Whipped Read Free Page B

longed to touch him. To drag her palms over those bulging pecs, to explore the flex of his biceps. To taste his chin.
    He made her wait. Sitting there, bare-assed, stewing in her juices. Punishing her, perhaps, for her earlier insouciance. It was a long, long while before he said, “Now, your shirt. Take it off slowly.” It was small compensation, that tremor in his voice.
    Her fingers shook as she took hold of the hem and eased the material up, pausing, now and again, to assess his attention. Oh, it was fixed. On her. His eyes burned as she revealed her breasts, cupped as they were in black lace. She couldn’t resist thrusting them forward as she draped the shirt on the sofa back behind her.
    She licked her lips and folded her hands in her lap. And waited.
    It was nerve wracking, being bare before him but for a flimsy bra and a skimpy skirt, having him sit there and stare at her. As though he knew the effect he was having on her, his lips, those luscious lips, kicked up into a smile. He took another sip of his drink.
    “Pull up your skirt.”
    “What?”
    He frowned at her question. “Pull up your skirt. Bunch it up around your waist. I want to see all of you.”
    She swallowed an eep and did as he asked.
    “Legs farther apart. I want you exposed.”
    Holy God. Her body, of its own accord, clenched, but she complied. She couldn’t not.
    “Now, sit still.” He stood and ambled toward her, his drink in one hand. Like a lion approaching an antelope. Tina had the sense he wanted to pounce, wanted to gobble her up, but was keeping himself tightly reined.
    She ached. Ached for his touch.
    He stepped behind her and stroked her hair, just a skim. Then his fingers danced over her bare shoulders, leaving a burning tingle in their wake. His heat, his scent surrounded her as he bent. His mouth scraped her earlobe. The hiss of a hot breath. A nibble.
    Sensation rained through her. Her nipples pebbled. Her clit thrummed. Her body was on fire. She gasped when he cupped her breasts, nearly arched into it, but remembered his command, and didn’t.
    But when he thumbed a nipple, she could no longer hold still. Her whole body went on alert as exquisite pleasure shot through her, and she edged into his caress.
    “Mmm,” he murmured. “Your nipple is hard.”
    It was. Hard and swollen and sensitive.
    He brought his fingers together in a gentle pinch. She winced.
    “Ah. Yes.” With a hand to her forehead, he tipped her head back against the sofa, until she was splayed out before him. He meticulously arranged her hair in a fall over the back, running his fingers through it as though he was making love to her curls. Then he set his palm on her chest and stroked her slowly, teasingly gliding over her skin, leaving prickles of awareness around her breasts—but avoiding them—over her arms, her neck, her cheek.
    He was teasing her, she knew it.
    But it cost him.
    Her gaze flicked to his face. His muscles were tight, his nostrils flared, his features stark as he focused on his work.
    It seemed as though he explored her for hours, forever, just stroking her skin, awakening her, arousing her passion. She wanted to scream. She wanted to beg. She wanted to arch and undulate and demand more. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be the one to break.
    Finally— finally —as though he couldn’t resist, he cupped her breasts again and squeezed.
    “God,” he mumbled under his breath and then, as though he’d caught himself giving in, he added, in a much more commanding tone, “Over to the bed.”

Chapter Three
     
    Tina leaped to her feet and sprinted for the bed. Not that she was anxious for more—but she was. She didn’t leap onto it, though she wanted to, because he hadn’t told her to. Instead, she stopped just short of it and held herself stock-still. She peeped up at him.
    “Take off your bra.”
    Quickly she wriggled out of it, dropping it to the floor.
    The sight of her breasts poleaxed him. Or at least he seemed stunned. He