In the bedroom, he sets me down on my feet and drops the spreader on to the bed.
“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” I breathe.
“I don’t think I’ll hurt you, either,” he says. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me, long and hard, igniting my already heated blood.
“I want you so much,” he whispers against my mouth, panting. “Are you sure about this—after today?’
“Yes. I want you, too. I want to undress you.” I can’t wait to get my hands on him—my fingers are itching to touch him.
His eyes widen and for a moment, he hesitates, perhaps to consider my request.
“Okay,” he says cautiously.
I reach for the second button on his shirt and hear him catch his breath.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” I whisper.
“No,” he responds quickly. “Do. It’s fine. I’m good,” he mutters.
I gently undo the button and my fingers glide down his shirt to the next. His eyes are large and luminous, his lips parted as his breathing shallows. He is so beautiful, even in his fear . . . because of his fear. I undo the third button and notice his soft hair poking through the large
“I want to kiss you there,” I murmur.
He inhales sharply. “Kiss me?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
His gasps as I undo the next button and very slowly lean forward, making my intention clear. He’s holding his breath, but stands stock-still as I plant a gentle kiss among the soft, exposed curls. I undo the final button and lift my face to him. He’s gazing at me, and there’s a look of satisfaction, calm, and . . . wonder on his face.
“It’s getting easier, isn’t it?” I whisper.
He nods as I slowly push his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“What have you done to me, Ana?” he murmurs. “Whatever it is, don’t stop.” And he gathers me in his arms, fisting both his hands in my hair and pulling my head right back so that he can have easy access to my throat.
He runs his lips up to my jaw, nipping softly. I groan. Oh, I want this man. My fingers fumble at his waistband, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.
“Oh, baby,” he breathes as he kisses me behind my ear. I feel his erection, firm and hard, straining against me. I want him—in my mouth. I step back abruptly and drop to my knees.
“Whoa?” he gasps.
I tug his pants and boxers sharply, and he springs free. Before he can stop me, I take him into my mouth, sucking hard, enjoying his shocked astonishment as his mouth drops open. He gazes down at me, watching my every move, eyes so dark and filled with carnal bliss. Oh my. I sheath my teeth and suck harder. He closes his eyes and surrenders to this blissful carnal pleasure is so arousing. I know what I do to him, and it’s hedonistic, liberating, and sexy as hell. The feeling is heady, I’m not just powerful—I’m omniscient.
“Fuck,” he hisses and gently cradles my head, flexing his hips so he moves deeper inside my mouth. Oh yes, I want this and I swirl my tongue around him, pulling hard . . .
over and over.
“Ana.” He tries to step back.
“Please,” he pants. “I’m gonna come, Ana,” he groans.
Good. My inner goddess’s head is thrown back in ecstasy, and he comes, loudly and wetly, into my mouth.
He opens his bright gray eyes, gazing down at me, and I smile up at him, licking my lips. He grins back at me, a wicked, salacious grin.
“Oh, so this is the game we’re playing, Miss Steele?” He bends, hooks his hands under my arms, and pulls me to my feet. Suddenly his mouth is on mine. He groans.
“I can taste myself. You taste better,” he murmurs against my lips. He tugs my T-shirt off and throws it carelessly onto the floor, then picks me up and tosses me onto the bed.
Grabbing the end of my sweats, he tugs abruptly so that they come off in one swift move.
I’m naked underneath, sprawled across his bed. Waiting. Wanting. His eyes drink me in, and slowly he removes his remaining clothes, not taking his eyes off me.
“You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia,” he murmurs appreciatively.
Hmm . . . I tilt my head coquettishly to one side and beam at him.
“You are one beautiful man, Christian, and you taste mighty fine.” He gives me a wicked grin and reaches for the spreader bar. Grabbing my left ankle, he quickly cuffs it, strapping the buckle tightly, but not too tight. He tests how much room I have by sliding his little finger between the cuff and my ankle. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine; he doesn’t need to see what he’s doing. Hmm . . . he’s done this before.
“We’ll have to see how you taste. If I recall, you’re a rare, exquisite delicacy, Miss Steele.”
Grasping my other ankle, he quickly and efficiently cuffs that one as well, so that my feet are about two feet apart.
“The good thing about this spreader is, it expands,” he murmurs. He clicks something on the bar, then pushes, so my legs spread further. Whoa, three feet apart. My mouth drops open, and I take a deep breath. Fuck, this is hot. I’m on fire, restless and needy.
