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He cursed under his breath, but she got the sense that it was out of pleasure, not frustration. He hadn’t expected her to play along so much, to fight him. He moved his hand away from between her legs and she whimpered at the loss. He clamped one hand around the back of her neck, keeping her against the wall like a criminal getting ready for a pat down and then went about rustling around in the coats with his other.
After a few moments, he adjusted his hold and grabbed her wrists. He lifted her arms to the clothes rod and then wound something soft around her wrists, knotting it tight and securing her to the bar. She still had her back to him, but she guessed it was a scarf. He checked how tight it was and then released her. Now her arms were bound above her head. She gave it a test tug and realized she was secured for real. Her breaths came faster. Whatever he was going to do to her, he was going to do in the closet.
“You think you can fucking tell me no?” he said, his hands coming around to squeeze her breasts and vicious, seeking fingers finding her nipples.
When he pinched one nipple hard, need shot down through her all the way to her toes. She’d never been handled so roughly, but it was dialing everything up a notch, making it more intense, better. The urbane doctor was gone. This was Donovan unmasked. The Donovan in his and her private fantasies.
“Go to hell.” She wrenched out of the touch, which only made the pinch sting harder.
“I like hell. I’d fit in there.” She heard the jingling of keys and then the flip of something. She tried to turn her head, but when she did, all she caught was the glint of a silver blade.
Oh, shit. A snap of instinctual panic went through her as cool metal touched the spot between her shoulders. She gasped out his name.
But that didn’t stop him. It wasn’t her safe word. The switchblade ripped right through the fabric of her dress from shoulder to thighs. She let out a little cry as the dress gaped open in the back, the heat of him hitting her skin. With a few more quick flicks of the small blade, he divested of her straps and bra. Her clothes fell into a tattered heap at their feet.
“Now you can’t run.” The words were low and dark, coasting over her skin like a coarse caress. “You’re tied up, naked, and about to get fucked wearing only my boots. All while your co-workers sleep somewhere nearby never knowing what a very bad girl you are.”
The words should’ve sounded silly. No grown woman wanted to be called a bad girl, right? But goddamn, did everything inside her just light up like a fucking solar flare. She couldn’t even summon a faux protest at that. She ached so badly. It was like she hadn’t come in a hundred years. “Please.”
“Please what?” he goaded as he shifted behind her, belt clinking, clothes rustling.
It took everything she had to muster up the words, but the game only made this better. She wanted all of it. “Please let me go.”
“Wrong answer.” He nudged her legs wide with a firm tap from his shoe and then when she didn’t move quickly enough, he slapped her on the ass, quick and sharp.
She yelped from the shock and then groaned when he rubbed a hot palm over the sting.
“Mmm, that’s a better kind of blush. A woman who gets her ass spanked doesn’t have room to blush over other things.” He gave her another pop on the other cheek. And another until the sounds of the slaps were the only thing she heard, the burn the only thing she could feel.
She was going to die. Just sag against the bindings and die right there.
How could the simplest, most basic move set her off like that? It wasn’t the sting, though that was tingly and nice. This wasn’t about pain. Or even the fact that it was a punishment of sorts. It was the intimacy of the act. The joy of it. That neither of them felt silly or weird or ridiculous. That slaps on skin and heated flesh and playing erotic games could just be fun. It didn’t have to be serious or a big deal. They were having a good time and could do whatever they wanted. She imagined him bending her over his lap and just turning everything rosy red and sensation zipped straight to her clit.
“Look at you leaning into it.” There was amusement in his voice, pleasure. “I knew you could be shameless, Rush.” He stopped the spanking and tucked his fingers between her legs from behind. Her knees almost gave out as his fingers rubbed her, spreading her arousal with purposely sloppy strokes. “Whenever you think about blushing, you think about how fucking dirty you are. You may have not done everything you want to do yet. But just give it time. Give us time. You are a slut who hasn’t lived up to her potential.”
She laughed at that, couldn’t help it. Her need was almost at a breaking point and it was making her giddy. “Fuck you, West.”
“Finally, she admits what she wants.” He pumped two fingers inside her, slow, slow, slow, driving her to the edge of madness. Then when she whimpered and writhed against him, he added a third, increasing the pressure tenfold. “Tell me you need me to fill you up. Tell me you want my cock right now.”
She pressed her forehead to the wall, bent at the waist, and openly begging for him with her body, but she wasn’t going to blink on the game. “I want you to let me go.”
“Oh, look,” he said snidely. “She thinks she has a choice. Cute.”
His hand moved up to her clit and then something much bigger than fingers nudged her entrance.
She clenched. Oh, God. Part of her had wondered if he’d actually go through with it. He’d seemed so beat up about taking her virginity over a desk. But apparently taking her the second time had no rules. Anxiety over the unknown welled up.
But he didn’t give her a chance to fully form those nerves. He plunged into her fast and hard. She cried out, expecting it to hurt like the first time, but of course it didn’t. Oh, fuck it didn’t. She was so primed and slick, and her body took him in like it’d been waiting for it for a decade. And the sensation. God. Had it felt like this the first time? It felt like everything in that moment. Full and hot and decadent. Her fingers gripped the clothes rod hard as the force of the thrust rocked her onto her toes.
“That’s right.” Donovan stroked over her clit, playing her like she was a instrument only he knew the music to as he pumped into her again, sinking to the hilt. “You fucking take it. I know that’s what you wanted. Nothing sweet for you, Rush. You want real.”
She closed her eyes, her vision blurring from the feel of it all and from that sound in his voice, that catch that said he was losing his mind, too. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t the stoic therapist. He was right there with her, unsure how they got here but clearly damn happy that they had.
He gripped her hip with his other hand, hard enough to leave marks, and he fucked her. Not nicely, not neatly, not quietly. Their bodies slapped together, damp skin against damp skin, and he made these noises. God. They were the sexiest grunts she’d ever heard. Like he’d turned into a werewolf behind her, huffing and snarling.
And the feel of him inside her was almost enough to send her right over the top. This wasn’t her first time, but it felt like it in a lot of ways. She’d used her fingers, she’d used toys, and she had the memory of him. But none of that had been like this. Not this naked, raw sense of being joined with another person. His flesh, a part of him, was inside of her. The man who’d patiently walked her through the computer system at work was currently sheathing his cock in her . . . cunt. The filthy word filled in the blank easily, her mind going to this lovely unfiltered place where no words were off limits. This was fucking. She was fucking. They were fucking.
Was she conjugating verbs now? Shit.
