Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

I stiffen.

"You are by far the most beautiful creature in this room," the deep voice behind me says.

"You should be careful. My husband might be watching."

"Would serve him right if I turned you around and kissed you right now. Hard. Deep. The way you should be kissed." He moves in tight against me, and I feel the press of his erection against my ass. "He must be a fool to leave you alone in that outfit with so many hungry men."

"Maybe he likes to see me as the object of other men's appetites."

My companion chuckles. "I imagine he does. It's nice to know something beautiful you own is coveted by other people. He does own you, doesn't he?" he asks, trailing a fingertip up my spine, and sending a series of little shivers coursing through me.

"Completely."

"Then why isn't he here with you right now?"

I tilt my head to the side, considering the question. "I don't know. Maybe he likes to watch?"

I spin in his arms, then face my husband. He's dressed like the Man in Black from The Princess Bride. A black mask over his eyes, a black bandana on his head. And a pair of tight black pants that make my pulse speed up. He looks like sex on a stick, especially with those blue eyes behind the mask, and the beard scruff on his jaw framing that rich, sensual mouth.

I have no idea how I've missed seeing him, but now I drink him in, and like a woman parched, I feel myself coming alive. My body is flushed, my nipples hard. And I'm so very, very wet. "Is that what you want?" I ask. "To watch me with another man?"

It's a tease, of course, and I expect him to laugh it off. I don't expect the heat that flares in his eyes, along with a dangerous, possessive spark. "I've been watching you," he says, glancing quickly to the second floor. "I've been watching you for almost an hour. Did you think I couldn't find you right away? I will always find you, Syl. I know the way you move. The way you smile."

He leans in, so that I feel his breath on my face as he speaks. "I'm so goddamn hard from watching you. But baby, I'd kill any other man who touches you like that. You're mine. And I don't share."

The words shoot through me, arousing me even more than I believed possible.

"Then tell me what you do want," I murmur. "Whatever you want."

He traces his hand down my arm, the brush of his fingertip on the lace that separates his skin from mine shockingly arousing. "I want you to go to the ladies' room," he says, leaning in so that I feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. "I want you to take off your panties. And I want you to bring them to me."

My core clenches, heat rippling through me. My pulse kicks up, my nipples strain against the soft material of the bodice. I'm craving his touch. Hell, I'm desperate for it. And I hold his gaze, then lick my lips before very firmly saying, "No."

Surprise flashes in his eyes, and his left brow lifts above the mask, the scar that bisects it adding a dangerous edge to his heated expression. "No? Is this an act of pure defiance?" he asks, sliding a hand behind my neck and making me gasp again as he roughly tugs me closer. He holds me like that for a moment, then moves his hand down to cup my rear through the thin material of the dress. "Or is it an invitation for me to spank your sweet ass?"

I swallow, then tilt my head to the side. I smile innocently, my eyes wide. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Steele. I'm not being defiant--I just can't do the impossible."

I continue before he can articulate the question I see forming on his face. "The fact is, I'm not wearing any underwear."

This time, it's his turn to groan, and I know the man well enough that I recognize the sound as one of pure, primal need. I've surprised him. More than that, I've aroused him even more than he already was.

I glance down at his crotch and see his erection straining against the tight black leather. "You really should do something about that," I tease.

"Believe me. I intend to." He takes my hand and pulls me to the side, the sudden movement jarring a surprised gasp out of me.

"Are we leaving?"

"Hell, no," he says, and a wave of disappointment crashes over me. At least until he leads me into the back yard and over to a small copse of trees that is just out of the circle of colored lights that illuminate the pool and the yard beyond.

"What--" I begin, but he presses a finger to my lips, hushing me even as he turns me around so that his other hand is on my waist, and he has me positioned so that my back is nestled up against his chest as he leans against one of the trees.

"Just look," he says. "Just listen. The costumes, the lights. The sounds of laughter. The music from the orchestra. Just watch. Just enjoy. Just feel."

On the last, his hand slides up my thigh, moving beneath the long strips of overlapping material that make up the skirt of this dress. It's solid until about two inches below my ass, allowing for modesty even when going commando, but that is no deterrent to Jackson's nimble fingers that are now tracing a path along the line of sensitive skin between my thigh and my sex.

"Don't you remember?" he murmurs in my ear. "I told you I'd take you to a dark corner. I promised to make you shatter. Sweetheart," he adds, taking the hand from my waist and putting it gently over my mouth, "I'm going to make you come so hard you scream."

I want to protest that he's crazy. That we're in public. That anyone can see.

But the truth is that I don't care.

No, that's actually not the truth. The truth is that the possibility excites me. To be standing here in the dark with Jackson's fingers up my skirt and his hand over my mouth as he teases me into a fever pitch.

I know he's right--it's dark where we are. Secluded. But there's still a chance. Still that danger.

It's enticing. Exciting. And right now I'm drunk enough on lust to want it.

Oh, how I want it.

I want to melt against my husband. I want to submit to his whims.

I want him to make me explode.

And right now, he's doing a damn good job of working toward that goal.

I try to gasp as his fingertip slides over my slick folds to tease my clit, but his hand tightens on my mouth, and I have to suck in air through my nose. At the same time, he cups my sex, then pulls me tighter against him.

He's trapped me there, holding me firmly against him by the pressure on both my mouth and my sex. I'm utterly at his whim. He could spread the panels of my skirt. He could lift it, completely exposing me. He could rip the lace of the bodice, releasing my aching nipples to the cool breeze that is blowing through these trees.

He could do all that, and for one moment of sanity, I think it is good that he's preventing me from speaking, because right then I might actually beg him to do all those things. Because I want that and more.

>

Hell, I want everything, and I squirm, moving my hips in a silent demand.

I feel the press of his erection against my rear and know that he wants it as well. That he's close, too. But I know Jackson, and I'm certain he won't go all the way. Not here. Not in this secluded dark corner.

But god help me, I want him to.

I arch my back so that my ass presses more intently against his crotch, then writhe against his cock as his fingers slide in to fill me. I feel my body clench around him, and shift back and forth, riding him, wanting his cock. Wanting him to come with me.

"Christ, Syl, stop. You don't know what you're doing to me." His voice at my ear is rough. But I do know what I'm doing. Of course I know what I'm doing. And to prove it to him, I slide my own hand between my legs and gently tug his fingers free.

From his throaty groan, I know that he can tell what I'm doing, and my assumption is confirmed when he says, "Are you sure?"

I answer in action and not words. I move my other hand between us and part the panels of the skirt that cover my backside.

"Fuck," he says, and the next thing I hear is the snick of his zipper. "Touch yourself," he orders. Then he's using his one hand to hold my skirt aside and the other to position himself. "Bend forward," he whispers. "Just a little."

I do, and then I have to swallow a cry when I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance for just an instant before he thrusts hard inside me.

"Baby, you feel so damn good," he says as one hand cups my breast and the other moves around to tease my clit. "Reach back and hold my hips."

I do as he demands, and he uses the pressure of my hands to keep us steady as he moves rhythmically inside me even as he teases my clit, so that I'm lost in a haze of glorious sensations.

Deeper and deeper, harder and harder. I'm whimpering, not ever wanting this to end--this sensation of spiraling upward toward something, and all the more exciting because there's a danger to it. A naughtiness. A wild intimacy that I can share only with Jackson.

"I'm close, baby," he murmurs, as the low timbre of his voice pushes me higher still. And then he explodes, his body convulsing, the wildness taking me over the edge, too, so that I shatter under the force of the electric shock that consumes my body, breaking me apart and sending me floating off out into the night.