Bound to Surrender (South Jersey Bound Series) Read Free Page B

tensed. “Of course you did. My apologies, Ms. Welch, I hadn’t realized the breadth of your, ah, experience.”
    He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she had the distinct feeling she was being mocked. She shifted onto her knees and leaned toward him. His scent fogged her mind: clean and ready male.
    Instinct asked , do you really want to bait this man ? She inhaled, drawing breath to the bottom of her lungs.
    Yes. Oh God, yes.
    “Interrupting is discourteous, Mr. Walker. As I was saying, I wish for a man...”
    She paused. With her gaze, she raked him toe to head before resting with an air of disappointment on his amber-green eyes.
    “Oh,” she sighed as if deeply disappointed, “never mind. What I wish for doesn’t exist.”
    His pupils dilated. His clear, piercing look cut to the core of her erotic need—to be taken—not just screwed, but taken.
    She froze. Perhaps teasing him did not number among the day’s good ideas.
    “Finish, Ms. Welch,” he said, soft and low. “What kind of man do you wish for? Tell me the fantasies that keep you up at night.”
    He leaned so close his breath tickled the thin skin of her neck. She sucked in. Everything about Bryce emanated lustful intensity.
    Wine made her bold and, now more than ever, she craved his cock. She looked him straight in his eye, though the act sucked every ounce of her courage.
    “I want a man who will fuck me hard, fuck me until I’m screaming in his pillow. I want a man who will devour me, claim me, whose touch will make everything else go dark but him.”
    Bryce’s breath hitched. In an instant, his hot, dry hand grasped her chin.
    “Are you sure about that, Ms. Welch?” he drawled.
    An affirmative answer would unleash something dark and dangerous. Her nipples, already aching, strained against the confining lace of her bra.
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    “Let’s just see, then.”
    Bryce straddled her and forced her back against the couch’s base, crushing her breasts against his muscle. He clamped his legs around her thighs like he had a primal right. On instinct and alarm, she twisted in his clutch, and the tender part of her abdomen rubbed against a stiffness that had to be his cock.
    Good God.
    “How hard do you want to be fucked?” he asked, flipping her arms above her head and clasping both of her wrists in a firm grip. He stretched her arms higher and a shiver of pain trailed down her shoulder.
    She arched her back and parted her lips. “Harder than this,” she gasped, challenging.
    He kept her stretched full until her fingertips tingled. His mouth, however, was as gentle as satin against her skin.
    His lips brushed and teased while his body kept her frozen in a pleasure-pain kiss she hoped would never finish. The ache in her arms pitted against his kiss’ smooth caress. She opened her mouth, deepening their connection.
    Heat filled her cheeks, lust pooled in her belly. She groaned—half mew, half moan, and all pleading. His lips thinned and turned up as he smiled, but his look of pleasure disappeared in an instant.
    He ground down, capturing her next breath in a long, probing attack. She lost feeling in her hands, but they twitched with the urge to entwine themselves in his hair. In response, he yanked her arms further above her head, pulling away to survey her tremble with a lazy, self-satisfied smile.
    He gave her exactly what she wanted, but anger sloshed into the swampy mess of her desire. She wanted to fuck his little grin right off his face.
    “Most men,” she panted, “are too damn afraid.”
    “Is that so?”
    He ran a knuckle down her arm’s sensitive inner skin and continued down the side of her breast, stopping just below her aching nipple. Rub it...please, please, please . Shit, she wished she was naked. She shivered.
    “From my perspective,” he drawled, “I’m not the one looking afraid.” He swirled the tip of his tongue around her earlobe. “I don’t give a fuck about most men. So tell me, specifically,