Wicked Games (McCade Brothers 1.50)

“Don’t you worry. We’ll get to that, but, in the meantime…” He leaned over her to keep her in position and sent his fingers on a slow, unerring journey down her thong and into the juncture between her thighs, where she was warm, and soft, and very wet. “Oh yeah, I win the bet.”

She called him another rude name, but stopped struggling. A few more gentle passes over the slick silk had her widening her stance and arching her back to give him better access.

The urge to tear her panties off and bury himself inside her rushed through him. Somehow he resisted. “If I let go of you, will you stay put?”

A muffled, affirmative sound served as her reply. She’d turned her head back to the chair and he couldn’t see her face. He decided it wouldn’t do. “Say, ‘Yes, sir. I’ll stay put.’”

Her head popped up at that, and he caught the flash of hot blue eyes in the mirror. “You arrogant son of a—”

“Now, now. You’ll hurt my feelings.” He stopped stroking between her legs, and then removed his hand completely when she tried to grind against the base of his unmoving thumb.

Her frustrated groan had him choking back a laugh. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” he prompted.

Stubborn Stacy held out another moment, but then finally surrendered. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

“Good girl.” He let go of her wrists and waited to see if she’d keep her word. She lowered her arms and held on to the seat of the chair. “Good girl,” he repeated. “Since tonight is Halloween, good girls get a treat.” Then he knelt behind her, lifted the ski mask up over the lower half of his face, and bestowed hot, openmouthed kisses over every inch of her punished backside. Her throaty moan vibrated along his lips, his spine, his aching balls. He ran his tongue down the line of her thong, deliberately leaving a wet trail. She gasped and bent farther forward, offering him more.

“Greedy,” he teased and retraced his path, enjoying the way she writhed and lifted in an effort to increase the contact. With his tongue between her cheeks, he reached around and swept his hands up her ribs until he cupped her breasts. He massaged the soft undersides, while he kissed his way along the now-wet groove nature had so generously provided. He could happily spend hours right there, in part because she had the world’s best ass, but also because he knew she loved having him tease her like that. Some nights, Stacy was the one to roll onto her stomach, shove a pillow under her hips, and let him amuse himself—kissing, licking, biting his way ever closer to her tasty little clit, and then backing away, again and again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Then he’d spread her legs wide, lift her hips, and keep the pressure on while she pushed herself to the very brink…and beyond. But he wasn’t sure she’d permit the intimacy tonight, under circumstances where, in her mind, she didn’t know him from Adam. Only one way to find out. He pushed his tongue under the strip of her thong, pinched her nipples and took the plunge.

She cried out.

His heart hammered in his chest. His pulse pounded between his legs. Whatever blood was left in his head abandoned ship, making it hard to think, or decide if she’d uttered a cry for more or a plea to stop. “No holds barred,” he reminded her.

“Oh, God, I know, but…”

“Whatever you want, Angel”—he brought his hands to her waist and licked her again—“just ask nicely. Faster? Deeper? Lower?”

“Lower,” she panted and leaned so far over the chair he worried she might topple.

He draped one arm over her hips to secure her, slid his other hand up the back of her thigh, thumb going deep at the top to spread her cheeks a little wider. “Lower, sir,” he corrected, and sank his teeth into the lush curve where thigh turned to buttock.

“Lower, sir,” she managed. He angled his head between her thighs and went lower. The next sound he heard was her soft, helpless whimper when he slid his tongue under her panties and into the sweet, wet heat waiting so impatiently for his attention. He set to work, teasing, tormenting, laving in, and out, and around his favorite playground, but never actually touching her tender, swollen clit.

Her whimpers turned sharper, more urgent. She started arching her back, jerking her hips higher, trying to get him exactly where she needed him. Typical. There he had her, bare-assed and bent over a chair, and still she fought for control. How could he not love her?

He jerked her panties down. “Beg me to make you come.”

This time there was no pride, no hesitation. “Oh, God, yes. Make me come. Please, sir, make me come.”

He dove in and delivered a tongue-lashing she’d never forget. Her orgasm rolled through her like an earthquake, in ever-intensifying stages, and he felt every one of them. Her knees went weak. The thigh muscle under his hand fluttered uncontrollably. Then she bucked, and squirmed, and finally reared up on her arms, threw back her head, and cried out to high heaven, so loud and long he wondered if someone might hear her over the racket of the party and come pounding on the door. He would have loved to keep right on kissing, sucking, and stroking her straight through the first orgasm and headlong into the next, but the crisis in his pants couldn’t be ignored another second.

He stood and toed his shoes off. Then he grabbed the condom from his pocket and shoved his jeans and shorts down. He pulled them off, careful to remove his leg holster and clutch piece in the process, but kept those tucked in his jeans, out of sight. Stacy stayed put for once, leaning limp and breathless across the back of the chair. He lifted her into his arms and dropped down onto the chair so she straddled his lap.

“Was that what you were looking for, Angel?”

…

Stacy rode out the last trembling aftershocks from the mind-numbing orgasm—the kind of full-body meltdown only Ian could deliver. Shaky, sweaty, and tingling like she’d been struck by lightning, she barely registered when he lifted her and put her on his lap. She opened her eyes and immediately tumbled into his. Dammit. He pinned her with an expression she couldn’t fully read, but made her heart want to flip over in her chest and expose its soft underbelly. Which only proved she was, in fact, her own worst nightmare. No faceless stranger could lay claim to the title. She held that honor all on her own.

Was that what you were looking for, Angel? He’d spoken quietly, but she heard the test in his voice, as if daring her to push him even one more inch.

Oh, she dared. Pushing him was about the only thing she did dare do at this point, because she knew full w

ell her resolve would collapse like a house of cards if she came clean about their charade. And God only knew what confessions would come spilling out next. She could think of only one thing more frightening than admitting to him that she’d secretly longed for more than he’d offered. Namely, him offering it.

Staring down a no-win situation had always made her do reckless things. Why should tonight be any different? She twisted her lips into a calculating smile, cocked her brow, and went on the attack.

“That was a nice start. I hope the rest of you is as talented as your tongue, because it’s been way too long since I’ve had a good, hard, anonymous fuck. I’d forgotten how much I liked that kind of thrill. And that, Mystery Man, is exactly what I’m looking for from you tonight, just so we’re clear.”