“You haven’t followed my instructions particularly well so far.”
“I will, sir.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Morgan.” He anchored his hand at her nape again. “Now suck me.”
L'aide de ciel me, he thought as he gave into the urge to thrust into Morgan’s mouth again with a loud moan that should have shaken the cottage’s rafters. Heaven help me.
Again, he couldn’t resist the urge to f**k her mouth. His deep, insistent rhythm filled her, demanding she take and take. He watched her, lips swollen, cheeks rosy, eyes half-closed as if savoring him. Her ni**les were harder than ever. The sight of her burned into his brain, shredded his control.
He stiffened again, the pressure in his balls nearly painful as he held in his breath and held back his climax. Delaying the earth-shattering inevitable.
Morgan’s eyes opened, gaze lifting to him, asking and seducing at once. She wanted reassurance, sweetly begged him to let go, tempted him with the promise of ecstasy like he’d never known.
With that look, his control broke. The peak of rapture raced from the base of his spine, burned through his balls, up his cock, until he exploded. Pleasure ripped her name from his lips in a hoarse cry. It became a chant as he repeated it over and over while the sharp edge of bliss seemed to last forever, pounding his body with one relentless pulse of ecstasy after another.
Faintly, through the haze of his roaring heartbeat, he heard Morgan gurgling.
“Swallow,” he rasped, rubbing one of his hands along her neck. “Swallow, cher.”
Sweetly submissive now—for the moment—she did. But Jack didn’t kid himself. That smile breaking out across Morgan’s face told him her rush of excitement at breaking him down, stripping him of his iron defenses.
He pulled away from the sweet depths of her mouth and shucked his pants completely. Satiation lazed through him, and control reasserted itself. Now, he could mow down her barricades and return the favor. Now, he could capture her surrender, strip her soul, and make sure that having sex with Brandon Ross would never be on her wish list again.
Still panting, tired yet flying, Morgan stared at Jack as she rose to her feet. He tossed his pants aside and turned back to her with burning eyes. The short military cut of his hair only accentuated his angular face, his strong jaw dusted with a dark five o’clock shadow, his cleft chin. The gorgeous sights didn’t stop there.
She let her gaze wander down the powerful bulk of his shoulders, the solid bulges of his pectorals, the tight abs that showed the delineation of every muscle…and made a treasure trail down to his groin.
Even soft, his penis was big. When hard…he’d put most men to shame.
And she had conquered him. Big, bad Jack had totally succumbed to her. Was that sense of being mighty and compelling the reason he liked to dominate?
Morgan licked her lips, high on power. Despite a personal first, she wasn’t pausing to examine. Wouldn’t ask if it was right or wrong—plenty of time for that later. Now…
She sent him a kittenish smile. She’d survived his challenge to submit with nary a scratch. It hadn’t felt like being a mindless blow-up doll and taking orders; it had been more like following his clues until she learned exactly how to seize control and unravel him.
“You look happy with yourself.”
Morgan tried to wipe away the smile, but she just couldn’t suppress it. She didn’t want to gloat; that would only spur him on. Instead, she just shrugged.
“You’re thinking this is a game, Morgan. That you won, and I lost, and we can call it a night. You think we’re done and can forget the fear that you might enjoy submitting to me.”
His soft laugh gave her the first clue that she’d misjudged the situation. Her smile faltered.
“Cher, we’re just starting. I promise, you’ll give me complete control before we’re done.”
His whisper struck down to her gut, reawakening uncertainty. They weren’t done? Every other guy she’d been with…well, as Andrew put it, after he came once, he needed eight hours of sleep and a bowl of Wheaties before he was ready to go again. He’d called himself a sprinter. Did that mean Jack was like a marathon runner?
The thought struck an uncomfortable chord of lust in her belly.
“Kneel on the bed.” His voice startled from her ruminations.
“Wh—why?”
Any hint of postorgasm softness or relaxation in his expression vanished. “Because I said. I dominate, you submit. If you ask me one more question or hesitate again, I will paddle your ass.”
Tick-tock, tick-tock. Suddenly, Morgan could hear each impatient second between them lapse by. She glanced between the rumpled bed and Jack, whose even breaths and steady gaze told her he was completely serious.
She didn’t want this; she didn’t. But the ache between her legs had become a throb. The salty taste of him still lingered on her tongue, taunting her. Remembered pleasure from their fevered encounter against the door earlier bombarded her brain. She wanted that feeling again, of being taken, of experiencing an orgasm almost bigger than her body.