Burned Deep (Burned 1)

I smiled. “I didn’t notice. And I like the crackle of the fire instead.” I touched the lavish sheet again and asked, “Did you pick the bedding up in Paris as well?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Well then, you’re nowhere near unoriginal. And, really, Dane…” My heart fluttered. A foreign feeling, but one that didn’t alarm me at the moment, because of his own admission. This was all new and different for him, too. Despite how he was completely in control of what we wer

e doing, if romance wasn’t his norm, either, didn’t that help to put me on par with him in one aspect of this … relationship?

Joining me, he said, “Lay back.”

He stretched out beside me, both of us on the diagonal across the bed. He raised my arms over my head, clasping my wrists in one large hand. The other skimmed the underside of my biceps, along the outer swell of my breast, across my rib cage to the dip in my waist. The slow, tantalizing progression made me burn. His fingertips grazed, his palm splayed. He seemed to take in every inch of me, not just with his sensual touch but also with his heated gaze.

His hand moved over the curve of my hip, and I breathed a little shallower as he brushed my upper thigh, then the inside, with light strokes.

I squirmed restlessly and amended that no way in hell would I ever be on par with him in any capacity, because he was a master of seduction and I was 100 percent at his mercy.

“What are you planning to do?” I asked as excitement and anticipation mounted.

His fingers glanced over my dewy folds and then he brought his hand to his mouth, tasting me.

I sucked in a breath. Let it out on one long, “Oh.”

He grinned mischievously. “I liked your hands bound the other night.”

They remained restrained in his loose grip.

“You’re going to tie me up again?” Why did that send a shiver of delight through me?

He said, “It was hugely gratifying to know you were dying to touch me. You, of all people.”

“The one who doesn’t like to touch or be touched.”

“Mm-hmm. But you do enjoy touching me. And being touched by me.”

“Insanely so,” I admitted.

With a soft chuckle, he said, “I appreciate that you don’t try to hide it.”

“Impossible, don’t you think? I mean … look at me.”

“I am.” His eyes glowed. “Your nipples are hard. Your lips are glistening. And I’m not talking about these.” He kissed me. Then added in his evocative tone, “You want me again.”

“Yes.”

I would have cringed at my eagerness, but what would have been the point? There was no denying it. No fighting it. So I gave in to the need I had for him.

“Make me come again,” I all but begged.

The pads of his fingers skated over my stomach and up the valley of my breasts. He cupped the side of my face and kissed me deeply. I could have incinerated into the mattress from that alone.

His expression was still mischievous as he released my wrists but tugged on a long silk sash attached to the bedpost that had been concealed by the sheet. He deftly tied me up before I really had any time to process the carte blanche I’d given him. He topped it off with a pretty little bow as I craned my neck to see what he was up to.

“Polite-society bondage?” I teased.

“Oh, no,” he said as he pinned me with a dark, desirous look. “There’s nothing polite about what I want to do to you.”

My insides ignited. “Jesus, Dane.” My thighs squeezed together and my inner muscles contracted as the throbbing started.

His head dipped and his tongue flitted over my nipple. Then he said, “Actually, I want you on your stomach.” He helped me, since I was bound. “That’s it. On your forearms and knees.”