Sensations mounted, one on top of the other, until her body demanded more. She struggled to move, to touch herself—only to find she couldn’t. Another leaf clamped down on one nipple, this time harder than before. She cried out. Perspiration dampened the skin between her br**sts and thick, liquid want converged into a unending ache between her legs.
Morgan opened her eyes and threw off the last vestiges of sleep.
And quickly discovered that her br**sts weren’t being tormented by leaves, but by the smooth slide of Jack’s tongue, followed by the erotic nibble of his teeth.
Before she even knew what she was doing, Morgan arched up, her body silently offering her sensitive ni**les to a hot-eyed Jack, overruling anything her mind might have said.
“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmured hotly across her br**sts.
Candlelight glowed softly as she looked down her body and realized that he’d unlaced the camisole and pulled it wide, completely exposing her twin mounds and their hard peaks.
As if in slow motion, Morgan watched him lower his mouth to her again, his wide, bare shoulders bulged, a pulseraising shadow in the moonlit room, as he eclipsed everything in the room but him. She pulled at her arms and legs, desperate to embrace him. Instead, she found them bound firmly to the four posters of Jack’s bed.
God, she was totally at his mercy. That realization jolted her with a rush of dark pleasure—and that scared the hell out of her.
A warning boomed in her belly like thunder. The hard clamp of desire plaguing her drowned it. The man made her want, so badly that dragging in a steady breath was difficult, so much that finishing a coherent thought was impossible.
What was it about Jack Cole and the way he touched her?
He ignored her writhing and peppered the full sides of her breast with soft kisses, laved the nerve-heavy tips with a bold swipe of his tongue. The hard heat of his chest brushed over her belly, and her body fevered for more of the silky burn of his skin, his mouth. Her ni**les tightened more, until they became pointed red nubs that begged him to continue with anything, everything, he wanted.
In response, Jack pinched her ni**les, twisting slightly. A sharp mix of pain and pleasure had her crying out his name.
“I’m here, cher, to fulfill every forbidden fantasy swimming in your mind.”
Desire jolted her body, making her buck under his tongue as he resumed the sensual torture on her ni**les. She drew in another shuddering breath as his tongue curled around the throbbing tip. She whimpered. The man was twisting her inside out, turning her into a wanton stranger. Into a woman nearly willing to say yes to anything.
Jack didn’t simply want to give her pleasure; he wanted to control her, addict her, turn her into the depraved wanton Andrew had been so contemptuous of. She’d never been any man’s doormat. She wasn’t starting now.
“No,” she panted. “Stop. I didn’t agree to this. I don’t want this.”
He raked a pair of fingers through the exposed slit of her sex. Morgan knew she was more than damp. She was embarrassingly wet, swollen. Aching. His touch only ramped up the pleasure, made thick moisture gush from her weeping opening again.
He sent her a low, sexy chuckle. His well-muscled torso rippled with every move and made the wicked part of her ache to put her hands all over his body and feel his vitality.
“Your mouth is saying the words, but your body is making a liar out of you.” His whisper taunted, challenged. “Are you sure you don’t want this?”
“Are you deaf? I said I didn’t agree to this.” She accused, “You still think I’m submissive.”
“No, I don’t.”
Morgan arched a fiery brow, fighting all the sparks of pleasure leaping through her body, burning away her common sense. “Good. Finally getting smart?”
“Cher, I don’t think you’re submissive; I know it.”
She gaped at him, then shut her mouth. Bastard! Fine. He was entitled to his opinion. She had her own, thank you very much.
He clamped his fingers around her ni**les again and squeezed.
“Stop it. I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
In an instant, his smile disappeared.
“I won’t ask for permission, so stop playing this game. The brave woman who took a chance with me after being shot at, the woman gutsy enough to alter her appearance to disappear in a strange town with the help of a man she’d known for all of a few minutes—hell, the woman who talks about sex on TV… you are that woman, not the one who keeps running from herself.”
His words smacked her between the eyes. She bucked again, struggling to break free. He’d called her a coward for trying to be sane! Unreal. “I’m not running from myself. I’m getting away from you! I wanted protection, not a mauling.”
Sending her a sharp smile, Jack eased a hand down her rib cage, over her hip, a soft contrast to the unyielding bindings at her wrists and ankles. Damn him for being so warm and looking so scrumptious shirtless, so totally male and confusing the hell out of her. He could make her needy and angry at once. And angry because she felt needy. Damn! He was using his experience to crowd her, cloud her judgment, overpower her good sense.