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‘No?’ Her eyes flick to mine, her frown as seductive as it is serious. ‘I thought sex was fun. Isn’t that the point of it? To enjoy it, to go wild...to let go.’
My eyes sweep over her—the delicate breadth of her shoulders, the gentle swell of her breasts, her slender waist curving out to her hips, the smallest strip of hair that protects her modesty and that tender force is back, deep inside, spreading.
‘Am I wrong?’ she whispers.
‘No.’ Hell, she’s not. It’s just sex. Forget the guilt, the worry. I dredge the confidence I need from the darkest depths of my soul and hold her eyes as I remove one cufflink then the other, tossing them on the table. ‘You’re not wrong.’
I dare to look in the mirror and my stare is hard, determined. It’s just sex. A fuck. Nothing more.
I fold one sleeve back then the other, feeling her eyes on me, watching, and when I turn to her I’m in control. I’m ready for this. She’d better be too. I move towards her, untying my cravat as I approach and watch the pulse dance in her throat.
Oh, Cait, you have no idea...
‘Hold out your hand.’
I pull the strip of tartan from my collar as she does as I ask, the plump flesh of her bottom lip caught once more in her teeth. I twist the fabric in my hands, fashioning it into a rope, and all the while she watches and waits—obedient, subservient...perfect.
I slip it around one wrist and she sucks in a breath, her eyes flaring into mine. I use it to pull her towards me and she presses her soft, pliant body up against me.
‘You sure you want this?’
Her nod is quick, certain. I want to kiss her parted lips but, the moment I do, this becomes something else, something I’ve not planned...
‘You’re happy for me to tie you up?’
Another nod.
‘I’m not gentle.’
‘I don’t need gentle, Jackson. I just need you.’
I breathe in deeply, needing it to calm me as she wets her lips and smiles. ‘I want you to make love to me.’
My breath catches, icy shards piercing my skin with the cold sweat that spreads instantly. ‘I don’t make love, Cait, I fuck.’
There’s a flicker of something in her gaze before the shutter falls and it’s gone too quickly for me to read, but I’m backing away when she grips the silk still connecting us and tugs. ‘Then fuck me, Jackson.’
Heat consumes me, her demand seeing off the hesitation, and I’m striding forward, forcing her back to the bedpost as I crush my lips to hers. To hell with my perfect plan. I kiss her to force out any stray doubt, I kiss her to remember how she tastes, I kiss her to coax out her sultry little moans in the hope I can get enough.
It’s her hands lifting to my hair that brings me back a second’s clarity, a reminder of the cravat caught between us and why it’s there. I tug it down, her hand with it as I tear my mouth away.
‘What’s your safe word, Cait?’
She blinks up at me all dazed, but I know she’ll have one—hell, most members of Blacks do.
‘My...my safe word?’
I study her face, see the high colour in her cheeks and the widening of her eyes.
‘Yes.’ Please tell me she has one. I can’t be the first to ask, the first to need...
‘Would red suffice?’ She swallows hard, a confident smile quick to follow. ‘Or is that a little common?’
I’m thrown. First by her hesitation, her obvious inexperience, next by her flippant remark, and hell, those eyes, those big blue orbs that I can feel myself getting lost in. They scare me and I spin her away to face the post, her body hot beneath my fingers at her hips and I breathe in the scent of her hair, close my eyes tight as I press my lips to the blazing mass. Get it under control.
‘No, red is perfect.’ I sweep her hair over one shoulder and kiss the tip of her ear, then lower as I scrape my teeth along her lobe and feel her shudder as she gives a breathy little moan. ‘Red matches your fire.’
I stroke my free hand down her front, tracing a delicate path between her breasts and brush my arm, only very slightly, against her nipple. It’s enough to make her rock and I smile as I flatten my palm over her stomach, smoothing it down further.
