Читать книгу Charm - Flora Dain - Страница 7

I stare at Darnley, once more in shock. I’ve just found out that Ryan, my ex, is a criminal, Darnley, my once-only one-night stand, is now a bitter enemy and I’m rich beyond reason. Plus I’ve been on the road since dawn.

It’s been a long day.

What I need right now is a stiff drink, space to think and sleep. I rise shakily to my feet and head for the door. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in. This has all been –’

Darnley’s there before me. His hand closes over mine the second I touch the handle. Once more the shot of electricity from his touch fires instant arousal. Once more I’m helpless in the fierce intensity of his gaze, mesmerised by the force of his will.

‘Not yet, Ella. Please.’

I bridle, nerves still jangling. I’m puzzled but angry. In my current state it’s an unhappy mix.

His face softens. ‘Look, you’ve had a shock. You shouldn’t be alone. Stay here tonight. I’ll be told the minute Mitchell comes in. I’ll wake you.’

Stay here? I wrench my imagination back from the wild images spiralling before me. Mitchell? Who’s that? Oh, yes, my ex … for a split second I’ve forgotten his existence.

I lick my lips. It’s a tempting offer …

Darnley must read something of this on my face because I see his mouth twitch at the corners and his eyelids lower. He senses my weakness, predator that he is.

‘There’s more than one bedroom.’

His voice is silky now, his hand firmly planted over mine. I feel his thumb move gently. It grazes the tips of my knuckles in a tiny, subtle caress.

‘But I have to get my things,’ I falter, feeling my will drain away in the white heat of his steady gaze.

‘I had them brought up. You’re in the room on the left.’

‘What?’ I snap to attention. ‘Before you even asked me?’

He loosens his grip on my rigid fist and slides his hand up my arm. ‘Come and sit down again. You’re a terrible colour. I’ll get you a drink.’

His look is veiled, his tone calm, but it’s one shock too many.

I glare at him. ‘I’m fine. Please show me my room.’ I clamp my lips in a firm line so he won’t see them tremble and guess I’m on the point of giving in.

With an impatient sigh he leads me through the vast spaces of his suite to a large, gauzy room with filmy drapes. The bed is already turned down, my slip prettily laid out across the pillow. I turn to thank him but he’s already gone.

Still on autopilot I shower, brush out my hair and prepare for bed. At last I perch on the unfamiliar satin sheets, pull my knees up to my chin and gaze at the wall, trying to make sense of all that’s happened tonight.

* * *

The small pool of light from the bedside lamp makes strange shadows in this sumptuous, unfamiliar room. They mirror my thoughts. Nothing adds up. However I come at this I can’t seem to untangle it. All that stays with me is the strange feeling I had when I walked in here earlier today that I was on the brink of something new.

After a while – minutes? Hours? I can hardly tell – there’s a light knock. I look up with a start. News at last? I hope it’s nothing bad. I can’t take any more shocks tonight.

It’s Darnley. He slips into the room and stands in the shadow by the door, letting it close quietly behind him. As I take him in I hold my breath. He’s wearing a short robe in black velour, tied at the waist. He looks lean and muscular. On his chest I catch a gleam from the small wolf’s-head logo embossed in silver. In the shadows he looks stunning, the hollows in his cheeks etched in the dim light from the lamp, emphasising the jutting, predatory cheekbones, the tough line of his jaw and the cruel possibilities of his long mouth.

He looks like he’s trying to make up his mind about me and fast losing patience because he’s still undecided. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been awake for hours. It’s late.’ He walks slowly across the room, his easy grace at odds with his troubled expression. ‘Can’t sleep?’

He runs a finger lightly over the taut knuckles clasped around my knees. ‘You’re cold. How long have you been sitting like this?’

He holds my gaze as he sits down beside me on the edge of the bed, prises my hands away and folds them into his. His warm clasp revives me enough to shift towards him and stretch out my stiff, cramped legs.

‘Did my lamp wake you?’ I shiver as feeling prickles back into my calf muscles in a shower of pins and needles.

His frown deepens and he folds his arms around me and pulls me close, his gaze stern. ‘Not exactly. The thought of you sitting in here with the light on is putting me off. What makes you sleep, Ella? What is it you need?’

I lean forward and breathe in his glorious aroma, heady and feral, and as I lift my eyes to his I see that he knows. He knows all about what I want.

At the same time a tiny part of me notices he’s still fingering the bones on my wrist, his touch gentle, warm, like he’s measuring, probing. It’s oddly arousing, just that faint, persistent touch. I’d no idea that part of me, just at the inner base of my hand, at the thinnest part of my arm, could be so sensitive.

Or maybe it’s because whenever he touches me there he seems unnaturally still.

The rest of me suffuses with deliberate, blatant lust. My breath quickens as my breasts graze the soft fabric of his robe through the thin satin stretched taut by their weight as I lean forward.

A flicker of awareness crosses his face. He can tell. The faint tilt of one eyebrow shows his reaction as clearly as if I’d said it out loud. ‘Really? Is that all?’

I reply with the faintest brush of my lips along the edge of his jaw. He sits very still for a moment as I move round to touch them to his earlobes, his neck and then the delicious hollow at the base of his throat. It’s a kind of homage but I’m powerless to invest it with any meaning. I’m simply reacting to the sensual force field that’s building around us.

‘Can I ask you a favour?’ His smile is friendly, his expression veiled.

My eyes widen briefly and then I kiss him again, scared he’ll ask me to stop and this might be my last chance.

‘Can I tie you up?’

He might be asking me to pass him a tissue. I sit up, wondering if I’ve heard him right. His expression’s calm. He’s waiting for an answer. I’ve heard about this. I’ve even heard it’s fun. But nobody’s ever asked me to do it.

My pulse shoots into overdrive, pounding in my ears and almost drowning out my instant, unthinking reply. ‘Yes.’

In minutes his velour sash is looped under the corners of the mattress and first one and then the other slim, quivering wrist is slip-tied to one of the loose ends. When he pulls on my ankles to drag me down the bed a little way, my arms are stretched wide over my head. Without the sash to confine it his robe swings open as he works, his movements brisk and efficient as he spreads my legs wide to get me into position.

I gaze entranced at the sight of his rippling skin, gleaming in the low light from the lamp as he bends over me to fix me into place for whatever enormity he’s planning.

The thought that he’s done this before – and, judging from the efficient way he’s tying me up, often – sends arousal rocketing through me in sheets of flame.

Now the power of his spell is overwhelming and I’m falling fast. I cling to reality by blurting out one more question, my voice shaky. It’s not from panic but real curiosity. It’s also a feeble bid to assert myself against the floodtide of his energy, its force so great it threatens any minute to sweep me away. ‘Why? Why are you doing this?’

He pauses as he kneels over me, his powerful thighs warm at either side of my face, the crotch of his boxers already thrillingly filled and bulging and very close to my mouth. I can smell the heady aroma of mingled spice and earth that pervades his body heat.

He shrugs off his robe and hurls it across the room where it flaps over a low chair like a defeated vampire. ‘Because I want you to keep still.’ His eyes glitter as he leans over me, his jutting erection making his intention plain.

He grabs my ankles and hauls me down the bed a little further, forces a pillow under my hips and then pushes my thighs apart until they ache. He leans back on his haunches to admire me for a moment before he swoops down to kiss me on the lips, his tongue insistent and probing, forcing gently into my mouth and then lingering, massaging mine in a gentle greeting – or is it staking a claim? – before pulling away.

He looks deep into my eyes and for a second I see a glimmer of heat. ‘And because I like it.’

He pulls away and moves back down my body to where I’m splayed wide, open to his inspection and now throbbing painfully, powerless and aroused to the point of numbness. ‘Are you always as swollen as this?’ He peers at me intently and begins to probe me gently with his fingers, easing into me with the sure touch of an expert.

I gasp at his touch, my thighs jerking back together in a reflex utterly beyond my control, but his response is swift and painful.

He slaps me hard on my inner thigh. ‘Keep still or I’ll tie your ankles too.’

Now I’m staring at him in shock, my neck aching from the effort of holding up my head to see what he’ll do next. I’m starting to tremble and it’s making me jumpy.

He probes again, his fingers intimate and wildly provoking. He watches me closely as he does it. ‘Hey, easy. Lie back. I’m not going to hurt you, Ella. I just want to try something.’

What kind of thing? I stare back at him, helpless in his gaze as he probes me again, his eyes fierce but his touch gentle as a whisper, as if to prove he can do nice as well as nasty. And all at once I want both, and fast. I grin at the enormity of my surrender, my lips parted to drag in air. ‘Yes.’

It’s all he needs. Triumph flickers in his eyes as he lowers his head and begins to feast.

His tongue could launch ships or start wars. I’ve never been so tormented, so teased or so relished in all my life. He sweeps its long, strong tip all along one side of my wide, splayed dip, skims the apex and then runs it down the other side, sending bolts of arousal shooting through me. Then he does it again. And again. And infinitely slowly he works his way into my folds, testing and tasting deep into my petals, parting each layer with patience and careful skill as if each hidden secret he finds there is precious and each act of separation an experience not to be missed.

I writhe and buck under his exquisite torment, tugging on my soft velour bonds like a captive doe in the hunter’s grasp. Each time I twitch out of reach he slaps me, and soon he growls low in his throat as he does it, the sound almost a snarl, inflaming me further. At last he reaches my centre and the first light, tingling touch of his tongue on my pulsing, swollen bud makes me scream aloud in rage and frustration.

He slaps me again, harder now. ‘Quiet. You’ll have half the hotel in here. Use some self-control or I’ll have to resort to discipline.’

He’ll what? Ye gods … what have I started?

He stays on target, his tongue edging back through my layers and probing deeper, below me this time, to where my rump hovers, trembling over the void on its pillow hill. Now he brings his fingers into play, pushing them into me, first one, then more, and cruelly grazes my bud with finger and thumb, splaying me open with his other hand to expose me fully and deny me even the small satisfaction of feeling my own softness close and maybe tip me over the edge.

I whimper as his fingers continue to graze me, gentle and insistent, but never enough – never close enough, never hard enough – always easing away just as I think the pressure will make me erupt.

Now he cruelly abandons my quivering, pulsing, lustful little crater as he looms back into my line of vision. He leans up over me and continues his torment along my taut, rippling belly and finally reaches my jutting, heaving breasts. Here he takes his time, folding his hands around them and kneading hard, making them bulge and swell up before me like mountains. He smiles down at me as he rolls my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, softly at first and then increasing the pressure until I cry out.

As he slaps me again I feel something drip somewhere, I can only hope on the pillow. It tickles madly, adding to my torture, and right on cue he releases one breast and searches down below with his hand. ‘Someone wet already? We’ve got a long way to go yet.’

Keeping one hand busy on my breasts he leans back up and now his face is close to mine as he runs his hand lightly along the soft inner skin of my taut, captured arm. His fingers rest on my wrist and linger where the sensitive skin slants away from the loose binding because of the angle he’s forced me to take. He probes the skin under the loop with his finger, testing gently, and all at once I see a gleam in his eyes and a new stillness in his look. At the same moment his erection jerks painfully against my flank.

Whoa. What is this?

I hear him draw in a long, deep breath. ‘Beautiful.’ He looks back at me with a glimmer of heat so intense it scares me. It lasts only a second and then his expression veils once more and he returns to my breasts, his mouth hungry now. His teeth nip and tease at my nipples.

Something has changed, intensified. There’s a new urgency about him. Now each time I cry out he slaps me hard but I hardly feel it, I’m so excited. The places are beginning to join up into a hot glow. Each new blow from the hard flat of his hand simply stokes one more flame in a growing fire that rages everywhere down south and threatens to burn me up.

At last, as I whimper and thrash in my bonds, he takes pity on me and returns to the eager, pulsing furnace between my legs. His hungry mouth fastens once more on my most private place.

This time his hunger overwhelms even mine and I feel the power of his jaws as he sucks forcefully, bringing so much more heat to the surface I think I shall erupt. And at long last he fastens on my aching bud and sucks hard. I come in seconds, screaming aloud, and he instantly clamps a hand over my mouth. I scream against it until my throat aches, mewling and thrashing under his jaws. The force of my climax slowly ebbs away but he stays rigidly in place, feasting over and over, sucking on my throbbing, tormented bud time and again until I start to shudder and weep from the sheer depth of my forced pleasure.

Finally tears of weakness run down into my hair in a continuous stream. He pulls away and leans up over me to fasten his hungry, busy mouth on mine. And under his powerful, juice-laden tongue I yield all over again, weeping freely under his kiss in a desperate attempt to thank him for my pleasure.

When he pulls away he hauls out the pillow from beneath me and places it gently under my head. I watch bewildered, half expecting him to claim his own satisfaction. I wonder fleetingly if I have strength left to pleasure him like I should. I owe him. ‘That was sensational,’ I whisper.

In reply he simply smiles down at me, kisses away my tears and then leans over each balled fist, still securely bound in velour. He loosens first one knot and then the other and draws the sash out from under the mattress and loops it over his shoulder.

He leans down and touches his lips to mine. ‘Now get some sleep.’ He folds the quilt around me, turns off the lamp, retrieves his robe and heads for the door.

With the room in darkness all I can see is his outline, a darker shape against the night. From somewhere beyond the drapes at the open window his eyes must pick up a hint of moonlight because they gleam briefly in the darker shadow he’s now become, darkness on darkness as he smiles a final goodnight.

The door closes softly behind him and in seconds, thanks to the blistering storm of orgasms I’ve just endured, I’m adrift on some warm sea, glowing and content. As I drift I think I hear a man’s voice close by. It’s not Darnley, but it’s oddly familiar. Another guest? Someone in the corridor?

I’m too sleepy to care. Maybe I dreamed it.

I wake in the early light to find my thighs on fire and a note on my pillow.

It has just three words written on it. ‘Mitchell in contact.’

I groan, turn over and go back to sleep.