Wicked Ties

He took his erection in his hand, swiped a thumb over the weeping head, then pushed the wet digit into her waiting mouth.



“You want more of that?”



Her breath came hard and she swiped the moisture from the pad of his thumb. Her eyes stood wide in her rosy-cheeked face. “Yes, sir.”



“Tell me what you want.”



“I want to suck you, sir.”



“What part of me?” he barked, still torturing them both with long strokes of his hand up and down his length.



Her hungry little gaze was about to eat him alive.



“Your…cock, sir. Let me suck it.”



“You haven’t followed my instructions particularly well so far.”



“I will, sir.”



“I’ll hold you to that, Morgan.” He anchored his hand at her nape again. “Now suck me.”



L'aide de ciel me, he thought as he gave into the urge to thrust into Morgan’s mouth again with a loud moan that should have shaken the cottage’s rafters. Heaven help me.



Again, he couldn’t resist the urge to fuck her mouth. His deep, insistent rhythm filled her, demanding she take and take. He watched her, lips swollen, cheeks rosy, eyes half-closed as if savoring him. Her nipples were harder than ever. The sight of her burned into his brain, shredded his control.



He stiffened again, the pressure in his balls nearly painful as he held in his breath and held back his climax. Delaying the earth-shattering inevitable.



Morgan’s eyes opened, gaze lifting to him, asking and seducing at once. She wanted reassurance, sweetly begged him to let go, tempted him with the promise of ecstasy like he’d never known.



With that look, his control broke. The peak of rapture raced from the base of his spine, burned through his balls, up his cock, until he exploded. Pleasure ripped her name from his lips in a hoarse cry. It became a chant as he repeated it over and over while the sharp edge of bliss seemed to last forever, pounding his body with one relentless pulse of ecstasy after another.



Faintly, through the haze of his roaring heartbeat, he heard Morgan gurgling.



“Swallow,” he rasped, rubbing one of his hands along her neck. “Swallow, cher.”



Sweetly submissive now—for the moment—she did. But Jack didn’t kid himself. That smile breaking out across Morgan’s face told him her rush of excitement at breaking him down, stripping him of his iron defenses.



He pulled away from the sweet depths of her mouth and shucked his pants completely. Satiation lazed through him, and control reasserted itself. Now, he could mow down her barricades and return the favor. Now, he could capture her surrender, strip her soul, and make sure that having sex with Brandon Ross would never be on her wish list again.



Still panting, tired yet flying, Morgan stared at Jack as she rose to her feet. He tossed his pants aside and turned back to her with burning eyes. The short military cut of his hair only accentuated his angular face, his strong jaw dusted with a dark five o’clock shadow, his cleft chin. The gorgeous sights didn’t stop there.



She let her gaze wander down the powerful bulk of his shoulders, the solid bulges of his pectorals, the tight abs that showed the delineation of every muscle…and made a treasure trail down to his groin.



Even soft, his penis was big. When hard…he’d put most men to shame.



And she had conquered him. Big, bad Jack had totally succumbed to her. Was that sense of being mighty and compelling the reason he liked to dominate?



Morgan licked her lips, high on power. Despite a personal first, she wasn’t pausing to examine. Wouldn’t ask if it was right or wrong—plenty of time for that later. Now…



She sent him a kittenish smile. She’d survived his challenge to submit with nary a scratch. It hadn’t felt like being a mindless blow-up doll and taking orders; it had been more like following his clues until she learned exactly how to seize control and unravel him.



“You look happy with yourself.”



Morgan tried to wipe away the smile, but she just couldn’t suppress it. She didn’t want to gloat; that would only spur him on. Instead, she just shrugged.



“You’re thinking this is a game, Morgan. That you won, and I lost, and we can call it a night. You think we’re done and can forget the fear that you might enjoy submitting to me.”



His soft laugh gave her the first clue that she’d misjudged the situation. Her smile faltered.



“Cher, we’re just starting. I promise, you’ll give me complete control before we’re done.”



His whisper struck down to her gut, reawakening uncertainty. They weren’t done? Every other guy she’d been with…well, as Andrew put it, after he came once, he needed eight hours of sleep and a bowl of Wheaties before he was ready to go again. He’d called himself a sprinter. Did that mean Jack was like a marathon runner?



The thought struck an uncomfortable chord of lust in her belly.



“Kneel on the bed.” His voice startled from her ruminations.



“Wh—why?”



Any hint of postorgasm softness or relaxation in his expression vanished. “Because I said. I dominate, you submit. If you ask me one more question or hesitate again, I will paddle your ass.”



Tick-tock, tick-tock. Suddenly, Morgan could hear each impatient second between them lapse by. She glanced between the rumpled bed and Jack, whose even breaths and steady gaze told her he was completely serious.



She didn’t want this; she didn’t. But the ache between her legs had become a throb. The salty taste of him still lingered on her tongue, taunting her. Remembered pleasure from their fevered encounter against the door earlier bombarded her brain. She wanted that feeling again, of being taken, of experiencing an orgasm almost bigger than her body.



Worse, there was something about Jack himself. His commanding presence, alternating with his teasing smiles. He reassured her in the oddest way. She felt protected, which made sense. He’d helped her escape a shooter. The fact that he often seemed able to read her mind, as if he understood her, didn’t fit. He was trying to cast her as a submissive. And she wasn’t.



Jack’s hands curled into fists, then relaxed. “Morgan…”



He took a menacing step toward her, shadows of a reprimand burning in his eyes.



In the end, her desire ripped the choice from her. She would submit. Just for tonight. Just as an experiment. Once couldn’t hurt, right?



She scrambled onto the bed and knelt, facing him.



“Turn around. Face the headboard.”



In other words, turn her back to him. Knowing she only had seconds to decide, Morgan scrambled through her thoughts. What would he do? He wouldn’t hurt her. Jack had protected her when her sicko had started shooting. He’d managed to sneak her out of Lafayette in one piece, but—



“My patience is wearing thin,” he barked. “Turn around.”



The demanding growl startled her. He meant it. Now.



With a last lingering glance at him, one she knew held all her uncertainty and anxiety, Morgan complied.



“Sit back on your heels.” His voice drifted closer, punctuated by the military precision of his footsteps on the hardwood floor.



The stern note in Jack’s voice was something Morgan couldn’t overlook. She didn’t dare ignore him or hesitate.



Once she’d sat back on her heels, Jack trailed a gentle fingertip over the slope of one shoulder, as if petting her in reward. She gasped. The feathery touch startled—and enflamed. A line of fire blazed behind that simple caress.



Then he flattened his palm between her shoulder blades. “Lean down until you’re lying with your breasts over your knees. Arms above your head, palms flat on the bed.”



Morgan processed his request, racing to picture it. Child’s pose, if she’d been doing yoga. It was one she assumed nearly every time she attended a class. But doing it now meant leaving her ass and the line of her spine completely vulnerable to Jack.



His fingers between her shoulder blades began asserting pressure, gently but inexorably pushing her forward.



Finally, she went with it. She could always get out of it if Jack pushed her too far. She had a safe word.



With her cheek resting on the soft sheet, her arms stretched over her head, while her legs remained tucked beneath her, Jack removed his hand from her back. She watched as he walked in measured footsteps to the head of the bed.



Her abdomen cramped with the unknown and her total fear of it. What was he doing? Planning?



“Sir…?”



“Morgan, we’ve covered this. You don’t speak unless you’re given permission.”



“I just want to know what you’re going to do.”



The air in the room seemed to stop. She sensed his stillness, the whiplash of displeasure that burst through him. Knowing she’d disappointed him incited a tart, unwelcome sensation. Morgan’s abdomen churned again. Talking without permission was a no-no, as was asking questions. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew without a doubt that she’d gone beyond a faux pas.



Suddenly, he spurred into action, grabbing her left wrist with one hand. Within moments, a velvet rope wrapped around her. A pull, another tug, and a yank later, he stepped away. Discreetly, Morgan tried to pull at her wrist.



It was securely bound.



Before she could do more than begin to reel with the implications of that, Jack made his way to the other side of the bed, captured her right wrist, and repeated the process.



Both of her arms were immobilized, tightly but not uncomfortably tethered to the posts of the headboard. She gave a gentle tug, then a not-so-gentle one. Nothing. The bonds didn’t give so much as an inch. He must have been one hell of a Boy Scout, since those knots were perfect.



Panic rushed her like a wave from a tsunami. Oh, no. She was in over her head. Way over. Jack was…more. More man, more disciplined resolve, more iron control than she was ready for.



She struggled, pulling at her bonds with a frightened whimper. God, what had she been thinking? It was one thing to fantasize about giving a man utter control of her body. It was another completely to actually do it, even if she did trust him with her physical safety. How well did she actually know him?



But her bonds weren’t budging.



When she cried out again, Jack gentled her with a soft touch, curling his palm around the back of her head.



“Morgan, take a deep breath.” He waited until she did, then whispered in a quiet, hypnotic voice. “You’re safe. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”



The calm in his voice reached deep inside her. His tone asked her to be reasonable, not to panic. For a reason her logical mind could not fathom, that soothed her. She heeded his voice and stilled.



In reward, he smoothed his palm down the exposed length of her back. “Submission is about trust, Morgan. You trusting me not only to keep you safe, but to give you everything you want, every pleasure you imagine. I can grant you those things, but not without your help. The pleasure comes, in part, from giving up total control.”



Suddenly, the caress at the small of her back was gone. Moments later, he replaced it with a sharp thwack on her ass.



Startled by his action, Morgan bucked against her bonds. “Ouch! Stop it.”



No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a peculiar stinging began to prickle her skin. It created a fire that lingered where he’d spanked her.



“You’re not in control, Morgan. Your body is mine to pleasure or punish as I see fit. Right now, you’ve more than earned a punishment.”



She’d barely recovered from her surprise when he spanked her again, this time hitting the other cheek with an equal amount of force. Morgan bit her lip as the initial sting assailed her. Then, as before, the nip of pain gave way to the unexpected heat that spread across her ass.



“There are surprises. That’s intended. I will do things you don’t always understand or think you want. Or agree with. What’s important is that you trust that I know your body and your limits, and that you comply. Because you have trust in me, in my ability to get past your mental barriers to give you the pleasure your body craves.”



He smacked her again, a healthy slap for each cheek.



Morgan gasped. “Go to hell.”



The rumble of Jack’s laughter sounded behind her. “You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, cher.”



He smoothed a calloused palm over the tingling flesh of her ass. The heat of his skin seeped in, mixing with the burn on her bottom, to create a fire that nearly had her moaning. How could she like it? Why should she? It made no sense.



“You can’t experience what you want until you learn to give yourself over to me. Completely,” he whispered in her ear.



Mentally, she railed against his words, even as she realized her vagina was completely wet.



No, no, no! He was spanking her like a wayward child. She didn’t like it. Really.



But the pain… it was becoming pleasure, thick and throbbing and impossible to ignore.



Morgan shifted, trying to avoid his hand. No such luck. Two more smacks, one for each cheek, both with more vigor than the others. She managed a snarl of outrage, but that didn’t stop the spread of fire from bursting across her skin.