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She couldn’t possibly know what a picture she made, sitting there bared and bound on her princess bed, issuing orders like she had all the power in the current dynamic. In truth, she did, because this was him proving himself to her, but part of the proof involved getting her to have faith in him to give her what she needed, rather than what she asked for. He pulled her off the perch, nearly groaning at the way her breasts bounced from the impact of her feet hitting the floor, and then stepped close. “Patience, baby girl.”
Her chin came up a notch. “I’ve never been known for my patience.”
No, she hadn’t. At eighteen he’d had the reputation for being impulsive, but she’d been the one to set the breakneck pace of their relationship. He’d been too young, and frankly, too far gone, to even think of slowing things down. But he wasn’t an undisciplined teenager anymore. He hooked his fingers into the front of her jeans, and undid the button.
“It’s time you learned some.” Then, very slowly, he drew the zipper down. Even more slowly, he eased his hands into the now-gaping waist and pushed the denim over her hips. The jeans settled around her calves. He took a deliberate step back and paused to drink in the sight of her in tiny white panties. “I don’t appreciate being rushed.” To underscore the statement, he ran a fingertip along the edge of the silk, taking a lazy path from her hip to where the whisper-thin fabric disappeared between her thighs.
“I don’t appreciate being tortured.”
The ragged accusation made him smile. Same old Sinclair. “Torture? I haven’t even looked at you yet.”
Five full seconds of silence met that statement, followed by, “Okay, you’ve looked. Now undo my hands, and—”
He spun her around.
“Hey!”
“I’m not done looking.” He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Not nearly done.”
She twisted her hands, testing the makeshift restraint holding them together behind her back. “Shane…”
He laid a hand over her tethered wrists and placed another kiss between her shoulder blades. “Shhh. I’m busy looking.” Then he span
ned a hand along the base of her neck, and, keeping hold of her wrists, bent her over the bed. A line of white silk pulled tight between her ass cheeks.
“Shane.”
“Busy,” he reminded her and kissed the small of her back, the V of her thong, and then he dropped to his knees and followed the path of the panties with his tongue.
“Oh…God. That’s not looking. You don’t look with your tongue.”
“The Marines trained me to use all my senses to get a complete picture. Sight”—he hooked his fingers into the fabric stretched across the top of her ass and peeled the panties down—“touch”—he slid his palms along the smooth curves, parting them to get a better view of all his targets. Her fingers opened and closed above his head.
“Don’t even…” She tried to squirm away but he held fast.
“Taste,” he finished over her protest and swept his tongue from the last notch of her spine to the hot, slick flesh he’d exploited when he’d had her splayed out in the front seat of his car. She jumped and wiggled, but ultimately submitted with a defenseless sound. He drew back, slid a hand down her leg, and guided her knee up until he had it braced on the footboard. The position spread her thighs wide. The sight of her, open and ready for him, sent powerful mandates from primitive parts of his brain. He sat back on his heels, closed his eyes, and gave himself a crucial moment to fortify his resolve.
Sinclair, apparently, didn’t have a moment in her. “Enough. You’ve looked your fill.”
He pulled air into his lungs, let it out slowly, and waited for the pounding in his cock to subside from agonizing to merely brutal. When he was sure he had himself under control, he opened his eyes. “You’re right. Enough looking. Now I reintroduce my mouth to you properly.”
Her forehead hit the bed with a soft thump. “Shane…”
Not a “no,” so he ignored his name on her lips, angled his head, and got to work. The room filled with the sound of him making good on his promise. Her breathing turned heavy, each exhale accompanied by increasingly frustrated moans. She couldn’t hold still, but he didn’t try too hard to stop the jerky motions of her hips since most of her effort went into pushing herself into the path of his tongue.
Finally, those moans pitched up into a sharp curse. She tightened her hips and struggled to pull herself upright, but he put a stop to that by nudging her just enough to overbalance her.
The comforter muffled her next curse, and then she managed to turn her head and hit him with a look of pure, sweet desperation. “For the love of God, Shane. I can’t take any more. I need you inside me. Now.”
“I want to be inside you. Make no mistake. I’m suffering like the damned right now. My balls ache. My cock’s throbbing and furious from neglect. But that’s how it’s going to stay because I don’t earn the privilege of being inside you until I earn your trust.”
An aggrieved moan was her only response. He rested one hand along the top off her ass, just below her tightly clenched fists, and rimmed her swollen threshold. “Don’t worry. I won’t allow you to suffer while I’m proving myself. I’ll make sure you come. Long, hard, and as many times as you can handle. Do you trust me to do that for you, baby girl?”
Then he plunged two fingers into her damp, hot channel, and her body answered for her. She arched off the mattress as the first spasm gripped her, and her uncensored scream of gratitude battered the old barn walls.
Maybe it wasn’t an unqualified declaration of trust, but it was definitely a start.
Chapter Eleven
