By Karen Sullivan
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Kay Maclachan cannot speak the words that she holds fast in her heart. Jim will not propose until she does, but he has a plan. He will treat his love to a night of BDSM and domination, teasing all of her senses, and driving her into a white-hot, sexual desire that begs for fulfillment. He will force her to say the words he needs to hear, and enjoy torturing them from her.
I knew I had come too close. I wanted to feel him penetrate me and knew that I would have given myself in complete abandon, to feel both of us twisting and writhing together, our limbs entangled, wanting to be closer than our bodies would allow. I wanted us to be more than just an extension of each other. I wanted to climax with the length of him pulsing hard as his seed spilled into me, forcing me to climax repeatedly, with my hot wetness clinging tightly to him, together in every conceivable way, as we became part of each other.
After several minutes in this too-public pavilion, he breathed against me, whispering between kisses, “You can’t know what you do to me, my little bit.”
I visibly shook with desire I could barely contain. Jim grazed me with his teeth, ensuring I could feel everything I had made him feel. He pressed his granite need against my buttocks and continued, “But, by tomorrow, you will know.”
Jim continued his sensuous assault and a sweet, tormenting ache began between my thighs.
I smiled then, since he did not have clear view of my face as he stood behind me, and thought, “Oh, but I do know, and I hope you never find out what you do to me.”
He was still moving his hand expertly, teasingly pinching my nipples beneath my gown, rolling each one between his fingers, then cupping and kneading my breasts with both hands, while our backs were to the building and his tall, muscular size afforded us a small degree of privacy.
Still, we both knew someone could catch us at any moment. It would be obvious we were no longer admiring the scenery, with my chest heaving, eyes closed, our skin flushed and glistening, and our breathing shallow and labored. My entire body shook in deep arousal. His tailored trousers strained against his erection threatening the seams, with his lips slightly swollen and telltale bruises adorning my neck and shoulders.
Almost painfully, he lifted his head. Taking my face in his strong hands, he turned me to face him, each of us knowing in a glance what the other was thinking. Our eyes met and instantly conveyed our mutual need for immediate privacy. Then he lightly pressed a kiss to my lips with one hand resting on the small of my back.
Worse was that I knew I would let him, and for the time we made love, all else would fall away. There would be only him. Everything he did would make me feel utterly and completely loved, and my every response would inflame his passions even more. Making love with Jim was always surprising, new, and different. I was his wholly, body, mind, and soul.
We paused and I fought to focus on the lake below the pavilion as Jim attempted to retrieve cigarettes from the pocket of his suit jacket. I admired the way it strained over his strong, well-muscled shoulders.
Again, I forced myself to visualize various ducks and wild creatures coming to drink from the lake. I made a silent, mental effort to name the types of fish one might find in a lake like this one. While Jim searched for cigarettes, I leaned, arching my back slightly, as my stiletto heels were beginning to make my backache.
Holding onto the railing with both hands, I watched him searching his pockets before he finally found cigarettes. As he was lighting one, I wondered if I had gone too far, if I should have stopped this interlude before it began. I could not read those eyes sometimes.
After a long, deep drag, he slowly looked me up and down and said, “You do strike a most delicious pose,” then he gave me a wry smile.
I winced, never having thought of how I must look, back arched, hair swept up, face turned up to his, eyes smoldering with desire, chest arched out, revealing more cleavage than intended by the dress or me. Immediately, I gasped and stood up straight.
I began letting my thoughts stray once more, getting lost in admiring his physique. I still could not get enough of just looking at him. At times, I railed against my intimate, voyeuristic thoughts of him, the way he moved so self-assuredly, the way his muscled back rippled, and the way his taut, firm buttocks clenched, driving me crazy.
Throwing caution to the wind and giving in to temptation, I decided to risk spending more time here on this grand marble and brass pavilion, hidden partly behind a large pillar but without a private moment to call our own. I flashed a devious smile to his smoldering eyes, riveted to the fascination and beauty there, knowing that someday he may be the death of me.
Still, I ran my hands seductively over his chest. At first, he began, “Don’t,” but he was smiling, and I knew he was not angry for having let me get this far.
It was a promising tease, which he allowed for a moment, knowing I was actually torturing both of us.
He closed his eyes as I opened several buttons on his shirt to press my hand to his bare chest, gently teasing the hair on his hardened form, lightly running my fingertips over his skin as far as that blasted shirt would allow. Uttering an oath under my breath, I considered tearing the tailored shirt from him and pushing him against the pillar to touch, lick, taste, kiss, and nip every inch of his flesh.