Forbidden Ritual

Forbidden Ritual

First he took off her jacket, then he unzipped her fitted dress, peeling away the outward signs of her everyday life. “This is what I want,” Giles stated as he undressed her, “the real woman beneath the high-powered persona you adopt for work.” Humor and passion glinted in his eyes. “It’s pretty hard to get past it, you know.”

“Giles, please,” Imogen murmured, embarrassed by what she knew to be the truth. He had a way of exposing her in ways she hadn’t considered possible. “I need you.”

He paused and smiled. Slowly, he shrugged off his jacket and undid his silk tie, then traced his finger around her erect nipple.

Even through the sheer fabric of her black lace bra the touch was electrifying. Imogen’s legs trembled, her body hot with anticipation as Giles toyed with her. He squeezed the sensitive nub firmly between thumb and forefinger, looking deep into her eyes while he lit her right through with that deliberately provocative touch. Imogen leaned toward him, her lips parting with the need to have his mouth covering hers while he touched her.

But Giles continued to take charge. He undid her bra, dropped it to the floor and then went for the handcuffs that he had left on the nearby dining table. Capturing her wrists in one hand, he clicked the cool metal into place, making his claim on her. Then he stepped away.

She swayed unsteadily on her high heels, uncertainty swamping her.

He strode to a nearby chair, undoing and abandoning his shirt as he went, then sat down. “Tell me something, Imogen.”

She eyed his bared, muscular chest, and swallowed, hard. “Anything.”

He kicked off his shoes and socks, each action like a deliberate stall. “We’ve been doing this for what…five, maybe six months now?”

Was he bored with her? She clutched at the chain that held her handcuffed wrists together, needing to feel the galvanized steel links between her fingers to hold her emotions steady. “Six months and ten days.”

He watched her every move.

“How well do you think I know you?” He rested his elbows on his knees and observed her closely as he asked the question.

She felt completely naked, even though she still wore her high heels, stockings and her black lace panties. Giles had teased her to distraction once he’d got her to his Thames-side apartment, and now she longed to feel the palm of his hand on her backside before he filled her. Had she become too focused on that, she wondered. It was always a possibility. His eyes glittered with anticipation as he awaited her response. It was significant because he knew how hard it was for her to verbalize her needs and to admit her fears.

Her lips parted, and she ran her tongue over her lower lip before she spoke. “You know me well enough.”

It came out in a whisper, because it pained her to admit even that much. There was a fierce and stubborn streak in her that she managed to quell when they were together like this, but it rose quickly to the surface if she had to think too deeply about what she was doing, what she was giving away about herself when she submitted to Giles sexually—a younger man, her junior and a talented spin doctor. There was a lot at stake.

“Do I?” There was a confrontational tone to his question. “We have sex, but you leave my bed when I’d rather keep you in it. How can I know you when you don’t let me in to your private thoughts?”

Somehow the sudden change in approach made her even more desperate for him to resume his attentions to their mutual physical needs. Between her thighs she throbbed with need. Her core tightened, aching to be filled—preferably while her bottom burned from the punishing slap of his palm as he worked her to climax. She tossed back her hair, forcing herself to breathe.

Her lover had made her wait until her anticipation had built to fever pitch, as he so often did, but the nature of the question indicated how important the answer was to him. Giles always made her beg for it—which turned her on immensely, much to her initial surprise—but he’d never walked away from her before, and he’d never quizzed her like this when he’d already begun to undress and prepare her. Normally he’d stay close, his hands on her constantly, staying her urge to flee or to deny her need to be under his control. Why now, when she was so keyed up, was he examining her need to be independent after she submitted to him?

Giles lounged back in his chair, somehow regal even though he was stripped to the waist and barefoot, his tailored trousers almost incongruous, given how easy this man was in his own skin, a quality she not only admired, but craved. His firm, sensuous mouth made her ache for him. Only he could do this to her, and it made her feel so vulnerable. His chiseled cheekbones and hard jawline seemed to be visual symbols of the inner strength that called to her. Here in his sparse bachelor apartment he’d revealed just how easily he could take charge of her, a woman who never gave in under normal circumstances.

She braced herself. “You know I have to be this way. Your question is too…personal.”

“I mean to be personal with you, on every level.” There was no hesitation in his come back.