Cherish Hard
Page 42

“Let go of my hands, you demon, and I’ll bite you instead.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but they made Sailor grin and press his chest more heavily against the tips of her breasts.
It was sweet pleasure and even sweeter pain.
He slid his palm onto the small of her back at the same time and, before she knew it, tucked his hand under her panties to cup her rear.
“You can bite me later, spitfire,” he said while she drowned under the taut edge of an opulent pleasure that gave and gave. “Tonight’s my playtime. Your punishment for having run off on me.” A dark look. “Not once. Not twice. Three times.”
“I’ll torment you as badly,” Ísa warned, though deep within, she was astonished and wonderfully delighted at the realization that he’d never given up. She was important enough to him that he’d kept on trying to catch her.
“I’ll have no mercy,” she added in a rough whisper.
“You’ll have to get man-sized handcuffs to keep me in place.” A hot, wet kiss, his hand squeezing and massaging her pliable flesh. “No way I’m keeping my hands off this luscious body otherwise.”
Ísa had read more than her share of romantic novels, including stories so racy they’d made her go hot red and fan herself, but she’d never been drawn to bondage fantasies until her blue-eyed demon had started talking about handcuffs. Now the idea of having Sailor at her mercy, of having all the time in the world to learn his body, to lick those ridiculous soda-commercial-worthy abs, to stroke her hands over the heat and silk of him, to sensually torment… Yes, Ísa was on board.
“I’ll make sure they’re good, strong handcuffs,” she said. “And I won’t forget the rope to tie down your ankles.”
He dipped his hand lower, the blunt tips of his fingers rubbing outrageously against a part of her body so sensitive that she arched against the wall. “That’s my redhead,” he said, the pride in his voice intermingled with a sexuality that was rough and ready and very real. His erection pressed demandingly against her stomach, his touch delighting her body, his mouth initiating a kiss so deep it felt like a prelude to sex.
Her bones turned fluid, the place between her thighs so sticky that, for a heartbeat, she wondered what she’d wear under her clothes tomorrow. Because her panties were going to be wrecked. Then Sailor moved his hand out from her panties and cupped her breast again, this time bare palm to bare flesh.
She jerked, might’ve let out a little scream except that he had his mouth on hers and his tongue was laving hers as his hand molded her breast with blatantly possessive pleasure before his thumb returned to its torture of her nipple.
Ísa pressed up against him in a silent demand. Smiling into the kiss, he kept on provoking and torturing her with wicked attention to detail. First one breast, then the other, then back down to stroke the inner skin of her thighs without ever coming close to the spot where she most wanted his touch.
Tearing away her mouth from his, she said, “Touch me again.”
His eyes glinted, a red flush high on his cheeks. “Where?” he asked, his own breathing not exactly steady.
It did something to her to see her effect on him. Her effect on this big, beautiful man, a man many a woman would want to bed. But he wanted only Ísa. And the devil in her wanted to give him what he wanted in return—that dirty talk he’d asked for and that got him so hot.
Feeling young and wild and playful, she said, “Sailor, darling, will you touch me on my pussy?”
He was the one who shuddered this time. “Since you asked so sweetly, spitfire,” he said with another little kiss, “I’ll have to oblige.”
As Ísa tried desperately to hold herself together, he nudged aside the gusset of her panties and then his finger—so damn thick—was sliding over and into her as the work-roughened pad of his thumb pressed against her clit.
Ísa had no hope or desire to resist. She came apart on a single stroke.
But instead of stopping when he felt her body clench convulsively around him, Sailor kept on stroking in and out of her with lazy focus. He circled her poor, over-sensitized clit until her breathing calmed, then began rubbing and playing again even as he slid another finger into her and pumped in and out.
Harder. Faster. Deeper.
Ísa had heard of women who came more than once during a sexual encounter, but she’d never really believed it could happen. She discovered the truth on a crash of pleasure, Sailor pushing her over a second time until she was limp and satisfied and his.
Kissing his way to her ear, he whispered, “One more time, spitfire.”
Ísa had nothing more to give him, but she couldn’t find the words, and when he began to kiss her and touch her and stroke her, and her body began to clench, she decided that Sailor Bishop wasn’t a demon. He was a sorcerer, and he knew exactly what magic to do to take a woman on a breath-stealing ride she’d never forget.
24
Dawn Light in the Shadows
SAILOR DECIDED HE’D DONE AN A+ job of torturing himself.
Removing his hand from Ísa’s panties when she went boneless against him after her third orgasm—yes, he was proud of himself—he scooped her up into his arms and took her to the bed. While placing her on top of the sheets, he “accidentally” managed to strip off her T-shirt.
Oops.
Discarding the T-shirt, he stood beside the bed with his hands on his hips and just looked down at her sated body.
She was flushed a soft pink all over, all curves and temptation.
Her eyes, heavy lidded, ran up his body—and snagged to a hard stop on his rampant erection. Sailor wasn’t expecting anything, but he was hopeful—he was a man after all, and Ísa fired him up in a way he’d never before experienced.
His redhead hadn’t realized it yet, but if she crooked a finger, he’d obey the summons without hesitation.
She sat up on the bed and looked up at him with sleepy-eyed interest, and her head was at exactly the right height to do bad things to him. That, however, was probably not in the cards tonight.
“Oh, fuck!”
Ísa had raised her hand, run a finger down the outline of his cock.
Gritting his teeth, he blew out a breath and stepped out of reach. “I think,” he said on a wave of frustration, “I might have a noise problem too.” He couldn’t believe he was turning down her offer; he’d obviously lost his mind—his brain cells were all in his cock at this point. “Can I take an IOU?”
Ísa’s smile was an invitation. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” she said, coming up onto her hands and knees and prowling to the very edge of the bed. “How will you sleep?”
Holding himself back took every ounce of his control. “I’ll only have a noise problem with you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can take care of the problem myself without alerting everyone in the house.”
But when he would’ve moved into the bathroom, Ísa said, “Stay” in a husky voice that made his already ragged control close to useless.
When he looked at her, he saw that her eyes were heavy lidded, her gaze locked on his cock.
“Show me,” she said. “Show me how to touch you.”
Sailor was about to lose it, but he’d be an idiot of monumental proportions if he didn’t take this opportunity. The idea of Ísa watching him…