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Sarah Jo being Sarah Jo, she promptly counters. She should have been a lawyer instead of a camp cook. “You going to let me take care of you?”
I think about that for a moment, while I kiss my way down her neck again.
“Sure,” I say finally, nipping lightly at her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I want that? That’s what partners do, Sarah Jo. They look out for each other. It’s not a question of you can’t. It’s about I want to.”
Convince her.
“You know what a hot zone is?” I trace my fingers along her neck and do a little more kissing while I wait for her answer. When she shakes her head, I explain. “When a fire really gets going, you can only get so close before someone gets burned. We keep the firefighters out of that zone so they all stay safe.”
“Are you saying you want to cool things down?”
“No, honey. I’m saying I want to stand between you and the flames. Let go of your control, just for me. Let me do this for you.”
“Let go,” she repeats cautiously. Her fingers flex between us, and it’s my turn to bite back a groan as her fingertips swipe over my dick. She could be clueless about what she’s touching. Knowing my Sarah Jo, however, it’s probably part of a devious master plan. That teasing brush of her, just a light caress against my jeans, makes me hard. Hungry. I want this woman something fierce, but I also want more than one more night of hot sex. I want all of Sarah Jo.
“Let me show you,” I suggest. “Let me take charge tonight.”
Sarah Jo
Pick is a big, sexy, stubborn bastard. I flex my wrists, but the plastic ties have even less give than the man wrapped around me. He wants something from me. He wants love. He wants to love me and be loved in return. It’s a sweet, sweet idea, this possibility of Pick caring for me like that. He’d make one hell of a partner.
If I’m honest, it would be easy to love him back.
It would also be scary as hell. I don’t like being tied up or tied down. I definitely don’t like not being in control. Loving this man would be like putting zip-ties on my heart, and it would be so easy for him to hurt me.
“Let’s try this, honey.” I don’t miss the rough need in his voice. This apparently being sex while I’m tied up. I’ve never done kink before because it’s never been my thing. I wriggle, trying to find some room to think that’s not full of sexy hotshot, but he’s not letting me put any space between us. Evidently, he’s serious about this whole opening up and trusting thing.
One quick, hard tug of his hands, and my shorts and panties fly down my legs. He steps away from the bed for a moment, and then the rustle of clothing hitting the floor is followed by the dip of the mattress as he climbs right back beside me. That handful of seconds is enough for me to decide that I don’t like waiting for him to decide what comes next; this is definitely not my kind of game.
When I try to roll over, however, a firm hand at the small of my back holds me in place.
“Stay put,” he growls. “Right where you are.”
Should I? Can I? I haven’t been given the rulebook for this game, but it doesn’t seem to matter. His hands arrange me gently, on my knees, facedown. Kinky sex it is.
Kinky sex with Pick, I remind myself.
“Yes,” I say out loud. Yes to everything, yes to Pick.
He groans. “You know how pretty you look?”
I look exposed. I’m pretty darn sure of that. It’s not enough for him, though. He parts my thighs, one big hand on each, gently pressing me further open. All the way, no holding back. Just me, him, the bed, and way too many emotions.
He touches me. No warning, just one thick finger sliding through my folds from bottom to top. All the way up my soaked slit until he finds my clit and pinches lightly.
I moan. Oh, God.
“You got something you want to say to me?”
“More?”
He repeats the caress, drawing his fingers through my slickness again. “That, too.”
“Untie me? I want to get my arms around you,” I admit. “Maybe we can take turns having kinky sex tomorrow and just go for the vanilla, face-to-face stuff tonight?”
