Sinful by Carolyn Faulkner

part of her wanted him to, and even her intellect was on the fence about it. She knew she was in no danger from him at all, that if she but peeped a real protest, he would stop.
    But she couldn’t bring herself to do that, no matter how much her mind told her that she should want to. She didn’t. She liked him handling her this way, forcing his will on her, and that was a new, twisted bit of information she knew she’d be working on accepting about herself for a long while to come.
    He plunged rudely inside her with no preamble, no usual fondling or caresses, and, in the further recesses of her mind, something he’d said to her early on in their relationship came back to her. He had said that, even if she submitted to him, she was the one with all the power. This must’ve been what he meant – that he was an honorable man, and he wouldn’t do anything she really didn’t want him to do. If she truly hadn’t wanted him to take her like this, she could have stopped it at any time.
    But oh, dear God help her, she didn’t want it to stop. No, not at all. She was very disturbed about it, but at herself and not him. She didn’t think that she’d really confronted the fact that her intellect wasn’t always in control of her body. She’d known it in the back of her mind, but this situation had forced her to blatantly confront it. And she could have done without that self-realization.
    Brandt was a bit worried. Lita seemed as if she were a thousand miles away, and he’d wondered, at least at first, if he’d miscalculated badly. But as soon as the part of him that was most male found her feminine glove and he saw her eyes close slowly, as if someone was injecting her with a particularly potent drug, he knew he was all right.
    She was still trying to escape, but only because she wanted to put her arms around him, and he wouldn’t allow it. He held her – truly captive – for the whole thing, for each pounding thrust, each time he reached below her and squeezed a cheek, startling her into arching up to meet him by pinching her behind, then leaning down to capture an errant, bobbing nipple and suckle fiercely at it as he continued to slam into her, watching her head begin to roll back and forth between the frame of her arms as he drove them both towards the inevitable end.
    He wanted her to climax with him, as a result of this encounter in particular. He wanted to bring her to completion – whether she wanted him to or not.
    Luckily, as always, her body was his staunchest ally, and where he led, it followed. Seconds before he succumbed to those agonizingly pleasurable contractions, he felt her surrender to her own violent spasms, bucking up against him, pressing him further into her with each movement. It was what had put him over the edge.
    He didn’t let her go immediately, either. He kept her hands pressed into the mattress above her head as he came back down to Earth, then rolled slightly off her, although not much. He continued to kiss her as their breathing slowed, then deliberately brought his hand between the legs his still held somewhat apart. Her eyes flew open, and he whispered, “Spread your legs for me, Miss Lita.”
    She tested how well he held her bonds, and whether or not she could move out from under him, and realized she was still trapped, still at his mercy for whatever else it was that he had planned.
    What he intended was to bring her off again at least once, if not more. He’d just begun to do that, showing her how her body worked, giving her two or three orgasms at a clip. Eventually he wanted to see just how many she could have, but he wasn’t at all sure what he would decide about quantity over quality. He knew that, after a while, it simply became a muscular contraction in response to stimuli, with little or no pleasure in conjunction with the act, and that was something he wanted to avoid.
    But right now, she was lying there looking as if he’d told her he was going to take her in the