[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Alarm surfaced, the warning bells loud, clear and chastising now.  Let me go this
minute!
 You asked earlier if I was making supper. The answer is yes.
A slight tremor ran through her. He bent shirtless over her and brushed a kiss
across her forehead. The fine hairs on his chest tickled her nipples.  Fear is sometimes
an excellent alternative to foreplay.
 Deacon Price, you let me go. She wasn t scared& yet.
 Raise your voice or scream and I ll gag you with your own panties.
She stilled.
 Good girl. He swept the hair out of her face, tucking it carefully behind her ears.
Straightening, he vanished out of her line of sight. Her heart raced, jackrabbit fast. He
returned almost immediately, carrying a carefully arranged tray. Setting the tray beside
the table, he busied himself positioning everything just so. He raised a silver spoon
above her waist, liquid dribbling over its edges, then tipped it.
Heat puddled between her thighs. She bucked against the restraints, arching her
back. It wasn t the heat that surprised her. It was the sensation, as if fat little fingers
were finding their way into her most intimate places.
 We re having pizza, he said conversationally. He drizzled sauce up her stomach
and over her breasts. The unexpected heat caused her nipples to contract.
He offered her a sample of the sauce. She turned her head. Her heart was in her
throat. She couldn t get enough air.  What are you doing?
 Expanding your narrow little missionary horizons.
 Untie me and I ll show you how creative I can be, she threatened.
 Now now. He shook his spoon carefully at her.  Teasing will only get you in
trouble. Oh, I spilled a little. He set the spoon aside and his head dipped between her
legs. He spread her and explored her folds, until she was left breathless and gasping.
 Much better.
She meant to curse but instead all that came out was a moan.
He adorned her sauce-covered body with pieces of intricately arranged meat.
Pepperoni covered her breasts and made a stepping stone path down to the juncture of
her thighs. Sausage whirled across her stomach, an elaborate series of circles and swirls.
He arranged the mushroom slices in a delicate half circle atop her mons.  I want
mushrooms on my half. How about you? He picked up a container of shredded
cheese.
 This is insane, she muttered, fear transforming into embarrassment.
120
Pierce My Heart
He eyed her closely.  This is a sexual feast, he replied. He liberally sprinkled the
cheese across her breasts and stomach.
She rolled her eyes. When she focused again she found him holding a small
handheld torch, the kind she used to light Bunsen burners.  No. I don t care where or
what but no. She tried to keep her voice steady and firm. A fine tremor started in her
limbs.
 You re not in a position to argue, he reminded her.
The flame flared to life. She arched her back, fighting against her restraints. She
didn t want to be burned, to be horribly scared. He tipped it, keeping it inches from her
body, and carefully melted the cheese on her breasts and stomach. She felt its heat but it
was nothing more than a growing warmth. He snuffed out the flame as quickly as it
had begun. The cheese had conformed to her every curve. Her breasts gleamed like
they d been dipped in fondue.
He kissed each breast.  You have serious trust issues.
 You re deranged, she retorted.
 Have I hurt you?
Without waiting for her response, he lowered his face to her mons and started
nibbling at the mushrooms there. He worked his way up her stomach, licking cheese
and sauce off her. His goatee left a scratchy path in its wake. His tongue played with
her bellybutton. He left her breasts covered and headed farther south.
She bucked her hips.  Don t try to change the subject. Her words came out in
breathy gasps.
He dipped two well-oiled fingers into her.  What subject was that? His thumb
played with her tender little nub.
Her legs began to twitch. Her toes curled. Leaning back to get a better view, he
caressed one of her shaking calves.
 You tricked me, she whispered. She shivered, her nipples tensing.
 I freed you so you might experience true pleasure. He bent over one of her
breasts and nipped it. The dark pink bud poked out of the cheese like the center of a
flower. His eyes gleamed, unrepentant.  Besides, you d never have agreed to this.
He was right. She tried a different tactic.  You ll get sauce all over your precious
white carpeting.
He shrugged and continued to massage her, his fingers sliding in and out of her in a
slow rhythm. The sensation drove her nuts. She was used to being able to use her
hands, to touch and taste and feel on her own. She clenched her hands into fists.
His tongue licked up one side of her body and down the other. He lay on top of her,
one hand supporting the bulk of his weight. She had not guessed him to be so strong.
The muscles in that arm bunched, biceps and triceps forming perfect half-arcs of steel.
Her breath caught in her throat. She desperately wanted to reach up and touch his arm,
to feel if the muscles were as taut as they looked.
121
Christine McKay
Putting two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted her head up a fraction. Then he
lowered his lips to her throat. At the same time he arched his back and plunged into
her.
 If you don t want me, just lie still, he whispered. He continued to ravage her
body with hard kisses, scrubbing away each mark with his stubbly goatee.
She couldn t. Her hips adopted his cadence.
Her entire body stiffened, fighting the restraints. As the orgasm swept through her,
it consumed her senses. The blood rushed through her ears, drowning out her hearing.
Pinpricks of light danced before her eyes. She clenched, felt his strokes as he waltzed
with her nerves, forcing her to orgasm a second time before the first tremors had left her
body.
Dimly, sound returned. Her voice was pleading with him, making small mewling
noises.  Don t stop. Oh God, please don t stop. Oh God, I ll die. I m dying. And still
her body craved more. Her hips pumped harder, demanding speed. If she had had her
hands free she d have seized his buttocks and forced the speed from him. Trapped as
she was, she could only plead.
He didn t tease her. A slick sheen of sweat coated his body. He latched on to her
nipple, wringing another cry from her.
She didn t remember him undoing her restraints, only found herself on the floor
lying atop him. His fingers were playing with the dip in her back, skating up and down
its slope.
 I m a mess, she said softly. It took all the strength she could muster to raise
herself up on one elbow. Then she poked him in the chest.  You owe me an apology.
He opened one eye.  For stretching your limits? He snorted and his chest heaved.
 You should be thanking me.
 The point is, you should have asked my permission first.
The one open eye rolled.  Do the gods ask permission before they meddle in
humans lives?
 You re not a god, she retorted.
His other eye opened.  How do you know?
 A god would have made me orgasm a fourth time.
He chuckled then, sat up and captured her in his arms.  Let s get you cleaned up
and see if I can t prove my godliness to you.
She woke with her head pillowed on Deacon s stomach. His bedroom was as
Spartan as the rest of his house, though decorated with Japanese influences. The
material under her fingertips was the finest cotton weave, almost silky smooth. The
king-size bed squatted on four thick ebony posts, its narrow headboard padded in black
leather. Deacon s fingertips swept in long lazy strokes up and down her spine. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]