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“Samson,” she whispered against his mouth, her hair a black shroud around them.
Grant’s mouth opened to speak but she shook her head. He angled his head to kiss her but she pulled back. He tried to gather her in by contorting his body but she leaned away.
“Please,” he said. “Please, I can’t...I need to...”
“Yes,” Melinda whispered into his lips. “That’s how I felt, too.”
Guilt slammed him in the solar plexus and he dropped his head. But she dipped her cheek to his, those magnetic lips a feather to his cheek.
“Never do that to me again.”
“Never,” he promised ardently.
She arched her pelvis against him and he froze.
“Unless I ask you to.” She caught his mouth with hers.
Desire incinerated his guilt, and with overflowing relief he kissed her back. Her kiss was down and silk. Slow and deliberate, like she wanted to ingest him whole, little by little.
She may as well. There’d be nothing left of him after this. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, slid down his shoulders, across his chest. Her lips kept their slow assault.
Grant groaned like an animal, desperate to match her power with his own. He’d never felt so impotent in his whole life. Strain licked his arms like fire and his wrists stung with broken skin, but he didn’t care. He needed to touch her, to hold her. He writhed like a beast in a cage.
“Dammit,” he tore out. “Melinda, you have to untie me. I can’t stay like this.”
Her eyelids fluttered open.
~
Melinda had never done anything like this before. She’d never taken control like this or seduced someone so aggressively, or at all. And it was too late to stop now! The notion intoxicated her. She’d never felt this wild, this alive, this free. Gone were the disappointments of men, the frailty of relationships. Someone was here with her and he didn’t think she was too mannish, too brusque, or too complex. He wanted her. Plain and simple, he wanted her.
Grant’s willingness to concede the reins flooded her with power. Not that he has a choice, she admitted. She’d thought to lose herself right then and there as he’d made his unconcealed appraisal of her body. His eyes had stroked her like a caress and she’d been left trembling and wanting. Now he was helpless beneath her and begging her for mercy. Things could be worse. Except...
“Um, I don’t have scissors,” she confessed, and he choked out a laugh.
“My knife,” he bit out. “On my belt.”
Grant shifted sideways and Melinda leaned around him to find it. It was worn and aged, a simple five-inch knife with a bone-inlay handle. She tugged out the blade, then curled around him to reach his hands. Grant leaned forward to accommodate her and she tapped him with the flat of the handle.
“Don’t move,” she commanded, and he went like stone.
Dull side to his skin, Melinda slid the knife between his wrists and snagged the zip tie with the serrated edge. The knife tugged on the plastic and she heard his sharp inhale. She sawed and the loop snapped. Melinda winced at his raw skin.
Grant didn’t flinch at what had to be pain as she unwound the plastic from his damaged flesh. She tucked the blade into its handle, then sat beside him on the couch, suddenly uncertain. Grant groaned as he flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders.
Then his eyes locked on hers and she froze.
“My turn,” he whispered and lunged for her.
The bear was back. Or had she thought him a bull? His massive arms trapped her against the couch, her head pillowed on the armrest. His body, still clad in boots, jeans, and flannel, dominated hers, the thin cotton t-shirt riding over her belly and black panties.
Grant’s mouth devoured her. Melinda expected his kiss to be aggressive, since she’d spent the last twenty minutes taunting him, but instead, he inhaled her, engulfed her, overwhelmed, and tormented her. She moaned into his kiss, free of the burden of control.
His hands traveled the length of her form at will. One hand lodged in her hair and guided her kiss where he wanted it. The other traversed the landscape of her legs, crested the jut of her hips, glided into the well of her waist, cupped and squeezed her breasts under her shirt.
Melinda moaned again. Her hands moved to the planes of his face to explore him as freely as he explored her. The hand in her hair coasted down her back to grip her ass so firmly that she whimpered, on the border of pain, until she was saved by his other hand sweetly twisting and torturing her nipple. Melinda arched her back and opened her mouth to his tongue.
She’d always been too large, too sturdy, too broad-shouldered. Now she was dainty, compressed into nothingness by this bear of a man. Her hands snaked down his back to his waist, intent on lifting his shirt to feel his skin.
