Friendly Persuasion by Dawn Atkins Page B

almost raw with the effort of trying to touch, to control, to move. She was in his power, completely unable to guide his lips and mouth, tongue and teeth and hands.
    Like it or not, she’d given herself over to him.
    And that, she learned, wasn’t half-bad. The Love Thief’s tongue found her again and again, flicking the spot just so. Now his fingers joined the action, moving into her and out, while his mouth applied pressure above in a sweet agony of sensation. He wasn’t teasing her now, he was moving unerringly to her pleasure point.
    “Oh…” She almost added Ross, but at the last second managed to be conscious enough to say instead, “Oh…good.”
    “Mmm.” He nuzzled her in a way that told her he loved being there. She was never sure about men and this most intimate act. Was it a burden? Did they get bored? Dislike the sensation, the taste? Ross seemed at home.
    Her hips lifted shamelessly up at his mouth. More, more, faster, her body was saying. He obliged, his tongue doing magic things—swirls and swipes and pushes that escalated the sensation to a throbbing clamor for release. She was moving frantically and somehow he managed to stay with her, keeping his mouth in position despite how she writhed and twisted and bounced.
    She was terrified he would stop, pull away, leave her unsatisfied, but as she swelled closer to climax, she could feel that he wanted her to get there, too. His movements were as frantic as hers.
    The feeling intensified, tighter, tighter, tighter, until it became that white-hot sting and ache, and then she shot free, rocketing over the cliff, surfing the rare space of it. She fought the urge to say Ross’s name, ending up with garbled syllables, aware all the time of his hands holding her in place, his mouth stilled, his finger quiet, absorbing her pleasure, her joy.
    Then it was over. Slowly the jerks and quivers subsided. If only she could free her hands so she could thank him physically, touch him, give him release. She twisted her right hand and found the tie had loosened and she could get free.
    She started to reach for Ross, then she remembered this was a fantasy—the Love Thief and his Prisoner of Love—so she decided to stay in character. Surreptitiously, she freed her other hand, but held on to the bars of the headboard, pretending she was still restrained.
    “That was nice,” he said, kissing her stomach and slowly sliding up her body.
    “Very nice,” she said, but the minute his lips reached hers, she heaved herself over onto him, pinned his legs with her knees and his upper body with her chest. She paused to shake off her dangling bra and yank the blindfold from her eyes. Then she pinned his wrists. “Now you’re my prisoner.”
    He grinned and pretended to struggle while she used the neckties to bind him where she had been.
    Ross tested the knots. “Not bad,” he said, adding hopefully, “I suppose you’ll have your way with me now?”
    “Don’t sound so happy about it.” She bent forward and nipped his neck, letting her teeth dig in a little, sucking, wanting to mark him with a love bite.
    “ Please don’t stop.”
    So of course she did. “I’m in charge here,” she said sternly, straddling his hips, rising on her knees.
    He was so handsome lying there naked to the waist, his upstretched arms revealing taut, delineated muscles. Tied down though he was and under her power, he seemed completely in charge, willing her to touch him. She wanted to, but first, she had to tease him—on general principles.
    “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” She attacked his belt and zipper and he lifted his hips so she could pull off his jeans and toss them away.
    Her heart jumped at the sight of the swollen length of him, reaching up, eager for her touch. “Hmm, now what?” she said, putting a finger to her lip in pretend consternation.
    “Touch me, for God’s sake,” he growled.
    “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “Not quite yet.”
    He groaned.