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When he gripped her hips, she arched into him, again revealing a sliver of that delicious hard belly. He ran a thumb across the pale crescent, marvelling in the way her skin tightened, her muscles twitched. He followed with his mouth, running a trail of kisses in the wake of his touch, the scent of her filling his nostrils.
He looked up to find her watching him. Waiting. Anticipation kicking at the corner of her mouth. Desire flaring thick and fast behind her eyes. And something else. Defiance. As if they were playing on her terms.
And something came over him, a deep-rooted need to tame, to possess, to show her who was boss.
To negate his father’s cavalier blood, Ryder had spent his entire life trying to be the most civilised man he knew. But this woman— One look, one cock of her hip, one tilt of her mouth, she simply stripped him bare.
Like a devil’s whisper, it filtered through the haze of desire that if he gave her an inch this woman could well tear him apart. But it was too late.
He nudged her feet apart with his knees. She resisted, instinct kicking in. Too bad.
It was his turn to lead.
Eyes on hers, he slowly, achingly slowly, rolled the waistline of her pants and stockings down. Her mouth slid open to drag in breaths that were harder to come by. She tried biting her bottom lip, to retain control, but when he felt the trembling, heard it in the escape of a moan, he knew it was a lost cause.
When her tights hit her knees, he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, desire knotting his gut as her head dropped back, her knees gave way, and the only thing holding her up was the rope biting into her wrists.
When his hands reached her backside, he breathed her in, desire pressing him near to the brink of control. Then he took her in his mouth, licking, nibbling, nudging, sucking, as she rocked and pitched and writhed above him.
When her trembling reached fever pitch, with one final deep lick he sent her over the edge. Feeling the strength in her sweet body, the tension in her arms, the utter freedom in her release, knowing he’d done that to her, this superwoman, was the single sexiest moment of his life.
He didn’t wait for her to come down before he was on his feet, his hands making short work of her tantalising top, yanking it from her shoulder, needing more, needing to taste all of her, to imprint her flavour on his psyche and himself all over every damn inch of her.
No finessing, he took her breast into his mouth, hard, gripping her waist as she cried out from the new pleasures rolling through her. She hooked her legs around him, pulling him close.
Ryder glanced at the beams. His voice subterranean, he asked, “Can they hold the both of us?”
“We’ll soon find out,” she said, before taking his mouth with hers.
So hard he hurt, he freed himself, somehow found the cognitive wherewithal to protect himself. Silently berating her for not insisting, hating himself for liking that she hadn’t, he pressed into her, hard, relishing every sensational second.
Her eyes snapped shut and she cried out. The muscles in her arms and neck strained, beads of sweat beaded all over her chest, curls tight around her face. Her beautiful face. And the sweet bliss of being inside her, pleasure riding him as he stroked into her; hoping they weren’t about to bring the building down around their ears.
All too soon her climax came hard. Curling her into him as she cried out. While his built from a tight knot of need that unfurled until he felt it to the ends of his everything. And he came with a roar that shook the foundations of the old building till the thing near rained down dust.
Her head dropped to his shoulder, her breaths fanning against his ear, and he held her there, still inside her, their heartbeats slamming against one another as they drifted back to earth.
Ryder lowered her feet to the floor and since her hands were out of action he gently rolled her tights back into place. He uncurled one rope then the other, the red raw ligature marks making him wince. Then when her legs seemed about to give way, he scooped her into his arms. Ryder carried her to the lounge, where he sat. She sank into him, soft and warm, her head beneath his chin, her hand on his heart. The quiet afterglow washed over him, as a warmth in his muscles and a sweet ache in his groin.
Then, just when her breaths grew so slow and heavy he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, she spoke up, her voice, soft and shattered, said, “Ryder?”
He wiped damp hair from her forehead. “Yes, Nadia?”
“I’m leaving.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Her fingers curled into his chest a moment before she lifted her heavy head and looked up into his eyes. And the distress that flittered therein made his gut constrict—more than ropes, or studded gloves, or high heels that could castrate a man with one well-positioned step.
