He snapped the wicked little toy against her skin again, crossing over the last welt, but she held her tongue. Oh, she was going to be a hard case. But he could break her down.
He flicked the stick on her inner thigh this time, knowing how much more sensitive an area it was, and she flinched. He did it again and again, hard and fast, listening to her breath catch, watching the way she struggled in her bonds, her back arching, her stomach muscles clenching. He knew she was lost in sensation, and he loved seeing her like this. Lost. Flying. His.
He kept at it, moving to the other thigh, then back again, striking her welted skin, watching the marks grow red and angry. She was panting hard, but still she held her tongue. He chose one area of untouched skin and snapped the stick over and over in the same spot, letting the pain build. Finally she cried out, and he stopped.
“Oh, that was good, baby girl. You can really take it. I’m so proud of you. And pleased that you kept silent for me. I want you to know I understand that—that proud struggle.”
He stroked her cheek, held her chin and looked into her beautiful brown eyes. They were sheened with tears, and something in his chest went tight.
He bent over her, and she blinked up at him. She was watching him closely, need written all over her face, but for what he wasn’t certain. To come again, he knew. But there was more there . . .
He leaned in closer, studied the lush curve of her lips, the fineness of her skin, her long, dark lashes. Her mouth . . .
He swallowed a groan as he bent closer, close enough to breathe in her scent—all sweet woman, innocent somehow, even now. Her lips were the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen, almost the same shade as her tempting nipples. His chest tightened. His cock swelled. He knew if he kissed her now he’d be as lost as she was in the throes of pain and pleasure.
He leaned in until his mouth was almost on hers. Moved closer, until his lips just touched hers.
His cock jumped, tight with wanting.
He pulled back an inch. Christ, her lips were velvet-soft. Made him crazy to think about kissing her. Really kissing her, making out with her the way they used to.
Making out leaning against a streetlamp, her breath and his, panting together while he crushed her in his arms. Her soft body felt almost fragile to him, and yet he had to hold her tighter, to run his hands up under her shirt and dig his fingers into the flesh at her sides. And all she’d ever done was sigh and press into him, kiss him harder.
Christ, he hadn’t understood! Even then, she’d wanted it. Wanted to feel that sense of possession. Even the pain, maybe. But it was the possession that had always counted most. He’d kissed her as if he owned her.
He could kiss her like that now, and she wouldn’t resist. Would welcome it.
No.
He pulled back a few inches.
She bit her lip, watching him, the need clear on her lovely face. So damn lovely . . . Lips like fucking velvet.
God fucking damn it.
Have to . . .
He dove in, grasping her face between his hands, crushing his mouth to hers. She made a keening sound low in her throat. It only made him kiss her harder. Made him open her lips with his tongue and search for hers. And Lord, it was sweet, her tongue. Making him crazy as he kissed her, drove his fingers into her silky hair. Heat and softness. Desire and her. Allie. His Allie, Goddamn it.
She was kissing him back exactly as he’d known she would, and he breathed her in—he couldn’t get enough. He pressed harder with hands and mouth, using his strength to still her, to force her to just take it, rendering her helpless. Yes, that’s what he needed—to feel her surrender to him completely. To give herself up to him. Because if he wasn’t totally in control of things . . .
Oh, Lord, this was way fucking out of control.
He let her go and pulled away.
She moaned softly.
“Mick . . . ?”
He shook his head, ran a hand over his jaw.
Christ, to feel her lips after all these years. His cock was throbbing, hurting. And his heart was hammering in his chest, thundering like a freight train.
Control.
“Shh, Allie.”
“Did I . . . ?”
“It’s okay, baby,” he said.
Was it? He’d have to figure it out later, when she wasn’t naked and bound and giving every inch of herself to him.
“It’s okay,” he said again, maybe more to himself than to her this time.
He took a step back. She watched him do it. It hurt him to see the look on her face. She looked . . . bereft. He felt exactly the same way. But he could satisfy the needs of her body, at least.
He pulled in a deep breath, made an effort to get his body under control.
“Shh,” he soothed as he stroked a hand down her leg once more, slid it over her thigh, smoothed his palm across the raised welts, did it again, pausing to scratch lightly with his nails. It did what he’d intended: shifted her focus. And his.
He looked down at her damp slit, at the swollen tip of her clitoris peeking out at the top of the pink folds. So damn pretty.
He brushed the tender lips with his fingertips, felt her shiver. He teased at the lips with his fingers, stroking, tickling, then prying them apart. He forced the burning physical need for her to sharpen his focus rather than fracturing it, his years of practice lending him strength of will and the absolute control he’d long required of himself. He paused, held his hand still, her sex spread open and waiting. He glanced up at her face, found her eyes tightly closed.
Using his middle finger, he pressed against her opening. She sighed.
“Is this what you need, baby? For me to make you come like this? I know what you’d like even better. For me to use my mouth on you. You used to come so hard when I went down on you. Do you remember? I want you to remember now.”
Her body convulsed, a slow, liquid movement that told him everything he needed to know. She was right there with him. His cock was pulsing but he ignored it, concentrated on the beautiful woman under his hands.
He slid his free hand under the ropes on her thigh and pulled her legs up higher, opening her pussy even more. She was soaking wet, the pink flesh glistening. Lord, to be inside her . . .
But no. That wasn’t part of the agreement.
He would make her come again, though. He would make her come so damn hard she’d never forget it.
Neither would he.
He let her go and moved up to the head of the table, quickly loosened the ropes so that her arms had more mobility. Then, moving around to the end of the table, he grabbed the ropes on her thighs with both hands and slid her body down to the edge. He pushed her legs up once more, held them there with one hand while with the other he parted her pussy lips, hot and slick under his fingers. When he leaned in, he felt the heat of her against his face. He bent closer and breathed in the rich ocean scent of her desire. And as he moved in to flick his tongue at the tight nub of her clit, his cock hammered with need.
He let himself feel the fire there, let his own desire guide him as he licked her, used his fingers to spread her open and pushed his tongue into her waiting hole. She was making a small mewling noise, but he didn’t care—he didn’t need her to be quiet any longer. He only needed her to need this. To come hard for him. He needed to control her pleasure. To control his own through controlling hers.
Christ, he was out of his head.
But she tasted so damn good, like salt and honey on his tongue. He sucked her clit into his mouth, rasping his tongue back and forth across the tip as he pushed his fingers inside her, loving the clenching, wet velvet of her.
He sucked harder, curved his fingers until he found her G-spot, pressing and rubbing.
Her whole body was quivering, her hips arching against his mouth. He sucked harder, flicked his tongue faster, burying his face in her, his fingers sinking into her over and over. He added another finger, then another, filling her up.