Tie Me Down

His hand tightened on hers, as if he sensed her discomfort. But when she glanced up at him, his face was granite hard and expressionless. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and the voice in the back of her head whispered that she was being stupid. She knew the voice was right—she was being careless and foolish and entirely too trusting—but she couldn’t bring herself to back out. To end this thing before it ever got started.

Another glance up at him—into his eyes this time—had her doubts dwindling like so much dust. He wasn’t as remote as he would like her to think. His eyes were blazing with a passion that more than equaled her own.

The cab drew to a stop in front of one of the historic homes on St. Charles. As big as it was well preserved, she got a vague impression of stately beauty as Cole paid the driver and hustled her up the steps. But before she could do more than glance at the outside, Cole was slamming through the front door—his hand an unyielding clamp around her wrist.

How could she be this hot, Genevieve wondered dimly, for a man she’d only just met? How could she want anything—anyone—this badly?

She didn’t know the answer to the questions, and after a second, didn’t care. Her body was literally vibrating with the need to feel Cole against her, inside her. He was a wild man, a sorcerer, and he had bewitched her. There was no other explanation for her behavior. Her desperation to feel his body against hers.

The second he kicked the door shut behind them, she was on him. Her hands around his waist, her lips trailing kisses down his bare back as she struggled with his belt.

“Not yet,” he growled, shifting in her arms. Turning her so that her back was against the wall.

She arched against him, felt his c**k twitch as she opened her legs so he could settle between them. Grinned at the fact that she could drive him as crazy as he was driving her.

His hands went to the buttons of the shirt she wore and he yanked it off, dropping the ruined silk onto the floor beside them. Then he was slipping his hands into her waistband, tugging. She heard a tearing sound and glanced down just in time to see her favorite pair of work pants fall in pieces around her feet.

Cole stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, noting with appreciation how Genevieve’s chest heaved and her body quivered. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, standing there in nothing but black lace, her back against the wall. A tiger momentarily tamed, but ready to attack at any moment.

His back flexed at the thought, the need to feel her claws digging into him, a burning pain that couldn’t be denied. Part of him was shocked at what he was doing, astounded at his need to control her. To drive her beyond boundaries, beyond control until all she felt was him.

All she knew was him.

All she wanted was him.

He’d always been dominant, had always needed to be the one in control—especially after his sister had died—but never had he taken it this far before. Never had he let the dark side of himself go.

He was on wild, uncharted ground.

But seeing the need in Genevieve’s eyes—feeling the desperation she couldn’t hide—freed the beast inside him, had him slipping the leash in his desperate desire to claim her.

Leaning down, he grabbed her wrists, held them above her head. Then he captured her mouth with his own, using his lips and tongue and teeth to brand her in a way she wouldn’t soon forget. A way she couldn’t forget.

But, God, was she sweet. Like honey and lavender and warm, sweet sunshine. He nipped at her lower lip, reveled in the moan she couldn’t stop. Sucked it into his mouth in an effort to ease the ache.

She went wild, her strong warrior’s body bucking against him. Her wrists jerked against his hand, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Couldn’t let her go, if the truth were known. One touch of her long, slender fingers and he would go up in flames.

So he kept her pinned, using his hand and chest and hips. Made sure every part of her body was covered by every part of his. And then he went about devouring her.

He kissed the softness of her lips, the corners of her mouth. Traced his tongue along her full bottom lip, lingering at the cupid’s bow in the center of her upper lip.

“Cole,” she gasped, her head rocking back and forth against the wall. “Hurry up, finish it. You’ll drive me crazy.”

“I like you crazy,” he answered, but took advantage of her open mouth to thrust his tongue inside. She was like velvet, softer than he could have imagined. Hotter than he had dreamed. He tried to be gentle, to give her the tenderness she deserved.

But the second he tasted her, he was lost. Lust rose, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. It raked its talons through his belly, got in his head and demanded that he take her. That he f**k her, again and again, until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone any man who had come before him.

And still he kissed her, unwilling to give up her lips. Unable to break the connection when everything inside of him roared that she was his.

He did crazy, wild things to her mouth, reveling in each moan and cry that escaped her lips and entered his. He sucked her tongue, pulled it inside his mouth and nearly fell to his knees when she explored him as he had done her.

Fighting back a yell of triumph, he rejoiced in the fact that her body was nearly as crazed as his own. Ripping his mouth from hers, he ignored her moan of protest and the blind seeking of her lips as she tried to regain his mouth.

Instead he trailed his lips down her cheek, over the long, graceful curve of her neck to the delicate bones of her shoulders. How could she be so fragile and yet so strong? Another contradiction. Another piece of the puzzle he was dying to solve.

Using his free hand, he reached behind her and freed the clasp of her bra. Then let go of her wrists long enough to rip the thing off her. He had to taste her, had to feel her beautiful ni**les in his mouth, had to feast on her before he imploded.

Sinking to his knees in front of her, he relished the feel of her hands digging deep into his hair, enjoyed the sharp tug on his scalp. The little pinches of pain only made the pleasure sweeter.

Then he forgot everything but the ecstasy of her body as he buried his face in her br**sts in a frenzy of desire. He didn’t have the patience, or the control, for delicacy. Instead, he simply latched on to a nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth.

She screamed, the hands in his hair tightening. For a moment he feared he’d been too rough, that he’d crossed the thin line between pleasure and pain. But her h*ps were moving, shifting, pumping restlessly against his chest. And he knew she was with him all the way.

Genevieve groaned, moving her h*ps against Cole in a maelstrom of need. He was killing her, killing her. Devouring her until she was unsure where she left off and he started.

And, God, was he good—and bad. Oh, so bad. She was going to lose it if he didn’t do something, and soon. Trembling on the brink of orgasm, she was ready to fly over the edge at the slightest provocation.

But Cole was a master of suspense, a wicked lover who somehow knew her body better than she did. Who played her like an instrument. Who controlled her and denied her that final pleasure until he was ready to send her over.

As his teeth nipped at her areola, she nearly screamed with frustrated need. Only the knowledge that he wanted her to, that he was trying to drive her completely insane, kept her quiet. But when he soothed the nip with his tongue, taking care to make sure the sting was well and truly gone before moving on to the underside of her breast, she lost the fight.

No man should be so tender and so controlling at the same time—it went against the laws of nature. “Cole,” she whimpered, clutching his head to her breast, relishing the soft, delicate sweeps of his tongue. Thrilling in the love bites that sent shivers of desire through her entire body. “Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured as he moved to the other breast. “I’m just getting started.”

“No,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she sobbed out his name. Her body wasn’t hers to command anymore, her voice and thoughts and movements taken over entirely by the wizardry of his mouth, of his touch.

He shifted, caught her wrists again in his big hands. Pulled them forward and clasped them in front of her body with one hand. “What are you—”

“Look.” His voice was deep, gravelly, unfamiliar in his desire for her. She felt a sharp rush at the thought that she had done this to him, that she had driven this strong, beautiful man so crazy with lust that he could barely speak.

Then she glanced down and was transfixed by the sight in the dim light. He’d captured her wrists in such a way that her arms framed her br**sts, plumping the already full mounds up and out for his pleasure.

For her pleasure too, because already she could feel the increase of blood flow to the constricted area. But he wasn’t done, the hand on her wrists tightening so that her arms squeezed her br**sts even more tightly. They actually stung, the air alone chafing her unbelievably sensitive nipples.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he muttered, his tongue darting out to tease and caress.

She whimpered, her knees threatening to collapse beneath her, but he leaned forward again, until the pressure of his chest and shoulders pinning her to the wall was all that kept her upright. Bending his head, he took her nipple into his mouth. She gasped, begging for mercy, but he had none as he bit and licked, sucked and nuzzled her into the most intense orgasm of her life.

Wrapped up in the incredible heat burning through her br**sts and the empty aching of her pussy, the cl**ax caught Genevieve by surprise. Though she’d known she was close—so close—she hadn’t expected to hurtle over with nothing but the touch of his mouth on her breast.

But as he lapped at her, taking as much of her aching breast into his mouth as he could, she felt herself begin to tremble from the inside out. There was a roaring in her head, a fuzziness that overtook her as pleasure like nothing she’d ever experienced slammed through her body.

She convulsed again and again, wave after wave of ecstasy shooting through her, sizzling along her nerve endings, lighting her up like a bottle rocket until she was flying, soaring, into the endless night sky.

She came back to earth slowly, shocked at the heights she’d scaled. Uncertain about the amount of pleasure Cole had given her. Desperate to feel his body inside of her, to have him anchor her before she spun so far out of control that she’d never find her way back.

She clutched at his shoulders, suddenly needing comfort, and he understood. Standing, he pulled her to him, his arms hard around her newly chilled body. For the first time she realized she was all but n**ed while he was fully clothed.

“Cole,” she whispered, embarrassed. Wondering where the hard-ass detective had gone.

“Don’t think,” he answered, his lips skimming over her eyelids and across her temples. “Just feel. I need to be inside you, sweet Genevieve.”

“Yes,” she murmured, because it was what she wanted too. Because there was no way she could turn him away unsatisfied after he’d given her such incredible pleasure. Because she needed desperately to be a part of him.

With one fluid movement, Cole swept her against him and into his arms. Despite her height, Genevieve felt too light—as if she’d been starving herself for far too long. Though if he had her job, he might be tempted to give up eating as well. God knew he’d dealt with enough ugly incidents while making his documentaries, and still he couldn’t contemplate facing what she did every day of her life.

She shifted in his arms, the softness of her left breast pressing against him, and his thoughts were wrenched forcibly from the gutter to the bedroom.

As he stepped over the threshold into his room, he admitted it was a much better place to be.

He pulled her more tightly against him and she sighed in delight, wriggling as she tried to get closer. Oh, his tough little detective had a soft side, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. One ripe with a sensuality that couldn’t be denied.