Page 105 of Missile Strike

A kiss on her inner thigh.

“A slow—”

Another on her hip.

“—build.”

He raised his body over hers, sucking her lower lip between his teeth.

Isabella’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. “I really, really want to touch you.” He had reduced her to begging.

Her fingers gripped the edges of the silk bindings. They were loose enough that she could get free.

But she’d asked for this.

And she’d done it to prove to herself that her past could no longer cage her.

If the heroine in her book could allow her lover to tie her up—if she could surrender her control to him and still be the strong, kick-ass woman he loved—then maybe Isabella could be that kind of woman as well.

For herself.

And for Danny.

His chest brushed against the hypersensitive tips of her breasts, and she felt it in her core.

There was a familiar buzzing sound, starting low, then growing more intense.

Her vibrator.

She went rigid.

One touch and she’d likely explode into a million pieces.

A light press to her clit.

The air in her lungs froze.

“Breathe.” Danny’s voice was a snap of command she instantly obeyed.

Another touch, this one longer.

He used the vibrator like a master artisan, seeming to know just how long to press it against her, and when to remove it before she tipped over the edge.

She bit her lip to stifle the moans working their way from her chest to her throat—a mindless, begging, wanton mess.

“Traffic light, Bella.”

It was too much. Too much.

She could stop it. One word and he would.

“Green,” she gasped.

“Such a good girl.” Low. Seductive. Dangerous. The approval in his voice sent more liquid heat to her core.

He brought the toy back and increased the speed.

Her body was a bowstring pulled tight. She’d snap in two when her release came.