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"You can't be serious," she pleaded, forcing her head up, looking at the two men who looked on with amusement as she was carried off like some primeval caveman's prize. "I don't deserve to be treated like this." That seemed to make them laugh even more. They had to be kidding. She was about to beg to be put down when she was smacked across the bottom by one large hand.
"Bad girl," her captor bellowed, chuckling to himself.
Any notion of using her head was lost in an instant. Heat leapt out from the spot he'd spanked, spreading across the top of her thighs and shooting deep, right into her core. Her heart missed a beat. She struggled for breath. She shuddered and moaned, her clit tingling with heat. Liquid fire poured out of her core and her body went boneless with lust, falling limp over his shoulder. She clutched at his jacket with trembling fingers, her mind echoing with the primitive call of instinctive need: take me, use me, fill me.
The crowd faded away, everything faded away as he carried her off down a corridor, where the light grew dim and all she was aware of was him—his massive presence and his control over her. I want him. Somewhere at the back of her mind the Mission Impossible theme started up again.
* * * *
Tommy Sampson was surprised, to say the least. Usually by this point they were thumping and kicking and bemoaning the fact they were being taken away from their beloved Clayton. It was a familiar scenario, but this woman was making panting noises and wriggling around as if she were on the brink of an orgasm.
She was a sexy number too. When she'd run slap bang into him and he'd grabbed hold of her, he was instantly reminded of the cover of a Modesty Blaise novel that he'd kept by his bedside as a teenager. He'd liked the cover model who represented the sexy female secret agent, and had held onto the book nearby for weeks after he'd finished reading it. He hadn't thought of it in years, but this woman had stimulated the memory. That wasn't all she had stimulated.
She looked good in those leather pants, and her breasts shifting against him under her skimpy top instantly made him think of sex. Right now heat was pouring off her in waves. She smelled good too, sexy, a mixture of perfume and hormones.
"You are in big trouble, madam. Nobody gets past me during the last encore." He gave her another spank as he walked down the corridor towards one of the hidden exits at the back of the building. He couldn't resist it.
She wriggled against him, making another dirty-sex noise. Yup, she was turned on, unmistakably turned on. He couldn't help smiling. Normally his he-man act sent them off in a rush of humiliation. He'd worked for Clayton during his tours for the last three years, and he'd got the act down to a fine art by the end of the first tour. With the real bad cases, the ones who got into the dressing rooms like this one had, Clayton played into it as well, which usually worked a treat for sending them on their way.
The corridor was dingy, the overhead light-bulb weak and flickering. He didn't really want to put her down at all, but they had reached the security door at the back of the building. The door opened on to a narrow alleyway, which led a convoluted path back onto the main street. He just had to enter the code into the keypad, and she could be on her merry way.
"Here you go, Madam." He eased her down a fraction, so that she could straighten up in his grip, and then paused. He could have just put her feet down on the floor, but this was too much fun. He wanted to savor lowering her. Her body was toned under his hands and he mused that she would make a great gym partner.
She was secure, but she clutched at him, her hands going to his shoulders as she straightened. She shook her hair back. Short and thick, it fell back into place around her head. Her face was flushed, her eyes glinting in the gloomy light. Her wide mouth was open, her lips damp. She looked like a cat about to pounce.
He paused, staring up at her. His spine stiffened, a dull ache at its base working its way into his consciousness. Unsurprisingly, he was getting hard. He had a whole lot of woman in his arms, after all, and she was looking good. Her breasts were just under his chin, her hips against his belly. It was a recipe for arousal.
She let out a soft laugh. "That was quite a ride." She arched one slim eyebrow.
"You weren't supposed to enjoy it, my dear." He couldn't restrain his grin.
She wriggled in his grasp, but clutched tighter. "I thought you might be enjoying it too." She bit her lip, an action that made her even more sexy looking.
"I am." Savoring each moment, he eased her down, his hands shifting around her hips. She definitely wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples were hard inside that top of hers. When his hands reached her buttocks, he cupped them.
She moved her hands, latching her fingers around his head, and then—to his astonishment—she opened her legs and wrapped them around his hips.
She doesn't want you to put her down, bozo.
The fact hit him like a freight train, and then some other form of rationale took over: instinct. He turned, wedging her back against the closed door, jamming his hips between her open legs.
"What's the matter, afraid to let go?" he teased. He leaned into her hair, smelling her.
"I like it here." She leaned back against the door, pivoting against it and riding her pussy up and down against the growing erection inside his jeans.
He groaned.
"Do you have to rush off?" She had her hands in his hair and, as she moved them, she brushed the secret, sensitive spot below his left ear that sent him off the rails with lust. Blood rushed to his groin. His heart hammered in his chest, his hips rolled into hers.
"Rushing off anywhere isn't an option right now," he managed to mutter, and leaned into her neck, his mouth against her skin. He could feel her breath warm on his face. He traced a path with his mouth down toward her jaw.
Her head sank back in response.
He kissed the skin beneath her ear. She smelt of jasmine, and desire, unmistakable. He could hear the withheld whimper in her throat, and he could sense her reactions coursing over her skin. Her hands were on his shoulder, drawing him in. She was hot, responsive. She was everything that made his blood turn to fire and his lust palpable. He breathed his way to her jaw and then she turned her mouth into his, meeting him.
Her mouth was soft but active, an explosive combination, her lips moved against his, hungrily, then she opened her mouth, her tongue teasing his into her mouth.
He staggered, his grip on her buttocks failing.
