Seduce Me Tonight (Mischief Books) Read online

  He sighed, sounding utterly content. ‘You know I’m never going to be able to look at this car again without getting a hard on, right? Maybe it’s better she doesn’t run any more – wouldn’t want to risk an accident because my dick is draining the blood from my brain.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the car, but you definitely know how to make me purr,’ I whispered, and nipped at his shoulder with renewed desire.

  ‘Good.’ He moved against me, rubbing against my wetness until I moaned against his shoulder, his cock slowly thickening against me. ‘Because that’s all that matters.’

  Love and Lust

  I had been in a few relationships, but never one like this. Never with someone who had broken down every wall that I attempted to build, who left me feeling raw and exposed and vulnerable. Vulnerable. Me. I was the one that had ended every relationship I had ever been in, but the idea of leaving Christopher was incomprehensible. It was love, I guess. Maybe I had never really been in love before. Maybe you can’t really know what it means to be in love until you meet someone who gets into your head and knows you better than yourself. It’s a scary thing, having no secrets, no way to protect yourself. You have to trust that the one you love also loves you back – and I wasn’t so sure Christopher did. That, more than the vulnerability, scared me. Not that he might not love me – I could live with that – but that he might be the one to leave me. I was the one who escaped from relationships first. I was the one to say enough was enough. But with Christopher there was no such thing as enough. I wanted more. And I wanted him to want to give it to me.

  The doorbell rang and I responded like Pavlov’s dog. My breath caught in my throat, my nipples tightened and I felt a spasm low in my belly. It annoyed me, and to give him so much power over me seemed dangerous, but I had no real control over it. I didn’t give him anything – my body simply responded to what I felt whether I wanted it to or not. I was in love, damn it all to hell, and there was nothing I could do about it. And now my thoughts scattered to the wind because Christopher was here.

  ‘Hello, Laura.’ He dropped a kiss on my upturned lips as I opened the door. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m good. It’s nice to see you.’

  We sounded like strangers at a cocktail party, but I knew I was only responding to his stiffness and formality. Despite the affectation that made him seem distant, it was almost too easy to imagine myself as his wife, welcoming home my tired spouse. That image gave way to a more likely one of the bewitching mistress, desired, yet disposable when the time came. Mistress wasn’t right, either, because it suggested a relationship we didn’t have. There was no wife waiting at home for Christopher. He was all mine. Except he wasn’t. The barriers he had broken down in me were always in place for him. He probed my vulnerabilities and urged me to let go, something he could never bring himself to do. At least not with me.

  ‘You look pretty this evening. I like your hair down like this. You look very different, relaxed.’ His voice dropped to a husky drawl as he pulled me close and tangled his fingers in my long brown hair. ‘I can see your breasts through your shirt, bad girl.’

  I didn’t bother telling him that I had chosen the sheer blouse and forgone a bra for just that reason. He already knew. ‘Thank you, Christopher,’ I murmured, pulling away and reaching for the glass of wine on the table. ‘Do you want some wine?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I felt like the exhausted prey at the end of a long cat-and-mouse chase. Except the evening had only begun. My hand trembled slightly and the wine sloshed up the side of the glass as I handed it to him.

  I watched him while he drank his wine. He wasn’t a handsome man, not in the conventional sense. He was tall enough that he attracted attention wherever we went, but his face was angular, his nose prominent, and his often serious expression rendered him harsh and hawk-like. But he had the lean body of a runner and everything about him suggested movement even when he sat still. Watching his long tapered fingers manipulate the stem of the wine glass made me shiver. He was energy and power in one tightly controlled package and I longed to be the one to snap his control and experience that energy and power in its purest form. Or so I fantasised.

  His gaze never left my face as he pressed the glass to my lips. ‘Have a sip, love.’

  I drank and his cool fingertips stroked my throat as I swallowed. It was an oddly intimate sensation and I fought to control my throat muscles. Then he poured too quickly and I couldn’t swallow it all. The wine trickled from the corner of my mouth and I reached for it, but he quickly caught the drop of crimson on his fingertip. He stared through me with his ice-blue gaze as he sucked the liquid from his finger. I shivered. I knew that look and what it promised.

  ‘Come,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me towards the bedroom. The word was more than a command, it was a prophecy of the evening ahead of us.

  I followed him down the short hall.

  Standing in front of me in the doorway, he sighed. ‘It’s ridiculous to become attached to a piece of furniture, but I really do love this bed.’

  The bed had belonged to my mother and my grandmother before her. It was too big for a cramped one-bedroom apartment, taking up most of the floor and giving me mere inches of space all the way around, but it was a small sacrifice to make and I made it willingly. I loved the bed and everything it represented – peaceful slumber, a respite from reality, uninhibited passion. It was adorned with white sheets and a white down comforter and a dozen pillows in white and beige, all on top of a ridiculously thick pillow-top mattress. All of that white offset the ornate bronze frame that gleamed in the light of the dozen or so candles I’d lit before he arrived. I felt like a princess in that bed, but there was nothing virginal and innocent about it. It was the essence of seduction and I was the wicked princess filled with carnal desires. And that made Christopher my handsome prince, right? Or was he the evil sorcerer, intent on enslaving me, body and soul? The latter seemed more accurate.

  He pulled me towards the bed and reached for the buttons of my gauzy blouse. He peeled the cloth away slowly, kissing my exposed skin here and there as he went. I felt like I was shedding the skin that the rest of the world saw and revealing my true self for him only.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.

  His confession left me breathless.

  I was his graduate assistant and saw him three days a week at the university, but I knew what he meant.

  ‘I missed you, too,’ I breathed against his mouth as his hard, warm lips slid against mine. I caught my breath as he moved down the hollow of my throat. ‘I – I love you.’

  He pressed his cool fingertips against my lips. ‘Shh. Get on the bed now.’

  He helped me climb onto the tall bed and I knelt before him, wearing only a pair of faded denim jeans, the knees torn out and worn spots on the insides of my thighs. He stood in front of me, stroking the swell of my breasts until my skin dimpled with gooseflesh.

  ‘I love your breasts, they’re so beautiful,’ he murmured, taking my small tight nipples between his fingers and tugging. ‘So responsive.’

  I moaned low in my throat at the slight hint of pain, my hands automatically coming up to cover his.

  ‘Put your hands behind your back,’ he said softly, but the words were very much a command.

  I eagerly complied, anticipating what my obedience would bring. ‘Yes, Christopher.’

  The barest hint of a smile came to his lips. ‘You must have missed me very much to be so agreeable.’

  I could only nod. I hated that I was so transparent in my need for him. That he seemed so cool and controlled in the face of my runaway heart. But as I knelt there, my taut nipples between his fingertips and wetness gathering between my thighs, I didn’t care. This was an addiction I had no interest in curing.

  My hips moved imperceptibly, or so I thought, as I rubbed my clit against the unyielding seam of my jeans. The relief was bittersweet – enough to take the edge off, but not nearly enough to give me t
he release I wanted. Only he could do that, and he was in no hurry to offer me anything but this slow, sweet torment.

  ‘I didn’t tell you to move.’ He slapped the side of my bare breast with the palm of his hand hard enough to make my breast sway. ‘Stay still.’

  It didn’t hurt, but the sharp sound made me gasp. I dropped my chin to my chest, properly chastised and loving every second of it.

  His slid his hand down my belly and over my jeans. I tried so hard not to arch my hips towards him, but I couldn’t help myself. I could never help myself with him. He brought out impulses that were impossible to control. Lust, I told myself, my brain fuzzy from the endorphin rush he was already raising in me. Just lust. But I knew it was more than that. I could walk away from lust. I couldn’t walk away from this.

  He cupped my denim-covered crotch in the palm of his large hand and squeezed hard. ‘You are so hot down here,’ he murmured, alternately squeezing and releasing. ‘So hot and needy.’

  ‘If you keep that up,’ I gasped as his middle finger rode the seam of my jeans, ‘I will come.’

  ‘We can’t have that, can we?’ He removed his hand and I bit back a groan. ‘Undress me, Laura.’

  I blinked, his words barely registering in my lust-addled brain. Then I realised what he had said and reached for his tie. In a haze that felt as if I was moving in slow motion through molasses, I removed the crisp burgundy tie, then his shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. He helped me by slipping off his shoes and socks while I worked at his belt. It was an expensive piece of stiff dark leather that I had known intimately on other occasions. I shivered, wondering what he had in mind for me tonight. Whatever it was, I would spend many hours masturbating shamelessly to the memory of it, as I did with all of our erotic encounters. However fleeting the experiences, the memories lingered on and on, tormenting me with their sweetness and making me long for more – more pain, more pleasure, more Christopher.

  I unfastened his trousers and guided the zipper down over his semi-hard penis, my fingers brushing along his length. He was as large there as everywhere else and my cunt throbbed in remembrance. His trousers dropped to the ground and he stepped out of them. I reached for the waistband of his boxers then, but he caught both of my wrists in his hands, pressing his fingers into their boniness hard enough to leave marks.

  ‘No. I want you to use your mouth on me.’

  I whimpered in anticipation as I bent over, still on my knees, and pressed my lips to his cloth-covered cock. It twitched against my mouth, hardening, lengthening, as I traced the outline of his arousal with my tongue. Finally, I zeroed in on the swollen head, sucking the engorged tip between my lips. He stood there, hands at his sides, silently observing me. I sucked him until the cloth of his shorts was soaked through and I could see hard, dark pink flesh beneath the pale blue cotton.

  ‘Enough,’ he ordered, pulling me away by my hair. ‘Are you hungry for me, Laura?’

  I nodded, licking my lips and imagining I could taste him. ‘Oh, yes,’ I breathed, my hips moving in a natural rhythm again.

  ‘Let me feel you.’

  I sat up and his hand went back between my legs. My cunt felt swollen, almost uncomfortably so, against the tight denim. He squeezed my flesh hard until I made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a plea. It felt as if he was wringing the wetness out of me.

  He pulled his hand away and showed it to me. His palm glistened. ‘You wet straight through your jeans,’ he said, sounding pleased with his discovery. ‘Taste yourself.’

  He held his hand to my mouth and I licked his palm, tasting my essence. Then I sucked his fingers into my mouth one at a time, teasing him until he pulled away and stripped off his boxers. His cock jutted out at me, thick and heavily veined. He slowly ran his hand up the length of his shaft to the swollen red knob, taunting me the way I’d taunted him. I felt myself leaning towards him, nearly losing my balance in an effort to be closer to his hard body.

  ‘This is what you want, isn’t it? This is what you need.’

  A crystal-clear drop of arousal appeared at the tip, a reminder that I wasn’t the only one who was in need right now, no matter how controlled he might be. That thought made me smile. He wasn’t the only one with power.

  I licked my lips and leaned forward to suck him into my mouth, but he stepped back from the bed, as far as the dresser behind him would allow. I made a sound of disappointment low in my throat. My hips were swaying to a rhythm all their own as I rubbed my cunt against the soaked crotch of my jeans. ‘Please, Christopher. I want you. I can’t take any more.’

  That wasn’t true, of course, and he called me on it. Christopher had tested my limits many times over and I would have been disappointed if he had given in to my request so quickly. Maybe that’s why I loved him so much. Where other men were easily manipulated, Christopher maintained self-control even when he was hard and wanting. He not only played the game, he played it even better than I did.

  He laughed. ‘I’m going to push you as far as you can go, Laura. And then I’m going to push you some more.’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered.

  A smile still lingered on his lips. ‘Show me how much you want me.’

  I tugged at my jeans, but they were so tight they clung to my damp skin. I lost my balance and tumbled sideways on the bed before I got them down around my knees. I plunged my hand between my thighs, dipping my fingers into my wetness. I moaned in relief, but also in frustration because I wanted him inside me.

  ‘Greedy, greedy,’ Christopher reprimanded me. He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and jerked them the rest of the way off, turning them inside out in the process. Then he wrapped his arm around my waist and flipped me over onto my stomach as if I weighed nothing. ‘Show me your ass, love.’

  I did as he said, my back arched, my bare ass stuck in the air before him. My fingers never stopped working between my spread thighs. I knew he’d make me stop soon enough, knew I’d never reach orgasm before he did, but I couldn’t stop. My need was too great.

  His hands spanned my narrow hips and he pulled me back against his cock. He didn’t go into me, not yet. He held me there, quivering against his hardened shaft, both of us breathing roughly. He hadn’t even told me he wanted me yet, but I knew it in the hardness of his cock and the roughness of his hands. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I marvelled over that truth every time we were together – how did I ever forget it? Why did I ever question it? His every action and every word showed me how much he wanted me, even if he didn’t say it. I was as much his drug as he was mine.

  Then he uttered one word. ‘Beg.’

  My mind was reeling with thoughts but my mouth couldn’t form a coherent response. I whimpered. I felt a primal need to scream, to cry out in longing. Finally, in a voice I didn’t recognise, I gasped, ‘Please, Christopher. Please, fuck me. Please.’

  He thrust into me then, that one powerful stroke driving me nearly halfway across the wide expanse of the bed. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Please, please, please,’ I continued to plead even though he was giving me what I wanted, for fear he would stop if I stopped begging.

  He drove himself into me, over and over, driving all reason out of my mind in the process. I could feel his emotions in his thrusts, there was nothing aloof or distant in the way he fucked me, no walls between us. He was raw with lust and need that were as real and as strong as mine. I took what he gave, but I gave in return – thrusting back against him, clenching my muscles tightly around him, working my hand down between my legs to rub his balls and stroke his wet shaft as he slid out of me.

  We were equals here in this mind-space of emotional desire and physical release, equals and halves, completing each other in a way no other could. At least in a way no one else could for me. The idea that Christopher might feel this connection with anyone else was enough to stop my heart in my chest, but I knew, I felt, that there could be no other. Between the narrow space of his true self and the wall he kept up so much of the
time, there was no room for anyone except me. Only me.

  It was only in moments like this, only when he was lost inside me, that I truly felt like he was mine, that I had all of him, including his heart. I was torn between needing to come and wanting to make it last as long as I could. My need, denied too long, won out. Orgasm washed over me, tingling up from my belly and spreading along my skin, making my cunt wetter and my nipples harder, making my muscles go rigid and my neck arch.

  I screamed his name as I came, panting raggedly like a woman in labour. He let me come alone and I knew he was listening to me, watching me, memorising every detail of my physical response. Noting the way I gasped when he slid halfway out of my clenching cunt, the way I arched my back even harder and pushed against him to keep him inside of me. The way I whimpered and trembled like a newborn pup when he shoved his cock into me again, filling the space he had left.

  When my orgasm had faded to the faintest of ripples, he gave three short, deep thrusts and came with a guttural moan. His cock swelled and throbbed inside me as his breath quickened and his hands tightened on my hips, enough to leave bruises in their wake. I felt him go still and tense behind me, his chest draped over my lower back as he came down from the rush of release.

  At last he pulled away from my damp body and I collapsed on my stomach. After such a feeling of fullness, I felt bereft at his absence. No amount of time was ever enough to feel him inside of me. At least, I hadn’t experienced it yet.

  He stretched out on the bed and I rolled towards him, a hand still clenched between my damp thighs. I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as his breathing evened out. I reached out to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart, but I pulled away.

  ‘Christopher, do you love me?’

  He glanced at me the way a man might glance at another passenger on a bus, as if suddenly realising he’s not alone. ‘Why do you ask? Are you feeling all romantic in your big bed?’