Spider Game (GhostWalkers 12)

She swallowed hard, her hand sliding down her body to find her mound. One finger stroked over it while her other hand kept at her breast. Her gaze was on his hand wrapped around his thick shaft. The broad, flared head glistened and he rubbed at it with his thumb, spreading the moisture as his fist pumped. The sight was mesmerizing. Beautiful. Sexy.

"Push your finger inside. Deep. Fuck yourself with your finger, baby. Find that sweet little clit of yours and work it."

She did what he ordered. It felt good. So good. The slow-moving Rover. The bumps. The sun moving over her skin through the glass, spotlighting her. Her body sprawled out for his pleasure.

"When a man touches your skin, Cayenne, this is what you do to him. He gets hard. He needs to jack off because it hurts like fucking hell if he doesn't relieve himself. You feel that burn? Put another finger in. Pump a little faster. Harder. I can tell by your breathing you're nearly there. You are, aren't you?"

She couldn't answer. She was close. So close. It felt so good, she was that close.

"Stop. Get your hands off your body. Right. Fucking. Now." His voice lashed like a whip again.

She moaned. "Trap." A protest. But she complied.

"Crawl along the seat and feed that honey to me. Are you burning? Does it hurt? Do you need to get off? Tell me how you're feeling right now."

She did what he said, sliding over the seat and the middle console to lift her fingers to his mouth. His tongue curled around them. That simply increased the coiling tension in her, that horrible burn that grew hotter.

"I want your mouth on me. You're going to suck me all the rest of the way home. You keep both hands on me, and you don't touch yourself. I'll touch you when I feel like it, but you don't touch yourself again unless I tell you."

She found that even hotter. She fit her mouth over the wide head of his cock and concentrated on him as best she could. Usually she gave herself over completely to loving him. To giving him the most pleasure she could possibly give him, but her body felt as if it was burning out of control.

She tried to force herself under control, allowing her tongue to stroke and dance, to feel the steel wrapped in velvet of his cock. She tried to take him deeper each time she pushed down on him, tried to tighten her mouth as she drew up. She was just dropping into the zone when his hand landed hard on her buttocks and the nerve endings flared into life, streaking and sizzling straight to her core.

His hand rubbed. Kneaded. His fingers slipped along the cleft of her buttocks, lower still to find her wet and needy. His fingers plunged deep. She gasped. Her channel spasmed hard. Contracted and clamped down like a vise. His thumb brushed her clit. Pressed hard. She moaned around his cock and her hips bucked, trying to ride his hand, trying to gain relief.

He took his hand away, and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking the honey from them. "Keep working. We're almost home. We don't go in until you suck me dry. I have plans, and I can't be feeling like this. You put that there, you take care of it."

She loved taking care of his cock. He could sound like he was ordering her to do something she didn't want to do all day, but the fact was, she loved her mouth on him. She loved his reaction. Unfortunately, he had started her body on fire all over again.

She went back to concentrating on him. The shape and feel of him. What he liked best. Taking him deep. Flicking her tongue. Humming. Just suckling turned her on even more. She was dripping wet now and squirming, unconsciously trying to relieve the ache.

As he pulled the Rover into the carport, he caught the back of her head and pressed down, forcing her to take more of him as he threw back his head, groaning. He was big and it wasn't easy, but she managed, breathing through her nose as his shaft swelled and his cock jerked. He pumped his seed down her throat. So much. For a moment she didn't think she could take it all. That was even hotter. The hand at her head, his hips jerking, his shaft stretching her lips. The sound rumbling in his throat, torn from him--by her--by her actions. So hot.

His fist in her hair dragged her head an inch up. "Clean me up. I don't want to get a drop on this suit."

Between her legs only grew scalding. "Trap, I need . . ."

"The sooner you take care of business, the sooner we can get inside."

She bent her head and lapped at him. He spread his legs wider to give her better access. She loved taking care of him because she loved him and wanted him to know she did. She obeyed him because she trusted him. Implicitly. Totally. She'd do anything he said because she believed absolutely he'd take care of her--that he'd always be there for her. There wouldn't be another woman. If he'd wanted one, he would have had one by now. It would always be her.

She gave one last lick and sat up, suddenly realizing what his temper was all about. It wasn't jealousy, although he tried to make it about that. He'd done it before. More than once. This was about fear. Sheer unadulterated terror. Just like when she got shot. Trap reacted badly to fear. He didn't trust fully that she wouldn't leave him. He didn't. Everyone in his life that mattered had left him. She was his world. His entire world. He'd given her that, and it was a precious gift.

Trap opened the door, reached in and pulled her out, setting her on her feet. She was naked and barefoot, but the stairs were right there. She looked around, wrapping her arms around herself as she inhaled to ensure they were entirely alone. The breeze was blowing in their direction and she didn't catch a scent of anyone or anything. Still, walking naked in daylight while he was fully dressed was both frightening and exhilarating.

He caught her hand and tugged, taking her up the stairs. She'd placed alarm lines everywhere. They were thin, nearly invisible. Some were low to the ground, some higher. The entire building was surrounded with them, most attached to the high fence. Along the stairs, several weren't intact anymore. She could see that, because she was looking for it. She was always looking for it.

She took another careful look around and then inhaled again. She drew the perfume of the swamp into her lungs. She didn't feel eyes on her. She didn't even feel uneasy. Whoever or whatever had come, had been there hours ago, probably during the night. They weren't there now.

Trap put the code in for the alarm and placing one hand on her bottom, propelled her inside. He set the alarm again and motioned her forward to the second door. He put in the second code and added his palm print to get them in.

"Get ready for bed, and don't you touch yourself. If you want a canopy tonight, get it done. I'll be a few minutes. I want to take a look at the security footage."

So he'd observed those broken strands as well. She loved that he was using her alarm system as well as his own.

"Cayenne. I'm going to spend hours with you. I'm claiming every fucking inch of your body for my own. You understand me?"

She nodded. Her channel gave another spasm. She wondered if it was possible to have a spontaneous orgasm without him actually touching her. She showered and made certain that she was absolutely clean from her head to her toes. She thought, by taking her time, her body would lose some of the heat, but instead, the anticipation only made her need him all the more.

When Trap entered their bedroom, she was totally aware of him and nothing else. He took up the huge space with his wide shoulders and muscular body. He was fully dressed and she was naked, sitting on the bed, her fingers threaded together to keep from giving into the impulse to relieve herself just a little.

"Come here. I want you to undress me."

Her heart stuttered. She went to him immediately. Her fingers were shaking as she slowly took the jacket from his shoulders and laid it carefully over a chair. She had trouble with the buttons of his shirt, but he didn't help her. He was tall and she had to reach high to get them. She pressed her body against his, feeling his cock, semihard, nearly in her throat. She managed to pull his shirt loose from the waistband and get the buttons open. He held out his arms so she could take out the gold cuff links, at first one wrist and then the other, so she could slip the shirt off. Again she was careful with

it, smoothing it over the jacket.

Crouching at his feet, she untied the laces of his shoes. He put one hand on her shoulder as she slipped them off. Her heart beat fast as she looked up at his face. The sensual lines were etched deep. His eyes were dark. Hooded. She almost couldn't breathe with wanting him. She slipped his socks free and then stood to undo his belt and trousers. She let her knuckles slide over his hips and thighs as she took the slacks down the long columns of his legs. Again, she was careful with his clothes, neatly putting them on the chair and then standing in front of him.

"Pull back the covers of the bed and lay in the center. I want you to put your hands above your head."

Her heart began to hammer so loud she was afraid he could hear. Her gaze searched his for a long time. He didn't reissue his order. He just stood there waiting for her to obey him. She took a breath and did what he asked, stretching her arms above her head.

He knelt up on the mattress, leaning over her, sliding his palm from her armpit to her wrist. Slow. His mouth following. Kissing every inch of her arm. He looped a silk scarf around her wrist and then secured it to the post built into their bed. She kept her gaze glued to his face. The lines there. The heat. The hunger. Most of all, she saw--and felt--that deep-seated need in him to claim every inch of her.

It wasn't about possession. She knew, no matter how long they were together, no matter how often she gave him this, he would always need it, because he would never get over having everything he loved ripped away. The fear would come for whatever reason, and now that she knew what it was, she could be there for him, and if it led to this, she was so on board.

His mouth moved over her other arm, following the progression of his palm and then he tied the scarf around her wrist and again secured it to the headboard.

She waited for his touch. For his mouth. He just sat there, his gaze heated. Burning. Moving over every inch of her. Her breasts rose and fell. She couldn't stop her breath from coming so fast. So ragged.

"Trap." She moaned his name.

"Shh, baby." His hand skimmed down her body, from her throat, between the swell of her breasts to her mound. "You're in for a long day. A very long day." He bent and gently brushed his lips across her forehead. "Let's turn you over. Relax your arms, there's plenty of play in the scarves."

He caught her easily around the waist and simply rolled her over, crossing her arms above her head. Her breasts pressed deep into the satin sheets. He ran his hand over the left cheek of her buttocks and then down her thigh and along her calf to her ankle, pulling her leg to the edge of the bed. She felt the brush of his hair and then his mouth followed his hand. He secured her ankle with a scarf to a built-in hook beneath the bed and followed suit with her right side so her legs were stretched wide.

She lay quivering. Trying to hold still. Waiting. Needing. Her breath hitching. She turned her head to the side to try to catch a glimpse of him. "Trap." A plea.

"I know, baby, but you aren't in control this time. Do you remember when you tied me down with your silks? You liked having me at your mercy, didn't you?" He lifted her head very gently with one hand and wrapped a scarf around her eyes. The room went dark.

Fear began to edge into her excitement. "What are you doing?"

"This will heighten your awareness. You'll feel everything. The slightest touch. The slightest breath."

She was so hot. Burning. She wasn't certain she could stand any more awareness. "I need you inside me."

"Like this?" His hand moved between her legs. A whisper. The lightest of touches. Across her wet opening. His finger was gone and then it was back. Gentle. Barely there. Inside her, sliding over her most sensitive spot, and then gone.

She had only thought she was burning. Now the fire was a million times worse. The need was growing every second. She heard him moving, putting something on the side table. And then his hands were on her shoulders. He began to knead the muscles there. His palms were slippery with some kind of ointment. The ointment started off cool but as he worked it into her body, it heated. Every nerve ending began to tingle.

He worked the oil down her back and into the hollow above her buttocks. Her right cheek. Her left. The cleft between her cheeks, paying special attention until she was burning everywhere. Inside. Outside. Then down the backs of her thighs. Her calves. She couldn't stay still. Now every nerve ending burned with need.

"Be good," he cautioned. "I like the way my hand looks on your ass. Especially right now, baby. You weren't very good today on that plane, were you? Flirting. No bra. Nearly giving my silks away. What kind of punishment do you think that should earn you?"

There was a strange roaring in her ears. She pushed into the mattress, desperate to relieve the ache. His hand landed hard, smacking her left cheek and then her right. He'd smacked her before and she'd liked the way her nerve endings leapt to life, but this was different. This time they roared to life. The heat radiated out and around and straight to her core. She couldn't believe it. It should have hurt, but the cinnamon oil seemed to spread the fire through her feminine channel, ratcheting up her need. She couldn't think. She almost couldn't remember her own name.

His hand moved between her legs, fingers still coated in the oil. His fingers worked the oil inside her until there wasn't any part of her lower body that wasn't burning and in desperate need.

"Stay relaxed for me. This isn't very big, but it might feel like it. It's slick and will go in easy if you relax." She felt his fingers between her cheeks and then something pressed into her. Something hard. Stretching her. A bite of pain. Her breath caught. The burn heightened. If she clenched her cheeks it only made it more so.

He rubbed his hand over her bottom and then repeated the smacks. This time a little harder. The flames spread like wildfire. "That's going to feel good in a few minutes."

She wasn't certain what to think. Everything felt good. Everything. Everywhere. Yet at the same time, she was desperate for relief.

Very slowly he released her legs and turned her over, to just as quickly and efficiently retie them. She couldn't see him. She knew he moved because the weight on the bed changed and then he was back. This time his hands went to her breasts, coated in the oil. She wanted to plead with him but it was too late. Her nipples were very sensitive and he worked them, rolling the oil into them, kneading it into her soft, lush curves until her breasts were on fire. The fire streaked straight to her clit.

She couldn't close her legs. Couldn't get relief. She could only feel, her body so alive and so desperate for his, she could barely catch her breath. "Trap, please. It's too much. It's going to drive me insane."

"We're just getting started," he said. "Have patience. You're always in such a hurry." His hands smoothed down her belly to her hips, and then he plunged his fingers inside her--stretching her with his oiled fingers, stroking the oil onto her clit.

She bucked. Screamed. Tried desperately to ride his fingers. He pulled them away and continued to use the oil on her legs. Rubbing it in deep.

He took his hands away. Then his weight left the bed. It was impossible to hear him move, he was a GhostWalker. He went silent. She lay there writhing--unable to hold still with the oil burning her, keeping her hungry for him.

"Trap?" Fear skittered along the edge of excitement.

"Right here, baby," he said. His voice came from across the room, reassuring her immediately.

"What are you doing?" His presence steadied her.

"Sitting here having a Scotch. Watching you. Deciding what I'm going to do next. You look beautiful squirming around, all that cinnamon honey spilling out. I have to let you cool down some before I eat you. I have a few toys I ordered a week or so ago, and this seems like the perfect time to try them out."

"Toys?" There was trepidation in her voice. She couldn't hold still. She couldn't imagine being any more desperate than she already was and just the way he said the word made her hotter, if that was even possible.

"I like toys. I like seeing you come apart for m

e." He moved then. She heard the tinkling of ice in his glass. "I see that excites you. You just got wetter for me, didn't you?" He put the glass down on the table and reached for one of the toys he'd purchased. "You already like the toy I bought you. It's stretching you, filling you. I want to finish my drink, and I think you want something. Tell me what it is."

"I need you inside me."

"I'm sorry, baby, I can't accommodate you just yet, but maybe this will do in the meantime." She felt him position something soft but hard at her entrance. She was so slick and so in need that she bore down as he pushed it inside her. At once she felt her channel stretch for the toy. "It isn't as big as me, but it will keep you full, especially with that plug in you." He pulled the toy out and then pushed it back in. "I'll set it on low so you won't go too crazy."

The vibration started. No matter how she moved, no matter what she did, she couldn't get the toy to lie against her very inflamed spot. The fullness and vibration only made her hungrier. Needier. More desperate than ever.

"Trap. Oh, God, please. You have to do something."

Trap looked down at her shuddering body. So beautiful all stretched and writhing. So full with the toys he'd bought for her. Her skin glowed from the oil. He padded across the room on bare feet, his cock already as hard as a rock. It was a good thing he had her suck him dry or he wouldn't have been able to take playing like this. She was too responsive.

He took a piece of ice from his glass and rubbed it on her right nipple. She screamed and arched into his hand. He did the same to the left one. Then he placed an ice cube in his mouth and pulled out the vibrator.

"Do you belong to me, Cayenne?" he asked, his voice casual. He lay belly down on the bed, between her legs. He stroked a finger down her mound, right over the hourglass he loved.

"Yes." She answered without hesitation.

"Belonging to me, being my wife, means you don't crawl into another man's lap without your fucking bra on." He flicked her slit with his tongue. "You don't ever, unless you're using silk as a defense, give that to another man." His tongue, ice cold, plunged deep into her scalding heat.