Controlled Response

he repeated. "Mine to protect. To cherish. To love. To grow old with, if we're blessed."

She shook her head. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't ruin it."

His eyes darkened and he bent his head, his arm curving around her to hold her in place with a hand on one hip as he brought her into him.

Cass sucked in a breath, clutched him harder as his mouth found her and he spread her stance a little wider. She had to rely on him to hold her steady, because her ground had become unstable. Oh, God. That mouth. Before, she'd been anchored to a chair. On her back, a table, a wall. Now the lightness of the friction as he manipulated her, let her body buck and convulse naturally, made the feeling even more maddening, a dance against his mouth. The wind moved the fall leaves, bringing her the smell of seasonal change, of grass mowed recently, of the lake.

"You're so wet for me, sweetheart," he muttered against her flesh. "Give yourself to me.

Let yourself be swept away by a man's desire for you."

His tongue parted her, teased her, teeth scraping the clit as her breath rasped in her throat, her fingers digging in, the nails scraping his flesh, if he'd let her get to it.

"Feel you," she gasped. "I want to feel you."

"In due time. I want you mindless first."

He thought she could think now. Catching her fingers in his hair, she pulled hard as he kept up his artistry upon her slick lips, tasting her, penetrating her, sliding over every sensitive nerve, his tongue doing flexible things a snake would envy. She wanted him.

"Want to come, with you inside me. Now."

"Not this first time," he said, without mercy, and with a rake of his teeth he sent her free falling, both hands tearing at his shoulders, her bare body convulsing over him, nails digging into his T-shirt and the hard back muscle beneath as he held her hips fast, worked her against his mouth. His rough jaw rasped her thighs, his fucking of her with his mouth mixed with the wet sounds of pleasure as he lapped her,'took her juices'into him in a way that sent powerful aftershocks ripping through her. He held on to her throughout.

When she tried to straighten, her body felt weak. She wasn't sure if her legs would hold, but he'd already anticipated that, rising to lift her off her feet. He was still fully clothed, even down to his shoes.

"Tell me where your bedroom is, Cassandra."

Ten

It was a quiet, dim place, the sun almost gone for the day. Through the sheer panels at her windows, he saw the shapes of the trees in the yard, while in the room there was the outline of a high tester bed, piled with pillows. A dilapidated stuffed bear was there, probably left by one of the younger children, as well as a scattering of children's books on the floor. Clothes she'd perhaps discarded this morning rested on the back of the chair. He could see the domestic scene, her trying to get ready for work, giving them all some attention before she left. There was a scattering of sticky notes on the desk and the computer screen, work waiting for her after everyone had gone to bed. A TV, some books piled up next to it. The clutter of a busy woman.

His heart too full to speak immediately, he laid her down on the mattress, that beautiful bare body that had him so primed for her it was difficult to walk.

But then, as she watched him, he collected the children's books, the work papers. He put the papers on the desk, the toys outside in the hall, setting the bear on top before shutting the door.

"This is your room, Cass," he said, turning to her. "Just the woman tonight. Do you have any wine?"

She nodded to a minifridge in the corner, the stand of glasses up on a shelf. "Like an evening glass of wine, do you?" he observed.

"Sometimes."

"Me, too." He went to it. As she began to shift, he half turned. "No. Stay there."

"I feel uncomfortable, naked like this when you're not."

"This is the way I want you. Would it be easier if I tied your arms and legs, fed you the wine from my own lips? Blindfolded you, so all your senses are focused only on your body? What I do to it?"

She pressed her lips together. "I want to see you," she whispered. "I want to touch you."

Moving to her player, he turned on music. A smile curved his lips as Foreigner's "Waiting for a Girl Like You" came on. "I'll tie you another time, then," he responded. "But right now, you'll lie back on your pillows, high enough that your back is arched, your breasts tilted up. I want your legs spread so that I can see how wet your lips are. If I've a mind to feast on them again, they'll be ready for me."

He waited, his gray eyes holding hers in the soft light, the long slope of his jawline made dark and sensuous in the shadows. He hadn't said "pretend" this time. Hadn't given her that out. From the look on his face, she knew he'd meant what he said. No more games.

No more denying what she desired, the dark way she desired it. She found herself sliding up the pillows and leaning back so she was in the position he'd ordered, her breasts in such wanton display she almost blushed. For all her experience in business, her knowledge of what went on in the bedroom, her couplings had been perfunctory, an exercise in mutual needs being satisfied. She'd never had a forceful or demanding lover, let alone a Dominant who could make her want to please him like this, to raise the potential threshold for herself. Seeing the look in Lucas's eyes, just a little dangerous, telling her he might not brook a refusal, brought a delicious thrill. It also made her a little embarrassed to open her legs, but when she did it, the fierce desire leaping in his eyes was reward for her bravery.

"You're dripping for me again. I'll have to come take care of that."

"Please," she whispered.

He set aside the wine, and glory be, he carelessly pulled off the T-shirt. He wore the silver medallion he'd had on that day at the glade, so as he put one knee on the bed and leaned over her, she reached up. He stilled, letting her fingers close around it.

"It has an inscription." She studied the engraving, a cross, the burst of sunlight behind it.

" 'The right hand of God.'"

"Savannah gave each of us a wedding gift, a groomsman gift, if you will."

A smile touched her lips. "I wouldn't have expected her to have a wicked sense of humor."

"Oh, yeah. She's just reserved at first." His voice gentled. "She never really got to love anyone, until Matt. And us."

Cass raised her gaze to his face. "So you all love her."

"Entirely. She's family. And no"—his fingers threaded through her blond hair, bringing it forward across her mouth, a whimsical gesture—"you're not a surrogate for my best friend's wife. I just happen to have a thing for good-looking blondes. But I'm partial to the ones who ride Harleys and have rapier-sharp business sense. Savannah doesn't have a motorcycle."

"But you wear this, under your clothes."

Nodding, he closed his hand over hers on it, where her thumb was stroking the metal, and his flesh beneath it. "She had it blessed. She worries about me, biking in traffic. It makes her feel better, knowing I have it on, though I always tell her she's going to have to fire the priest if I do get run down. She says that'll just prove God knew I was too much of an idiot to waste the effort. I like wearing it. It reminds me of my connection to them.

They're as much my family as my blood relations."

Taking her hand then, he pressed his lips to her knuckles and then eased down on her, still wearing the slacks. However, she wasn't ready to complain, as for the first time the bliss of his bare chest came against hers, the coolness of that metal. Reaching up, she gripped his neck, pressed her lips there, tasted the metal chain and heat of him as she'd wanted to do that first time. Her arms slid behind his back, holding him as she licked and kissed his muscled skin, her hands pressing into the hard lines at his waist, the rise of his buttocks, his slacks bunched under the grip of her fingertips. She was so hungry for him.

The need just surged up in her, as if by lying between her legs, against the core of her, his heart to her heart, he'd cracked something open so wide inside her that only tearing into him would help alleviate it.

The music selection had changed to "How to Save a Life," by The Fray, a song too poignant, too close to the way her heart felt.

As he caught her hands, lifted away from her, and used that hold to keep her to the pillows, she tried to follow him. "Lucas, I need you now. Inside me. Please. I feel like I'm breaking. I want you to do everything you said, but for this second, please ..."

"Okay," he said softly. He rose from the bed, finally removed his slacks and the snug dark cotton shorts beneath them.

She'd seen him with the bike shorts, which had made him all but naked, but now, to see the slim line of hips, the erect cock, rising high and hard, moisture collected at the tip, the lines of his thighs, he was—

"Beautiful," she said softly, and meant it.

His mouth tightened with emotion and he came back to her, taking her hands. "That's you, Cassandra. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Do I need to wear anything?"

"I want to say no, but . . ." She shook her head. "No one's been in my bed in a long time, or been this close. Actually, no one's ever been this close . . . emotionally. I'm sorry."

Picking up his slacks, he took care of it and came back to her, settling between her legs, looking down at her, his lips a sensuous curve. "You don't have to say you're sorry for not being with other men. I don't want anything between us either, but we can come up with something that makes that possible another day." His gaze sparked. "In the meantime, this is a prototype from one of our acquisitions, supposed to be the thinnest yet. The strongest and safest ever. You can do a product evaluation for us." When his broad head nudged her, she let out a shaky breath, aching for him, wanting him, but paralyzed by the weight of her own need.

"Okay," she agreed, but when Lucas saw a glistening tear at the corner of her eye, the gentle humor intended to ease her tension fled. Bending, he pressed his lips to it and laid his weight back upon her body. So many willing curves and fine limbs, the silk of her hair. His cock leaped eagerly, but he knew the advantage of anticipating. Plus, he wanted more than anything to eradicate the tears, even willing to set aside his own lust forever if he could keep just one from marring her perfect cheek. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">