All Tied Up

Chapter Eighteen

CONSTANTINE WAS DESPERATE to resist claiming Nicole. But he kissed her, capturing her mouth with his, branding her lips with fiery need. Instantly, she submitted to him, and he silently reveled in the victory of her response.

But her submission was short-lived. Nicole tore her mouth from his, her hands pressing on his bare chest, her touch teasing him with the possibility of all the places they might travel. “No,” she whispered, her words desperate, laden with desire. “I want you, but not like this. Not when you’re angry for no reason.”

He rested on his elbows, one on either side of her, and stared into her eyes. “You scared the hell out of me.” His voice was husky, with a gravelly tone he barely recognized as his own.

Confusion flashed across her features. “I thought your job didn’t allow for emotional responses. That sounds emotional to me. You told that patrolman—”

He’d come that far, he might as well go all the way. “You’re not simply a part of my job, Nicole. Not anymore.” His fingers brushed her cheek, tenderness welling inside him…tenderness driving him insane with unfamiliar feelings. He didn’t want to care about her, but there seemed no way to hide, nowhere to run.

Sliding her small wrists above her head, he easily enclosed them in one of his larger hands. Her chest rose and fell, drawing his eyes to her deliciously peaked nipples, his cock throbbing, demanding satisfaction. He searched her face for a reaction.

Heat and defiance glinted in her eyes. “Holding on to someone like this, who is claustrophobic, is a good way to see the claws come out,” she warned.

He considered her words, his free hand sliding over her arms, her neck, her breasts. She sucked in a breath as he lightly tweaked her nipple through the thin material of her T-shirt. “I know you explored the kinky side of sex with your ex. You mean to tell me you were never tied up?”

“Never.”

“You didn’t trust him.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Handing over complete control requires trust.” He molded her breast more fully to his palm, bringing his lips to hers.

“I trust you,” she murmured against his mouth, opening to allow his tongue to delve in for a quick sensual stroke.

“You trust me to some degree, but not fully.” He released her arms to make a point.

A flare of fire in her eyes turned to confusion and then disappeared behind a mask of seductive play. “And if I wanted to tie you up? Would you let me?”

“Trust is a two-way street, sweetheart. If you don’t give it freely, you don’t get it freely.” His hand slid up her shirt. “Take this off.”

“I trust you,” she argued, pulling her shirt over her head.

He worked her pants down her hips and tossed them aside. He spread her legs, running his palms up her toned calves, over her knees, and then settled his hands on her thighs. He inched her legs farther apart, and she willingly opened to him.

Yes. There was some trust—trust within limits. She no longer demanded complete control, no longer needed the edge of power to enjoy his pleasuring her.

He slid his finger along the center of her core, and she whimpered softly. “You’re wet for me.”

“Yes,” came the barely there reply, her voice growing stronger as she added, “And I shouldn’t be. Not after you acted like a caveman dragging me into the room like you did.”

Ah, and there it was, a hint of vulnerability he’d seen in her during their lovemaking. The fear that she was giving him too much, not holding back enough. He settled his erection in the sweet heat of her core, determined to kiss away whatever emotion drove her to throw up a shield.

His hands slid to her face; the feel of her soft curves pressed into his body was heaven in the middle of all the hell. “It’s okay to want me, you know.”

Her bottom lip trembled. She started to speak. Stopped. Started again. “You were right.” The confession came in a shaky voice, a rarity for her, he was certain. She continued, “You do scare me. You scare the hell out of me. You make me question all the things I thought I knew and understood. You make me want things I shouldn’t want.”

“And you,” he proclaimed, offering his own confession, “make me question everything I thought I wanted.”

Silence—intense, full of sexual energy and emotion—fell between them then, their eyes locked in a soul-deep stare. On some gut level, he knew meeting Nicole was life-changing. She had touched him on a level he’d never fully recover from.

They moved then, together—at the same moment. They were kissing, crazy hot kissing, lost in the passion, consumed by the complete utter need for one another. Nothing mattered but here and now. He had tried to sate his desire to touch her soft skin, inhale that soft feminine scent, but nothing worked. He simply couldn’t get enough of her, and he wondered if he ever would. Doubted that he ever could. She moved with equal, frenzied need, pressing close, arching into him. She felt what he did. Felt the burn he couldn’t escape.