Bound to Submit (Miami Masters 4)

Swinging his head around, he nailed her with an intense stare. “You don’t want to think about it?”

She cocked her head and a small smile curled her lips and lit her eyes. “Don’t you think we’ve both thought about it long enough?”

Well, shit, she had him there. It was where else, how else, she had him that might be the problem. Unlike his friends, he didn’t do long-term—hell, he’d never even done monogamous. It was his turn to frown when the image of her with a nameless, faceless man drew a quick surge of annoyance.

“Yes, so while we’re seeing this through, there will be no one else, for either of us.” He paused a moment to let his next words seep in. “Unless, of course, I invite someone to help with a scene. The gym closes at eight tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up right after.”

Miles didn’t wait for her answer. Striding out of the lot and down the alley to the street, he prayed he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Then he recalled how easily he had slipped up behind Hope and taken her by surprise. Even if for no other reason, he’d at least ensure she knew enough quick moves to free herself from a sticky situation before they went their separate ways.

Hope checked the time again then ran her clammy hands down her jean-clad thighs. Almost 8:30, and Miles should be arriving any moment. She’d spent the day arguing with herself over what a bad idea this was, going over what was at stake if she let herself be ruled by her libido again. Finally, it had been the call from Miles two hours ago that sealed her fate. His simple inquiry, stated in his usual, gruff, no-nonsense manner, ‘Are we still on?’, in that deep voice that never failed to send delightful shivers up and down her spine, put an end to thoughts of backing out. She wanted to keep her new friends, stay a part of their close-knit group more than she could recall wanting anything else, and Miles was part of that group. If she didn’t go through with a temporary liaison with him and rid herself of the urges he inspired, every time she saw him she would continue to be distracted by hot flashes of need aching to be assuaged.

A sharp rap landed on her door, and Hope released her breath in a relieved whoosh, hoping she could count on Miles’ need for control to ease her into whatever he had planned. Opening the door, her first reaction to seeing him dressed in black leathers, another body-molding black tee-shirt and carrying two motorcycle helmets nearly sent her to her knees in a quivering mass of hormonal overload. Damn but the man packs a wallop!

“Hi.”

His lips quirked, and Hope knew he’d caught the breathless catch in her voice. “Good, you’re wearing jeans.” Miles brushed past her and closed the door, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he gestured toward the sofa. “Let’s go over there and you can remove them for a minute.”

“Huh?” Taken aback by the order, and the swiftness with which he was starting things, that was all she could think of to say.

Gripping her elbow, he steered her over to the sofa then asked in the same smooth tone, “Do you need help?”

His look challenged her as much as his sardonic tone. It also set off a firestorm of heat that dampened her thin panties, something he was sure to notice right away. “No, I just wasn’t expecting…”

“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” With a wave of his hand, he indicated she should obey his order as he pulled a small package out of his back pocket.

Hope shimmied out of her jeans, her mouth going dry when she recognized the small butterfly vibrator, a toy her friends had intimate knowledge of and enjoyed gushing on about its effectiveness. Standing in front of Miles wearing just panties and a hip-skimming summer top, she couldn’t stop a noticeable shudder when he ripped open the package. “I-I thought we were going out.”

“We are, for a ride. You ever been on a motorcycle?” he asked in a bland, conversational tone as he knelt and stripped her panties down her legs before she knew what he was about.

Was it the cool air wafting over her exposed flesh or his warm breath stirring her blonde pubic curls that caused her nipples to pucker and her buttocks to clench? Mortification battled with arousal and left her stupefied in silence until Miles growled without looking up, “Answer me, Hope.”

“Oh, um, no, I haven’t, but I’ve always wanted to.” Her parents would have pitched a fit if she’d been caught riding around like a ‘hooligan’, as she knew they’d phrase it. Of course, that was before she’d been caught visiting a BDSM club. They would disown her completely if they saw her now.

Miles nodded. “Step in.” He held out the looped straps attached to the small rubber pleasure device and pulled them up her legs, his knuckles brushing against her skin in a slow caress. “Have you ever used a butterfly?” He added to her embarrassment, and arousal, by spreading her labia and nestling the toy right up against her clit, his quick, efficient movements almost impersonal. Her liquid response was anything but, and she didn’t know which bothered her more.

“No, but I’ve heard about them.” And she knew she was either in for a long evening of sexual torment or going to experience an off-the-charts climax. She honestly didn’t know which she preferred.

“So, two firsts for you tonight.” He made sure the straps were snug around her hips before pulling her panties back up. Rising, she didn’t look away from his probing gaze as he gauged her reaction to their first intimacy. “Good girl,” he murmured, his approval warming her further. “Put your jeans back on and let’s go.”

Hope watched him pocket the remote as she dressed, her heart skipping all over the place when she took a step and the rubber teaser brushed her sensitive knot of nerves. God, what would she do when he turned it on? For once, she was grateful Miles was a man of few words as she followed him downstairs and out to the street curb where he’d parked his bike. She was having enough trouble wading through her thoughts and emotions without having to converse at length.

Exiting the shelter, her eyes widened with her first look at the massive black and chrome Harley. “Wow.”

Running a hand over the leather seat, Miles’ face softened as he said, “Meet Rhonda. She’s been with me longer than any other woman.”

“You named your motorcycle?”

He turned toward her with a mischievous light in his dark eyes she’d never seen before. As he slid his hand under her hair and cupped her nape, Hope didn’t need the pressure of his palm to urge her mouth up to his.

“I like the way she takes my commands and purrs under me,” he whispered above her lips before the sensuous curl of his mouth swallowed her small moan.

Miles barely brushed her lips with his, staying pressed to her mouth only long enough to take in her puff of breath, then he retreated, leaving her bereft and aching for more. That brief touch couldn’t even be counted as a first kiss, but the impression it left made her wonder if she would survive this short journey of sexual exploration.

“Put this on.” Lifting the smaller helmet, he placed it over Hope’s head, tightened the strap under her chin and guided her onto the padded seat. “You can lean back once you get comfortable, but until then, press against me and hold on tight. I like to go fast.”

No kidding. If he drove the bike as fast as he was taking over her senses, she was in for a wild ride, in more ways than one. Miles donned his helmet and then she watched the way his thick quad muscles bunched under the tight leather pants as he swung a leg over the seat and settled in front of her. As soon as he revved the powerful motor and released the kickstand with the back of his booted heel, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned forward.

The October evening balmy temperature remained in the low eighties, but with less humidity, the breeze whipped up by the speed of the bike cooled Hope’s feverish skin. Unfortunately, the constant shift of Miles’ broad back muscles against her breasts and the low vibrations of the motor rumbling between her legs kept her inner heat at a volcanic level. As he wound his way out of the downtown streets, she didn’t have to wait long before they reached Route 1, the scenic, north-south coastal highway that curved along t

he Atlantic. Without warning, he let the engine out and took off, the fast blur of the city’s glittering nightlights on their left and the crashing ocean waves off to their right timed with the start-up of soft pulsations against her clit. Tightening her arms around his body, her gasp was lost in the air whipping by them as an adrenaline rush of pure pleasure rippled up through her sheath, hardening her nipples and threatening to steal her sanity.

Hope had spent time with a vibrator before, but her limited self-pleasuring experiences had never ratcheted her arousal up so fast, so high, within seconds. Her vagina dampened and swelled, compelling her to scoot closer to his buttocks and press against him. Perspiration coated her exposed skin despite the rush of air whipping around her. Frustration replaced excitement when he kept the butterfly’s vibrations on low, teasing just enough to keep her teetering on the brink of orgasm.

Miles distracted her from the grievance of edgy, unfulfilled arousal when he turned his head and yelled near her ear, “Lean with me and the bike.”

The pulses in her vagina stopped along with her breath when he took a left curve and she swore they would meet the asphalt with how far over they dipped along with the bike. He maneuvered the turn and righted the bike with admirable skill before stealing her indrawn breath of relief by switching on the vibrator again, this time raising the pulses another notch. For the next thirty torturous minutes, Miles sent need coursing through her veins with the on and off again pulses bombarding her clit. Hope lost count of how many times her climax started to roll through her only to be brought to an abrupt halt with the flick of a switch. She cursed his broad back, dug her nails into his washboard abs and tried teasing him in return by rubbing her breasts back and forth against his hard muscles and shifting her crotch against his butt, both to relieve her torment and egg his on. Nothing worked.

By the time he pulled up in front of the shelter and cut the engine, the ache had grown into intense hunger. Miles tugged his helmet off, looped the strap over the handle bars then slid off the bike. When he lifted his hands to remove her helmet, her intention to rail at him caught in her throat when the quiet hum of the vibrator switched to powerful pulses beating against her ravaged tissues.

Miles cupped her face and pierced her with his black as night eyes. “Now,” he ground out, his tone a deep, gut clenching demand.