Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

And, I think as I peel off the panties and then stand naked in front of the mirror, I'll take as much of him as I can get.

"Kiki." His voice is low and reverent, and I draw a shuddering breath as I watch his face as his eyes trail down my reflection. My lips, slightly parted. My breasts, small but firm. And right now, with nipples as hard as pebbles.

He puts his hands on my waist and glides his palms over my silhouette. The curve of my hip, then the form of my thighs. And as he does, he lowers himself to his knees until I feel his mouth at the small of my back.

Gently, he turns me around, then pulls me close. I bite my lower lip in anticipation, then close my eyes as his thumbs trail slowly up my inner thighs, each pausing at the juncture, the pressure maddening, but in the best possible way.

I press my lips tight together, determined not to beg no matter how much I want to.

Then his mouth is there, his lips on my pubic bone, then lower over the smooth skin of my waxed mound. Now I'm biting my lower lip, and my legs are weak, and even without asking, I shift my stance, spreading my legs, inviting his touch.

His tongue flicks lightly over my clit, and I gasp, an electric-charged shudder running through me.

And that was just the beginning.

He repeats the motion, only this time he doesn't pull away. Instead, his mouth closes over my pussy, his tongue teasing and his mouth sucking. And there's no way that I'm going to win this battle. I have no choice but to find support in Noah, and so I bend forward, then clutch his head, both in order to keep myself steady, and to make sure that he doesn't stop. Not now. Not yet. Not until--"Oh, God, Noah."

The cry is ripped out of me, my body breaking apart under the force of the explosion that came fast and hard. My hands are in his hair, twined with those fiery strands, and I force his head to stay in place, his tongue working its magic until the last gasps of the orgasm fade away, and I step back, breathing hard.

And, yes, wanting even more.

"You're still dressed," I say, an accusation in my voice.

He glances down at himself, then looks at me, his smile both playful and inviting. "So I am. What do you intend to do about that?"

I don't answer. At least not in words. Instead, I pull him to his feet, then step closer, so that I'm only inches away. Slowly, I unbutton his shirt, then push it off his shoulders before tugging down the sleeves and pulling it all the way off.

I let it fall to the floor, then press both of my palms against the hard planes

of his chest. I slide my hands down, lower and lower until I reach his belt. I have it unfastened in no time, and I quickly unthread it.

I'm about to let it drop to the floor with the rest of our clothes when he shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says, and before I can protest, he's made the belt loop around itself, and tightened it around my wrists.

"What are you--"

"I think it's time we moved this party to the bed," he says, then gives the belt a little tug before he leads me that direction.

"On," he says, when we've crossed the studio, but I hesitate. The condo is a studio, so there are no interior full walls except around the bathroom. The bedroom area is in a corner, defined by the exterior walls of the studio, an interior halfwall, and a set of freestanding bookcases.

As we'd crossed the condo, I'd noticed a collection of framed photos on the far wall, and now I disobey Noah's order so that I can get a closer look.

Even across the room, they'd seemed familiar, and now I realize why. They're highly erotic images, but shot so beautifully there's no question but that they are art. In each photo, the model's face is hidden, but the pose and the posture are open and honest and full of blatant sexuality.

I've seen these images before, actually. They're prints from a traveling exhibit of work by a photographer named W. Royce, and I'd seen the show--A Woman In Mind--in Dallas, and thought it was brilliant.

"You have good taste," I say. "You picked some of his most exceptional prints."

Noah's eyes register surprise. "You're familiar with the show?"

"It's great."

"The photographer's a friend."

"Really? Well, tell him I'm impressed." I walk around the bed so that I can get closer to one in particular. A woman with her hands bound to the bed, not with rope, but with a man's belt.

A warm flush spreads over my body, and my nipples tighten almost painfully.

I glance over my shoulder back at Noah. "Is that what you intend to do to me?"