he let her foot go and slid off the table that she realized just how relaxed she’d become. Boneless, that’s how she felt. She hadn’t thought of doing anything other than lying there and letting him work on her for a full ten minutes. Which, she also realized, was likely his plan.

  “So who’s sneaky now?” she murmured, not really able to work up a good mad. Who knew a decent foot massage could be so drugging? If managers of all the fancy spas she’d spent time in only knew about this, she thought, they could whittle their menu down to foot massages and make millions.

  “Still plotting,” he said idly, working those incredibly talented fingers into her calves.

  “Not about you this time,” she mumbled. “Spas should clone you. Make a fortune.”

  “Ah.”

  “Mmm. Ah.” That last part ended up a long, satisfied groan as he deepened the massage on her legs. “On second thought, I want you all to myself.” She smiled against her arm as he worked higher. “I’m greedy.”

  “Greedy can be good,” he said, his voice a deep purr as his clever fingers continued kneading her flesh.

  Drifting. For all that she was on a cold, hard slab, she could have been on a cloud. She’d had no idea how tense she’d been. Sabbaticals were a bitch, she thought, a smile curving her lips as her breathing deepened.

  When she felt something warm and wet touch her between her thighs, she didn’t even flinch. Tensing up was beyond her. The only thing she could plot or plan was feeling more of whatever he was doing now. It moved away and her hips lifted of their own accord, searching, wanting.

  “Dylan—”

  “Shh. Just lie there and feel. No thinking.”

  It sounded so easy, so wonderful. No thinking, no being in control, no worrying about her own agenda. Somewhere in the back of her mind, latent self-protective instincts tried to rear their drowsy heads, but then the warmth was back and this time it was sliding all the way between her legs. Closer to—sweet Jesus. She moaned and pushed, or tried to.

  It disappeared again.

  She frowned, but her body still felt so wonderfully pliable, it was too much work to make it move. The instant she released her breath, the warmth was back. Harder this time, pushing, probing.

  She swiftly realized that as long as she didn’t fight it, didn’t try to force things, the sweet, tantalizing pressure would stay. And if it just stayed long enough—

  “Ohhh, God!” She bucked hard off the table when his finger slipped beneath the thong strap and slid easily inside her. One slick slide and she went screaming right to the edge of a powerful climax, but hovered there when he did nothing more.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded quietly.

  She could only growl in response. But she held her hips completely still.

  “You are so tight,” he said, keeping his finger maddeningly still. “Hot and wet. But so damn tight.”

  “Mmm.” It was all she dared say. Another syllable and she’d be begging him. She’d do what he said to get what she wanted, but she’d be damned if he’d make her beg for it.

  “Slick heat,” he added. “I wonder…” And he slid his finger back out.

  “Ple—” She bit down hard on the rest of that word. Damn him.

  Then she felt him again and her hips began to lift, doing some begging of their own. She couldn’t help it.

  He pressed her hips back down to the cold table, with just enough pressure for her to feel the steel press against her mound. But not enough to take care of her. Goddammit, when it was her turn, she was going to turn him inside out with wanting her.

  Then she felt a new pressure between her thighs—still warm, still wet, but larger. Her hips twitched hard against the need to bear down as his fingertips—two this time—slipped beneath the thong strap.

  “Take them off,” she said. Commanding, not begging, she told herself.

  “When I’m ready. I like the way they strap my fingers into you.”

  Whatever she might have said came out as a deep, gutteral groan of pleasure when he slid both fingers into her. With her hips still pressed flat as they were, she couldn’t participate, couldn’t move and push and, yes dammit, control the motion. By keeping her like this, he forced her to submit to his idea of how this should proceed.

  He slid them back out, then pushed one back in, keeping the other one straight so he could press right where she—

  “Thank you, God!” she grunted, then screamed as she came violently against his fingers. To his everlasting credit he kept them where they were until she stopped shuddering. She couldn’t remember ever coming so hard with such little provocation. Although he’d primed her with a lot of provocation first. Still… She lay there and let the pleasure waves continue to ripple and twitch through her as he slid out of her.

  Then she began devising her plan. Her turn now.

  8

  IT TOOK ALL of his willpower not to stroke himself through his jeans. He’d never felt such a desperate need to bury himself in a woman. But then, he’d never played kinky sex games on his kitchen counter before. Dylan wasted a moment trying to imagine any of the women he’d met in Canyon Springs sprawled, cuffed and naked, on his stainless steel island. Couldn’t do it.

  But Liza…she looked perfect. Too damn perfect.

  She started to roll over and his hands shot out to hold her still. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She started to lift her head, but apparently decided it was too much work. The muscles in her thighs were relaxed, pliable beneath his hands. For all he knew she relaxed this fully on a regular basis, but he didn’t think so. She was on a vacation, of sorts anyway, and tied up like a knot.

  “My turn,” she murmured.

&
nbsp; “Oh, not quite yet it’s not.”

  Now she lifted her head, just enough to look over her shoulder. Sweet Mother of God, she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. And in his former line of work, he’d seen plenty. Her eyes alone were drenched blue sex.

  “Oh?” she queried.

  One arched brow and he twitched hard inside his jeans.

  “Oh yeah.” He slid his hands down over her thighs, all the way to her calves. Slowly, until she sighed and laid her head back down.

  “If you insist.”

  He grinned. Giving him permission, was she? What was it about her “woman on top” attitude that pushed his buttons? He hadn’t been lying about letting previous partners have their way with him. He was more than happy to let the woman do all the work if she was so inclined. He was more than happy to do his share, too. Whatever Worked—that was his motto.

  But this dominant streak she brought out in him—he couldn’t think of any other term for it—was completely unlike him. In fact, given his line of work, he was generally very careful not to intimidate in intimate situations. Even when—especially when—his partner hinted she might like it. It simply wasn’t his thing.

  Well it sure is now, cowboy, his little voice taunted him. He had to agree. With her it was.

  He slowly slid his hands up her legs again. Maybe, at some point during the night, he’d find out why. He stopped when his fingers were brushing the curve of her very fine backside. She twitched, just a little, but it was enough to elicit the same response in him.

  The scent of her filled the room and made his mouth water. Maybe it was time to make that thong go away. He gripped her hips and rolled her onto her back. And his breath simply left him. Arms stretched over her head, dusky breasts bared to him and nothing but a scrap of white spandex covering the sweet spot below…she was every man’s most carnal fantasy.

  He didn’t know where to begin.

  “Stop drooling.”

  His gaze flicked up to her face. Her eyes were closed.

  “Even if I promise to let you drool over me later?”

  She lifted one slumberous eyelid. “Will I want to?”

  He let the grin slide across his face. “Oh yeah.”

  “Cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Eyes closed, she let her head loll to one side. “The key word being cocky, I hope.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t get many complaints, either.”

  Now she smiled. Lazy and content, like a cat sprawled in a hot pool of sunlight. “Not what I asked.”

  “I know. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  She laughed now, a deep rumbling purr that lifted the hairs on his entire body in the most pleasurable way. “Sheriff Jackson, you’ve gotten more trust out of me than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Good,” he said, then gripped her thighs and slid her to him until her buttocks rested at the edge of the table. He slipped her ankles up to his shoulders.

  The move surprised a squeal out of her. She lifted her head and started to pull her hands down in front of her.

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “Lie back down. I’m not done with you yet.” He cupped her ankles and ran his palms down the front of her legs. She watched him, watched his hands. “Do it, Liza.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, and he knew she was dying to tell him where to get off. But then she wouldn’t get off. Again. And she knew it.

  She glanced back down to where his fingertips rested, curved around the inside of her upper thighs, then back up at him.

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  She merely widened her eyes in mock innocence.

  “I don’t want permission. I want your trust.”

  Whatever amusement there had been in her eyes fled. She held his gaze squarely and in such a way as to say, Make me.

  “I’m going to touch you. However I want to. With whatever I want.”

  Her gaze remained on his, but her throat worked. And her nipples tightened, along with a fine tension that rippled beneath his fingertips.

  “Lie back, Liza.”

  Holding his gaze almost defiantly, she did so. When he slid his fingers inward, to where he knew she wanted him to go, she gasped first, then sighed and let her eyelids drift shut.

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes,” she purred.

  He smiled, beginning to realize why this was so enormously arousing to him. She was no pushover. But she was insatiably curious. He wondered if, put in the same position, he would acquiesce in the same way to her.

  His smile spread to a grin. Probably.

  “Open your eyes,” he instructed. “Watching is half the fun.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I was having a great deal of fun a few minutes ago and my eyes were closed.”

  “And now you’ll have even more.” He slid his hands from her legs, then leaned in a little so he could brush the flat of his palms across the tips of her nipples.

  She gasped and her eyes flew open. “Cheater.”

  “I never cheat. Going the long way around is too much fun.” He brushed his palms over her nipples again, loving the way they pebbled harder. So hard they just begged him to roll them gently between his fingers.

  Her heels dug into his shoulders and her hips lifted just a fraction off the table as she sucked in her breath…and closed her eyes. “Dylan—”

  He lifted his hands. “Watch me, Liza.”

  She blinked them open. And he slowly leaned over, testing her flexibility…and allowing her to anticipate the moment when his lips and tongue would replace his fingers.

  She pumped her hips up and came close to brushing against the front of him as he lowered his head toward her breasts. He stilled. She swore. He smiled.

  “Are your shoulders sore?” he asked, a millimeter away from touching her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

  “I have shoulders?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.

  Her arms still rested over her head, cuffed at the wrists, further bound by her shirt and bra.

  “Stop procrastinating, dammit,” she finally exclaimed.

  “Bad move,” he said, and started straightening.

  “No! No, don’t go. I’m—”

  He stopped and grinned right in her face. “I’m what?”

  She eyed him, pressing her lips together. “Not giving orders anymore,” she said finally.

  “Oh. And here I was pretty sure I was going to get the S word out of you. Silly me.”

  “You’re getting a whole lot out of me. Don’t push it.”

  “Oh, but I want to. You make me want to push at a whole lot of things.” He leaned in and swiped the tip of his tongue over one nipple, then pulled the other into his mouth. She jerked, moaned and, he suspected, fought the urge to push her hips up. Hips that had to be seeking the same thing his were. He admired her control when she managed to keep them flat on the table as he continued to play with her incredibly responsive nipples. Because if she’d pumped up against him that time, when he had that velvety knob of flesh rolling against his tongue, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have pumped back. Then ripped his pants off so he could pump some more.

  He reached up and slid her legs from his shoulders, ignoring her whimper as he pushed her back just enough so that she could bend her knees and keep her heels on the table. He kept his hands around her ankles, and turned her whimpers into moans as he let his tongue trail from her breasts down along the center line of her stomach. When he got to the edge of white spandex, he took the elastic in his teeth and pulled. He glanced up and found her craning her neck to watch him. He grinned at her, knowing it likely looked feral with her panties in his teeth. But that’s how he felt. Feral. Primal.

  Her hips lifted. He let the elastic snap back into place.

  “Hey!” she protested. “I was just helping.”

  “I don’t need any help.” He popped her heels off the table, grabbed her hips and pulled her up tight against him. He slid his hands up her torso and pulled her up to him, so that her handcuffed wrists came to
rest behind his neck.

  “I just need to give you something to do with that mouth of yours. Let’s try this.” He took her mouth, already opened in an O of surprise, and buried his tongue deep inside. She latched on to it, probably more as a protective instinct, but almost immediately took hold of it when he went to slide it back out.

  So he continued the kiss, changing it whenever she thought to take control. Gentle when she wanted rough, hard and fast when she thought he wanted slow and sweet. Finally she sighed and let him have his way. He continued to kiss her until her arms tightened on his shoulders…and her legs came up to lock around his hips.

  He unhooked her ankles and ducked out from beneath the circle of her shackled wrists. She started to say something, but at his warning look only pouted and stuck her tongue out at him instead.

  “Watch where you wave that thing.”

  She merely flickered it at him, making him laugh even as she scowled.

  “What, you aren’t having any fun?”

  She merely stared at him. But remained silent.

  Then he spied that light in her eyes and caught her around the waist as she went to lie back again, her cuffed wrists resting at the apex of her thighs.

  “Oh, no you don’t. No putting on any shows.”

  She stuck that tongue out again.

  “I warned you,” he said quietly, then popped the button on his jeans and ripped the zipper down. The look on her face was so comically shocked, he had to laugh. “Hasn’t anyone dared you like this before?”

  She started to respond, then looked at him. “Permission to speak, master?” she said dryly.

  “Permission granted,” he said, as straightfaced as he was able.

  She shot him a look, then said, “I’ve played in wilder little scenarios than this.”

  “Not what I asked.” He held up his hand. “And I think I knew that about you right from the start.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You like to push things to the limit. And I would bet money that includes the sensual.”

  She snapped a nod of agreement.