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Chloe could only watch, but her breathing was ragged and her blood over-heating.
“I will not make love to you tonight, Chloe,” he said thickly, hooking a finger into her underpants and snapping the band against her hip so that she made a sound that was half-surprise, half fervent desire.
“I will not make love to you ever, until you are begging for me to take you. You say you will feel nothing, and I am going to enjoy proving you wrong.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes flare wide and then he curled his fingers around her lace thong once more, pulling it with slow determination from her body.
Despite her protestations, she couldn’t help the whimper of anticipation that escaped her as he discarded her underwear on the floor.
He brought his mouth to her ankle then, kissing the same flesh his fingers had caressed, flicking her with his tongue so that she laughed unsteadily.
“That tickles,” she tried to sound bored but the words were heavy with her impatience.
He didn’t stop. He gripped her ankles though, holding her legs where they were, and then he moved his mouth upwards, drawing circles with his tongue so that her skin was warmed by his touch, before breathing on her and cooling her down. It was the most erotic sensation she’d ever known and her skin goosed all over. But when his bearded face grazed the fine, soft flesh of her inner-thighs, she bucked against the bed, the intimacy of his closeness something she hadn’t prepared for.
His hands kept her legs parted and then his mouth claimed her most intimate flesh, his tongue flicking her sensitive cluster of nerves so that she cried out, but it was all with pleasure. She bit her teeth together, curling her fingers into the duvet, knowing she had to be strong and resist showing him how richly pleasure was growing inside of her, how passion was sweeping her body, how pleasure was sinking into her skin.
He had not exaggerated his skills, however, and pleasure of new dimensions infiltrated all of her, so that she pushed up on her elbows and cried his name out, the word a horse plea.
“What’s happening?” She demanded, breathily, her face pink, her eyes sheened.
He lifted his head, his eyes full of emotions she couldn’t comprehend. “You are going to orgasm,” he said simply.
She fell back onto the bed as his lips returned to her flesh. She whimpered as he ran his tongue along her seam and then he pulled away, and to her desperation and devastation, he stood, towering over her.
“What are you doing?” She pleaded, the taste of release rising inside of her.
“Tell me what you want,” he said slowly, his fingers finding the tie to her robe and loosening it, unwrapping her as though she were a gift, just for him.
“I…”
“You had so much to say a minute a go. Now, you’re silent?”
She glared at him mutinously, and then turned her head aside, refusing to say the words. Refusing to beg. Damn him! Her body might have betrayed her but her mind had no intention of doing the same!
But then his head dropped to her breast and his tongue lashed at her nipple, his mouth clamping down on a dusky peach aureole until she arched her back and whipped her head around. The look of triumph in his face was her undoing.
How could she give him what he wanted? How could she tell him that she needed him to keep kissing her most intimate flesh, to release the pleasure he’d stirred up inside of her?
She couldn’t.
For as much as she wanted him – needed him – to finish what he started, she understood the importance of the power in their relationship, and she would not accede it to him. Not yet.
“You need only say please, Chloe, and I will give you what you want.”
Every single nerve ending in her body was screeching at her to obey. To acquiesce. To give into the drugging need for release, for relief from this hounding, aching pain inside her.
But then what?
The expression give him an inch and he’ll take a mile had been coined for this man. She was no fool – trust didn’t come easily to Chloe at the best of times, but like this, with her own body being used against her? Not damned well likely.
“Oh, go to hell,” she snapped, rolling away from him and standing, uncaring for her nudity. She glared at him from the edge of the bed, and had the pleasure of seeing shock on his features. Good, she thought.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she spoke with icy disdain. “I’d like to take a shower. You can let yourself out.” She strode through the suite, not looking back, not slowing down, but as soon as she was in the privacy of the ensuite, she closed the door and leaned against it, sagging heavily as her mind replayed what he’d just been doing to her body. How he’d touched her, kissed her, how he’d made her feel.
A tremor ran through her and she almost weakened! For a maddening second, she thought about wrenching the door inwards and shouting at him to come back and please keep going. But pride and fierce determination alone held her where she was.
He would not break her – he would be the first man in her life who saw her for who she was and respected that woman. No matter what it took.
