“It is art.” His sensual mouth moved in a provocative smile.
It was art, yes. It was also blatantly kinky and erotic, but I wasn’t going to be pedantic about it, not while he was touching me that way. Besides, the image thrilled and fascinated me.
Still he studied me, his fingers moving down the length of my throat. “Human nature intrigues me. We are greedy sometimes, we like to keep beautiful things as possessions, so that we can admire them, caged even.”
He was so close I was sure he was about to kiss me.
“From the prettiest birds to rare, wild creatures…other people.”
His knuckles moved around the curve of my breast, his touch all too vague and tantalizing through my clothing. “The urge to possess the thing we desire, even for a fleeting time, is great.”
With his fingertips exploring me and his philosophical meandering about cages and possession, I was awash with desire. Over his shoulder, the blonde punk stared at me with those accusing eyes. I wanted to be displayed that way, naked and lewd and helpless—and so obviously his plaything. All the things he said to me about being caged, and the sound of the metal doors shunting together and apart as he handled them, filled my mind.
I thought he was going to kiss me, but although he looked at my lips, he didn’t. Instead he asked me another question, one that I wasn’t expecting.
“Why did you come up here, Jennie?” His tone was serious.
My heart raced erratically. “Because you invited me.”
He shook his head, and his eyes bored into mine. “The real reason?”
Heat flared in my face. Unnerved by his serious tone I squirmed, my weight shifting from left foot to right. I couldn’t believe he was pushing me to say it aloud. The attraction had been there between us, but his sudden interrogation made me feel awkward and obvious.
“You are so beautiful when you blush.” His expression softened. “The real reason you came up here is because there is curiosity between us, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, there is.” It was hard to voice my thoughts so blatantly and so soon, but the rush I experienced having said it aloud was astonishing. It was liberating, and now that it was out I felt as if we’d been shunted up to the next level.
“Have you seen anything that surprised you? The photograph, perhaps?” He’d reached inside my jacket and was running the back of his knuckles over the buttons on my shirt, as if he was readying to undo them.
“It did surprise me.”
“It has that effect, but she was a willing submissive, believe me.”
I bet she was. My eyelids flickered down, because I was unable to meet his bold stare a moment longer. I could scarcely believe it. He was touching me, questioning me provocatively while we stood there in his black lacquered bachelor pad, with its bleached bondage queen looking on, making me feel as if I couldn’t ever be as good as her. A willing submissive. I could see why. The man made me melt just by looking at me. His touch would have me in puddle of lust at his feet. But I also felt horribly inadequate and gauche.
“Perhaps I should go.” I turned away, breaking the contact.
Armand put his hand on my shoulder, halting me. With the other he reached around and stroked my torso from collarbone to waist. The brusque, demanding nature of his touch stole my breath away. My eyes closed. When I moaned aloud, he eased me back to him. My upper body rested against the wall of his chest.
“Do you really want to go now, Jennie?” His fingers moved inside the collar of my shirt, pushing it aside. His mouth was on my neck, then my collarbone, his kisses making me sizzle. “If you want to leave I’ll let you go, but I don’t think that’s what you really want.”
I could have stopped him then, he was making that obvious, but I didn’t want to. His hips moved from side to side, slow and seductive, taking mine with them.
“No,” I said, breathlessly. “I don’t want to go, I’m just…” Overwhelmed.
It felt good, though, and I didn’t want to be afraid to explore this. I wanted to know this masterful man who had shocked me several times over within the space of a few minutes.
With his hands locked on my shoulders, he turned me around and his mouth covered mine. Finally. His kiss melted me. M
y lips gave and his tongue moved between them. He devoured me, his tongue tasting my lips before thrusting into the damp cave of my mouth. I clutched at his shirt. My center ached, my clit throbbing wildly.
“I wanted you the moment I saw you,” he whispered as he drew back. His voice was husky. He removed my jacket as he spoke, then his fingers went to my hair, easing it free of the clips that held it up. As it fell to my shoulders he murmured something in French.
I nodded. “It was the same for me.”
My words seemed to act like a trigger on him, because he cursed in French. His eyes turned dark and his hands moved to my skirt. Without further ado he tugged it up, handling it roughly, until it was bunched at my waist. With his hands around my bottom he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his hips. I was so astonished that I clung to him, arms twined around his neck. One of my shoes fell to the floor. A moment later the other followed. The position he had put me in splayed my pussy against his hard erection. Unable to stifle my response, I gripped his shoulders and rocked my hips, rubbing against the hard, bulky protrusion.
His jaw clenched. He carried me easily, walking over to the long dining table that ran down the far side of the massive lounge. Resting me down on it, he eased my upper body flat to the table with his hand against my chest. “I think that first we must fuck, then we can play.”