Note: This has not had its final polish run through, but I couldn’t look it anymore. Sometimes you have to let it go and come back with fresh eyes. Gimme a couple days and it will be smoothed out, but here you go.
Andie spent the final afternoon at her Grandmother’s in her room planning lessons for spring semester. Jose spent the time planning her wardrobe for her private jet flight. He breezed in and out a few times with various bags and boxes mumbling to himself.
It wasn’t until the next morning that she’d realized just what he’d managed to accomplish without even once leaving the house.
She wore a brand new simple a knit wrap dress in shades of deep burgundy and fuchsia that she’d have never chosen, thinking it would clash with her hair. Jose had assured her that, “Redheads can wear blue-based pink hues.” It was also easy to remove as Jose had pointed out more than once while fanning himself, “Oh sugar, up in the air with that luscious thing, on a private jet. Now that’s the time to be very, very bad.” Thus he’d produced a pale blue bag and pulled out a few pieces of sheer pink lace. Upon closer inspection, they were panties and a bustier. Her protests were met with a sniff, a couple of “humphs”, one Coco quote, and the assertion that ace bandages were not sexy. The lace turned out to be stretchy and stronger than it looked so it supported her ribs. He’d then produced stilts he called shoes. Chanel peep-toe pumps in black. “They’ll give you confidence.” He said. More likely they’d give her blisters, but she didn’t have any other shoes that would work with the dress so she’d stay off her feet. Her makeup was soft and her hair smooth and shiny. She had to give him props she looked pretty darn good. It wasn’t very warm though, and walking across the airstrip along-side Simon, who’d been sent to collect her, saying Damien had been detained, she wished she’d stuck to her guns about wearing her jacket. Jose had threatened to burn it and wrapped her in a knit pashmina that was no protection at all against the whipping wind, and as she was in stilts, she couldn’t rush. She still ended up tripping over the last step up to the plane. Simon reached back to assist her, his bulk blocking the doorway. So Andie set the blame for the following awkwardness squarely on Jose’s shoulders.
“Welcome aboard Simon, Damien….” The voice was feminine, husky, and friendly until Simon moved aside and Andie was revealed to the super-model standing inside the doorway.
Tall and svelte in a snug, black suit with a rather short skirt, the woman was gorgeous from the top of her ice blond head to the tips of her stiletto clad toes. While Andie pondered why a supermodel would be serving drinks on a plane as opposed to walking runways in Paris, the warmth drained from the eyes scanning her and poof, there stood an Ice Queen. Frosted blue eyes finished their sweep and Andie knew she had, once again, been assessed and found lacking.
That was when it occurred to her nobody was talking. Neither were they moving. She peeked at Simon. He had a heck of a poker face, but there was no mistaking the discomfort there. He visibly worked to collect himself and when his words came, they were so carefully business as usual Andie knew something was up, “Mr. Drake has been delayed. He’ll be here shortly.”
The ice queen merely raised a brow, perfect red lips forming a perfect, “Oh?”
Andie slid a look past her to the interior of the plane, where it was warm.
“This is Miss Chase, Mr. Drake’s guest.” Simon kept up his business as usual façade.
“I see.” The eyes turned downright glacial. Either Stewardesses were especially protective of the people they stewarded or she was about to step onto a plane with a Damien Drake love-bunny turned snow-bunny. Any second now Andie expected her to shed her human skin and reveal the ice sculpture that was her true form and honestly, she was too cold to wait around to see it.
“Excuse me.” Walking forward she forced the woman to step aside, brushing by her and making for the seats. By the time, Simon cleared his throat and said, “Brittany, please show Miss Chase to her seat.” Andie had already plopped down in one of the four plush leather seats and was looking for seat warmers. Asking the Ice Queen for a blanket was out. Brittany sent her murderously loathing look instead, before stalking off.
Good. Great. And Thank you.
Then Simon, bless his clueless heart, stopped her, “Brittany, what are Miss Chase’s options for something to drink before takeoff?”
Brittany froze, turned, and with her spine rigid enough to shatter, toy-soldiered it back up the aisle, her perfect red mouth curved in a smile so tight Andie prepared to duck in case it popped off. With her luck it would probably fly through the air and slice her neck open, before returning to its mistress, like some ruby red, razor sharp, lip-boomerang.
Evil Ice Queen super powers – it could happen.
Busy picturing her head on the floor, she missed the first part of the Ice queen’s refreshment spiel, tuning back in in time for, “Coffee, tea, water, and orange juice.”
Orange juice wasn’t going to cut it. “Brittany, what are my libation choices?”
“Libations. You know, alcohol. Manhattans, martinis, fuzzy navels. That kind of thing.”
“Damien always keeps a fully stocked bar.”
Damien. The gloves were off. Peachy. “Is there champagne?”
Brittany spit out a yes between clenched teeth. Maybe her true form was a cobra of the spitting variety. Unexpected for an Ice Queen, but then Andie didn’t know much about Bitchy Evil Ice Queens and their bitchy super powers.
“Bring me a bottle of Champagne, a bottle of orange juice, and a glass.”
No way was she letting the woman fix her a drink. Spitting cobra’s spit poison.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.” Andie pointed out, “What are you sorry for exactly?”
Brittany pressed her lips together and fumed.
Okay, so bitchy was catching. And since she didn’t have the energy for a stare down, “That’s all.” Hey, it worked for Meryl Streep.
And oh shitty shitty shit. The Ice Queen was gonna blow. Those red lips twisted up, her face went splotchy, her eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot ice daggers from her eyes Simon intervened. “That will be all, Brittany.”
The ice dagger stare switched to Simon. For a moment Andie thought there might be some kind of o.k. corral stand off, but Simon took two steps in Brittany’s direction and he had the look of a man packing Ice Queen repellent and prepared to use it.
Ice bitch wasn’t feeling lucky. She backed down, turning and storming off, taking her blizzard with her.
Andie released a shaky breath. Wow. Just wow.
Simon approached her, his eyes soft with what looked an awful lot like regret. “Please Miss Chase, make yourself comfortable. Mr. Drake won’t be long. I’ll be in the back…” Simon snuck a look up to the front of the cabin where Brittany was rubbing cobra spit on the rim of her glass, “If you need anything.”
Andie was pretty sure that translated to, “If Brittany goes for your throat with her red-lipped, razor boomerang, I’m only a scream away.”
“Cool.” Then because she could see Simon was visibly upset, she dragged out a smile out, “Really, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
With an apologetic nod he left her.
And she was all alone. Looking for a distraction from, well, everything, she allowed her eyes to roam the cabin. She was no design guru, but even to her unskilled eyes there was no doubt the environment was a perfect reflection of understated functional elegance. The kind of rich that was so rich it didn’t bother to show it off, but looked rich anyway. From the maple-paneled walls to the soft beige carpet to the contrasting darker wood accents and cabinetry. It held three distinct seating areas. Front and left was a long leather couch that curved around a beautiful maple coffee table also rounded. It faced a media center directly across the aisle with a huge view screen, mounted of a pivoting arm. Behind this on either side of the aisle six of the large leather chairs, in two rows of three. These chairs, she discovered, could spin completely around, so you could easily face anywhere. Nervous energy prompted her to give in to her childish urge, pushing off, she lifted her feet, closed her eyes and let the momentum carry her around once, twice, three times….
“Enjoying the jet, kitten?”
Her eyes flew open. Her feet came down. Slowly, she walked the chair around, searching for the owner of the sin-laced voice. At one hundred eighty degrees, she was facing the door and there he was, and darn it, nobody should look that good lurking in a doorway.
In his usual white shirt, paired with light gray slacks, Damien Drake stood with one shoulder leaning casually against a doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to the side, his lips tilted up in a secret smile inky hair all disheveled and catching the wind behind him. He was perfect, absolutely perfect, and he caught her spinning around like a five-year-old.
A distraction from her embarrassment was provided with the return of Brittany.
Double fudge on a fish stick.
The Ice Queen twitched down the aisle bearing a tray in one hand and a bucket in the other. Brittany placed the tray, glass, and ice bucket with champagne and a can of o.j. on the side table between the two chairs, failing to notice Damien in the doorway, but Damien sure noticed her. Andie must have been right about her true form. Damien had the look of a man staring down a cobra. A giant one. With two heads. If she’d had any doubt about their relationship Damien’s face was a big old yepper and a spot on.
“Mr. Drake, I tried to call you…” Simon came rushing from the back of the plane, saw Brittany and stumbled to a stop.
The ice queen faced the Demi-God, “Hello Damien.”
Silence ensued. Chilly, awkward, silence. Andie grabbed the champagne. Brittany had already opened it. Oh well, if there was ever a time to live dangerously… she poured it into the glass leaving a good inch of room for the OJ. She popped the top of the can and poured. There. Mimosa. A perfectly acceptable alcoholic beverage for 11:00 a.m.
And back to our regularly scheduled program.
More award silence.
Simon shifted from foot to foot. Brittany stood all regal and chilly. Andie gulped her perfectly acceptable drink. And Damien…
Damien was standing in silence. How silence could be that terrifying she didn’t know, but Ice Queen didn’t have a lick of sense. If Damien were looking at Andie like that she’d already be running. Far far away. She might be Queen of her little frost kingdom but Damien’s fury was wreathed in pure ice.
“Miss Connell, what are you doing here?”
That was like a blast of liquid nitrogen. Andie looked fro frost on her glass.
“I’m doing my job, Mr. Drake.” Brittany answered, flicking a hand in Andie’s direction, “She’s…. cute.”
Oh no she didn’t.
But Damien wasn’t even listening, “Simon, escort Miss Connell from the plane. Make sure to get her badge and I.D. She won’t be returning.”
Simon strode forward, “After you, Miss.”
Ice Queen didn’t budge. She did however, hiss like the cobra she was, “You really are a rat bastard.” Then, tossing a glance her way, she added, “Enjoy him while you can.”
Andie had no idea what came over her, maybe the mimosa pain-killer combo, or maybe she was just tired of bitches and their bitchiness, but it was like the words spoke themselves, “Oh, I plan to. I’ve got all kinds of kinky sex tricks planned for thirty thousand feet.”
The perfect red lips fell open. Nothing came out. The Ice Queen was rendered Mute.
Damien though, thawed enough to pop a single eyebrow, “Do you, now?”
If only she could pop a brow back, but she’d never been able to do the one brow thing. She settled for waving her acceptable drink, “Oh yeah, I’m gonna do you dirty.”
His other brow slid up, joining its twin, “The hell you say?”
“Oh, I say.” Then, just because she was already wallowing around in a Persian hell. She toasted Ice Queen Bitch, “Great mimosa.”
Ice Queen’s mouth finally snapped closed. Her eyes shooting pure venom and Andie knew in that moment that Ice Queen super powers did not include death by glaring. If looks could kill, that one would have done it.
Brittany marched to the exit, but once again, proved to be a total ninny by pausing in front of the Demi-God.
“I wouldn’t.” The words were soft, almost gentle, but the hand that had been about to strike Damien’s cheek froze mere inches away. Brittany pulled her hand into a fist, lowered it, and stalked out. Simon behind her.
Andie sank in her seat. Well, that was fun.
Then the Captain was there welcoming them aboard. Andie nodded and smiled in the appropriate places. He then joined Damien by the door. There was a low motorized noise of the door closing and sealing. The captain left them.
And it was just the two of them and a half of a mimosa. Not nearly enough. Damien had yet to face her, by the door his back to her. Poor guy. If she wasn’t so freaking overwhelmed she’d work up some sympathy, but sheesh between kinky sex, billionaire buildings, helicopters, private jets, evil uncles, and super model ice queens, all Andie wanted to do was grab the bottle of champagne and chug.
Damien braced his hands against the door he’d just closed behind Brittany. Brittany. Shit on a stick, he was screwed. Wanting to impress your girl with your private jet only to have your ex appear on board was a sure way to have the whole thing blow up in your face. Sure as shit, he wasn’t at dizzying heights now. Thank God they’d shut the plane up before Andie could demand to leave, not that he’d blame her, but he had another ten minutes before take-off. If she wanted off he’d have to…
“And then there were two.”
The words were quiet – subdued, weary, and a little sad. Oh no. Mad was fine. Mad he could work with but sad, no. Andie sad, that he could not take. He braced and turned to face her. She wasn’t looking at him. She stared out the window, sipping her drink. And she was so beautiful doing it. In that soft dress with her soft eyes and soft hair and soft skin. Damn, but he wanted that softness on his tongue again.
The captain’s voice over the intercom advising them to sit down, buckle up, and refer to the safety manual gave him an extra couple minutes to come up with something to diffuse this mess he’d created. He took the chair across from her. Best to get it over with, “Andie?”
“Yep?” She kept her eyes on the window.
At least she was talking. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m guessing she’s a former love-bunny?”
What? “Love bunny?”
The drink was waved in his direction, “You know, Lady-friend? Sweet-cheeks? Hubba-hubba mama?”
Laughter rose in his chest, he kept it from emerging, but it did ease the panic wrapped around his lungs. “Where do you get this stuff, kitten?”
“I read.” She shrugged and sipped. Still not looking at him. “It’s tacky to diddle the help, you know.”
Diddle? Shit. He shoved the laughter down again. Laughing now would be counterproductive he was sure. But damn, her little oddball observations were killing him. Fortunately, he was prepared, having done research on laughter suppression. Pain, the experts said, was the best way to stop unwanted laughter. The recommended methods were biting the cheek and or lip and pinching the back of the arm or thigh. He lowered his hand to rest on the seat beside the thigh that was about to be abused. “Technically, she doesn’t work for me. She was never assigned to this plane. I have no idea how she came to be here.”
“Women are sneaky.”
“Tue enough.” The woman across from him being a most notable exception. Damien was coming to believe Andie Chase didn’t have so much as a single sneaky bone in her tiny, delectable, fantasy-inducing, body. Especially with alcohol in her system, “You’re drinking alcohol?”
“Are you still taking painkillers?”
“A half one this morning.”
A half dose, but with her small stature that would be plenty, “Is that wise?”
That earned him a glance, a snort, and half an eye roll, “I was in an enclosed space with your former love-slave, ‘wise’ didn’t factor into it.”
“Valid point, kitten.” And they were back to his screw-up. Jesus. Today of all days his past had to come back and bite him in the ass. And Brittany of all people. That one had no romantic notions It was a brief, mutually beneficial, superficial affair or so he’d thought. How to explain that to Andie he had no idea. Even in his own head it made him sound like an asshole. He gave it a try anyway. “Kitten, …it wasn’t. I wasn’t. She…wasn’t… fuck.” Oh, that was smooth.
A sliding sideways glance of blue and… a snicker? Was that a snicker? Dammit to all hell it was. And the cutest damn sneaky little snicker. JESUS! His damn cock twitched just like she’d jerked a leash.
A little throat clearing, Both eyes back on the window now, “Struggling with the way to tell me it was just sex. Brittany knew the score and signed the dotted line?”
“Something like that.” That settled his cock right down, because oh yeah, he sounded like an asshole. “I am sorry, kitten.” He said the only thing he could and braced for the…
“Boy, are you naïve.”
Worst. What? She’d been drinking. Her words could have gotten tangled. “I’m sorry kitten, did you say, I’m naïve.”
“Can you explain your reasoning?”
Finally, she turned her attention from the window, “Seriously?”
He would have answered, but he got snared in that wide eyed aqua stare. He nodded.
“Wow. Okay.” She blinked a couple of times, shrugged and went back to the window. “Adonis, I don’t care how many contracts a woman signs saying it’s all just leather thongs and boom-boom rooms, she wants more.”
Leather thongs and boom boom…oh shit. He grabbed the back of his thigh and twisted, breathing through the pain before asking, “And what would that be?”
“You think so?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?” She waved her hand up and down at him, “Those women want it all, the white dress, the little red box, and the mansion on the hill.”
“Right, well that I can believe.”
“There you go.” She toasted and sipped, “More.”
“Is that what you want?” He got the feeling his wealth was more a hindrance with her and damn that was a first.
“I don’t count.”
The hell she didn’t. “Why not?”
“I’m not signing a contract and this isn’t about me.”
Everything was about her. “I beg to differ.”
A snort, a shrug and a, “Beg, shmeg….”
“Shmeg, shmug. Bug, rug. Potato. Tomato. Whatever. The point is, this isn’t about me. Forget about me.”
Not possible with her shrugging and snorting and shmegging and snickering. It was taking everything he had not to drag her out of that seat and kiss her till she was begging.
“This is about you. You and your too good-looking self, with your touchable hair and midnight eyes, and you know….” She flicked her hand at him, “All that head to toe sexy. It’s just not fair.”
Head to toe sexy. That was encouraging, but she threw it at him like an accusation so maybe not. “Yes, I believe you’ve made note of that before.”
“Well, Re-note. It bears repeating.” She crossed her arms over her chest and flicked him an annoyed glance, but kept her attention on the window and thank fuck, his face had to puce by now. His abs were burning like fire, and damn, he had never worked so hard to keep a straight face in his life. Before this conversation was done he’d be black, blue, and bloody. “I’m too good looking and it’s not fair. Noted and Re-noted. Anything else?”
“Yes. You should muck it up a bit.”
“Muck it up? Kitten, I’m going to need clarification on that one.”
“You know, Muck, mess,” She waved a hand up and down, “Shave your head, black out a couple of teeth, get a prosthetic wart. Make yourself not so freaking perfect. Sheesh!”
Deluge. He twisted the pinch he had on his thigh and fuck that hurt. “A prosthetic…”
“Wart.” She finished for him with a vigorous, tipsy nod of her head, “A big, hairy one.”
Laughter shot out. He clamped a hand over his mouth. His shoulder shaking his abs burning. Dear God, this woman was going to be his and his alone. That was his last coherent thought before laughter rolled out and over him, helpless, out of control, loud, rip-roaring, gut busting laughter. He gave up, gave in, and well and truly lost it.
Gasping to pull air into his lungs holding his burning abs he gave in because there was no fighting it. Finally wiping the tears from his eyes, his laughter died away enough for him to hear some very disgruntled female muttering. He grabbed his thigh with both hands and twisted. Hard.
He got something about laughter, not fair, magic, tickle, and damn if he didn’t hear the words “girlie parts”.
He couldn’t wait to tickle her girlie parts. “I missed you, kitten.”
That shocked her head around, her eyes wide, “You just saw me yesterday.”
“I was only gone a few days
“You left Sunday and I didn’t see you again until Friday. That’s only one day shy of a week.”
“Oh, yes I guess so.” Her head lowered, her hands twisting the sash of her dress, and very softly, “I missed you, too.”
Did she now?
“That’s a very pretty dress.” He saw the seat belt sign go out.
“Thanks, Jose´ picked it out.”
“Hhmm, tell me Kitten, if I pull on that sash, will that pretty dress fall open for me?”
“Huh?” Andie hadn’t eaten since early this morning and that Mimosa had nowhere to go but straight to her head. By the time she’d blinked effervescent haze away Adonis had unbuckled the belt and was kneeling in front of her, “Let’s see…” He reached down for the sash holding her dress. Andie grabbed his hand right as he tugged, “Uh, you know that kinky sex tricks claim was more for Brittany’s benefit, right?”
“Yes, I got that,” His mouth lifted in one of those sexy half smiles, “But it started me thinking…”
Oh, she just bet it did.
“Now would be a good time to expand on our kink conversation.” He tugged. The bow slipped. Andie made another grab, this one for the gaping neckline, “By untying my dress?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Taking her hands in his own he brought them to his mouth, murmuring between kisses to her fingertips. “Think of it as an object lesson.”
“Uh-huh.” She was going for skeptical, but it came out a breathless gasp. Damn him and his sexy mouth and sexy kisses and sexy mmmms.
He placed her hands on the arms of her chair, hands around her wrists, his thumb tracing shivery circles on the underside, “I think you can agree there is a lot of room between Missionary and Chandelier swinging.”
“Tons.” She squeaked.
“So, we should work on defining our parameters.” He released her wrists and slid his hands along the back of her calves and up.
She had to work very hard to follow the conversation, “What, like a sliding scale of kink?”
Damien’s face lit up as his hands skated higher, “Kitten, that’s brilliant.”
“Oh yeah, I’m a genius.” She was going to roll her eyes, but the back of her knee was a here-to-fore unknown erogenous zone.
Damien smiled his beautiful smile and tapped the inside of her knee, “Open.”
Nerves made it past the sensual fog. She cast a glance over her shoulder, “Uh someone could come in.”
“The only other person on board is the pilot and he won’t be leaving the cockpit.” Damien dismissed her worry as his hands kept wreaking havoc on her basic motor skills. “We’ll say one is Missionary – lights out. Let’s make two, say…. other positions.”
“How other? I’m not anxious to try the Congress.”
“Understandable. Let’s call them American Standards.” He exerted gentle, steady pressure, then with a coaxing half smile, “Come on baby, open for me.”
Oh. Oh he was good. Her thighs fell open all on their own. Really, they did.
“Good girl.” Whispers of touch as her dress slid up her thighs, “Now, we were discussing positions. American Standards would be… say… you on top, you on your knees, you up against the wall, you on the kitchen counter, you thirty thousand feet in the air….”
“Got it.” It came out more like Go…eeeek!” That touch had made it all the way up to the edge of her panties, trailing along the crease of her thigh. Then a single finger danced over the seam of her labia like to jumped out of the seat.
“Ah see now, we can’t have you moving all around.” Damien scolded, his finger still stroking up and down the increasingly damp lips of her sex, “We don’t want you aggravating your injury.” He tapped his fingers against her sensitive flesh and she Andie was treated to more of those shiver-inducing hmmms as the sexy beast thought it over, “I’ve got it. Let’s say three is…. restraint of some kind.”
She drew enough air in her lungs to say two shaky words, “What kind?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Damien’s smile was all charm, “Allow me to demonstrate.”
A thread of something, not quite fear, had her grabbing his wrists, “What if I don’t like it?”
“Kitten,” The steadily stroking finger paused, “I don’t want to do anything you don’t enjoy. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. Immediately.”
It all sounded so…. harmless, and yet, “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”
A teasing half-smile and one raised brow, “Because you have a suspicious nature?”
“Uh…” Wow, he was pretty. “…huh.”
“The only thing I’m up to is your pleasure.” The play dropped from Damien’s face. The next words, when they came were soft and strangely vulnerable, “Trust me, kitten.”
If there was a woman who could say no to a vulnerable Damien Drake, it wasn’t her, “Okay.”
He lifted her hand to his lips turning pressing a kiss to her palm, “Thank-you, Andie.”
She was in trouble.
Huge. Because for a bare second, the layers of armor this complicated man wore against the world fell, and there, right there in his midnight eyes, was Damien Alexander Drake’s heart, sincere, true, and truly beautiful. What would she do see it again? Just about anything. So yep, big big trouble.
Damien’s head dipped. She felt the brush of fingertips along her belly and with a final tug, the final tie holding her dress closed was released, then he was pushing the garment open, off and down until it was hanging from her bent elbows on either side of her body.
And then he just froze. His hands at her elbows, his eyes on the body he’d uncovered. He blinked. “That’s not an ace bandage.”
“Um, no. it…oh..” A glancing touch along her breasts where flesh met lace and she had no idea what she was going to say.
“Do you have more of these?” He asked. The words slow and thick. He still hadn’t looked higher than her breasts.
Big points for team sexy lingerie, “No.”
“We’ll buy you more. One in every color.” He reached for her as if mesmerized, cupping her breasts in his hands, his thumbs making slow circles around the areola.
Sweet pleasure stole over her, weakening limbs, her breasts grew heavy, the sweet ache between her thighs blooming.
Damien did a little trick with his thumbs and expertly released her breasts from the lace cupping them. Briefly she felt the chill of air, then head lowered and there was nothing but the wet heat of Damien’s mouth and the wet heat of her body. Running the flat of his tongue over her nipples, alternating licks from one breast to the other, back and forth, in a wickedly carnal caress was that was not nearly enough. She reached from him, sliding her hands into his hair, crying out when he lifted his head.
“Ah, see, we can’t have that.” Capturing her hands, he laced their fingers together and carried them behind her back. Making short work of tying them behind her using the sash of her dress. Her position forced her chest out, lifting her breasts like an offering.
Oh, this was wicked. Wicked and oh so good.
Damien sat back on his heels, cupping her naked breasts in his hands, circling the hardened buds with his thumbs, “This is the way I like to see them, pouting and wet from my mouth.”
Then he blew on them a fine stream of air and God, she needed his mouth on her, “Please…”
“Ssshhh.” He kissed the plea from her lips, one long index finger trailing up her thigh, “Let’s see where we are.” Then her panties were shoved aside and thrust of a single finger into her body. A low gasping moan tore from her as shocked pleasure tore through her. Andie went up in flames, burning until nothing was left but hunger, and hot aching need.
“God baby, you’re soaked.” The awed whisper barely made it over the blood pounding in her ears, but then her hair was caught in a rough grip. Her eyes flew open as her head was jerked back. Damien was above her, close, so close. All heat and hunger, and feral beauty, black fire in his eyes scorching her to her toes. “You like this. Yes?”
Like? No, that wasn’t right. She shook her head.
“Andie, do you want to stop?”
“No!” No, she’d die if he stopped.
The hand in her hair tightened, “You want this? I need you to say it, Andie.”
She licked dry lips. “Yes,”
“Good.” He planted a kiss to her ear, that finger moved and her hunger drowned in pleasure, honeyed weakness, and helpless languor. Her eyes slid closed.
“No, baby, keep your eyes open.” The hand in her tugged. A sting of pain bit, a throb shot from her belly to the core, and a flood of desire drenched Damien’s hand.
His answering groan was a hot in her ear, “Oh, Andie, you were made for this.” That finger receded to just inside, circling her slit spreading the dew slicking his hand. “Let’s see how long it takes you to come this way, hmmm?”
He set up a tortuously slow rhythm, the single finger thrusting in and out. The hand gripping her hair. Wild, desperate for more, she lifted her pelvis rolling hips. Instantly, Damien’s finger left her. Her harsh cry of denial was primal.
“No, sweetheart.” He gripped her jaw. She smelled herself on his hand, “You don’t move. Understand?”
No, she didn’t understand anything except she needed him to touch her, “Please, I…can’t…”
Open mouth kisses, quieted her incoherent please, a soft sweep of his mouth across her own, “You’ll stay still for me?”
“Good girl. We’ll start again.” His hand trailed down, pausing to flick each puckered nipple, sending shocked little pulses to her sex, “God, you have the most luscious breasts. I’ll have to spend some time here very soon.” He leaned over her so close she felt his breath, so close his shirt touched the hardened tips, the whisper of friction abrading the overly sensitive buds. Then his finger was back inside, filling her with long slow strokes – exquisite and relentless.
He played her as if he had all the time in the world, teasing delicate flesh. While she was splayed out before him, open, vulnerable, helpless, her hands tied and held down, her thighs wide, her breasts exposed. It was carnal, wanton, unbearably erotic. Her body flushed with such acute arousal the very air on her skin was a caress. Desperate moans found their way out of her throat pleading whimpers.
“Sweet Andie, you’re close now, yes?”
God she was, so close. Her body humming with sensation overload. The sting of pain. The lazy glide of his finger. The light teasing abrasion of his shirt glancing off her hardened nipples. It was too much, flutters started in her belly.
“There, there you are. That’s it.”
As if she’d only been waiting for the words, she broke, ancient instincts old as time, telling her move, seeking to grind against hard male flesh, but she was held down. His control over her was absolute. All she could do was come and come on that single slow-sliding finger.