Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,49

leaned back into him, glad for the contact, because she suddenly felt unsteady on her feet. She wanted to feel his body against hers, forget about the differences between them. Because standing in his expensive penthouse, she was more aware than ever that they came from different worlds. She twisted in his arms and found his mouth, kissing him fiercely, trying to say all the things she wanted to say with a kiss.

Mags didn’t want to look at the view anymore. She didn’t want to think about how much his furniture cost. She only wanted the feel of his hands on her skin, to connect with him in the only way that mattered. After all, this wasn’t about moving into his penthouse. It wasn’t about trying to make their lives fit together. This was about sex. It would be good of her to remember that. She was making it all more complicated than it needed to be. Why did she even care if she felt out of place in his home? She wasn’t planning on living there.

She just wanted him to order her around. Dominate her for an hour or so, and then she could go back to her own life, her own tattoo shop, where she belonged.

Mags devoured Gael, her need suddenly urgent, and her brain shut off, which was bliss. Because no matter how different they might be, their bodies spoke the same language. Their bodies knew exactly how to communicate, how to cut through their economic brackets.

Gael lifted Mags into his arms as if she weighed nothing, and her breath almost caught in her throat. She wrapped her legs around him reflexively, and he tightened his grip, his strong arms beneath her butt. The man was literally sweeping her off her feet, carrying her near blind to his bedroom, and she couldn’t be more delighted, couldn’t be more ready to give him control. She didn’t want to think anymore. Didn’t want to worry. Didn’t want to spin the thoughts in her mind about what might or might not happen. She just wanted to be in this moment.

Gael carried her to his bed, laying her gently down on his plush, king-size platform with the expensive goose-down cover. She didn’t want to think about the thread count of the man’s sheets, but lying on his bed felt like reclining in a puddle of soft, rich goodness. Gael freed her mouth and gently undid the button of her jeans, sliding them down her legs slowly, his green eyes never leaving hers. She saw want there, hot and sharp, but he was moving carefully, deliberately. With her jeans on the floor, he tugged down her thong, careful to run a finger over the tattoo on her hip bone, kissing it delicately.

“Lie back,” he commanded. Desire bubbled in her, threatened to run over. That damn voice. God, she loved that voice. She lay there, naked, vulnerable and waiting for her next command. He soaked in her body, admiring her curves. “Touch yourself.”

He spread her knees with his hands, and then she reached down, tentatively at first, and laid the first stroke there. He watched, and the more he watched, the hotter she got. She’d never done this before, never been ordered to do this before. This was something she saved for herself, alone. But him watching made it better somehow. Made it hotter. And here, on his massive bed in his beyond-expensive penthouse...she wanted to do this. And more. She didn’t want to admit that the money and the view of Lake Michigan meant a thing to her, but they did. They affected her. Here on his expensive sheets, as she met his gaze and touched herself, her clit swelling with need beneath her finger.

He unzipped his pants and dropped them to the floor, his muscled legs moving out of them. She paused in her movements, eyeing the growing bulge in his boxer briefs.

“Keep going,” he demanded, green gaze finding hers. “Don’t stop.”

She started stroking again, shivering as she did what she was told. God, she liked it. Liked being told what to do. But only by him, she realized. No one else.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. She sucked in a breath. God, his chest. So perfect. The ridges of muscles she’d felt beneath her hands. Perfection. He moved closer.

“Stop,” he commanded, and she did, she released herself, even as she felt the burning want. Her body cried out for her to continue, demanded the sensation, protested