Читать книгу The Dare Collection October 2018 - Nicola Marsh - Страница 13

MARGOT’S ENTIRE BODY was rioting.

Everything seemed connected. Her breath. Her pulse. The wild heat that stormed through her and made her want to do things she couldn’t even name—things she’d never thought she’d have the slightest interest in before tonight.

Before Thor.

She didn’t understand what had happened. One moment she’d been in complete control. She’d been aware that he was baiting her, but that had been fine. She’d had more than a little anxiety about what she was planning to do, and the fact that Thor kept challenging her helped. She’d undressed as she wished, making certain that the entire exercise felt like what it was: work.

Then everything had shifted, rendering her something like drunk when she’d barely tasted her wine. But that was how it felt. The imposing walls of this penthouse of his had seemed to slip and slide, and the heated floor beneath her feet had seemed to buckle.

It was something about that arctic blue gaze of his and the way he fixed it on her, as if he didn’t care what that kind of intense focus might tell her about him. It was the way he’d stayed there, low before the fire as if he didn’t hum with all that lethal energy and had done nothing but...watch.

Even thinking about it made her shudder where he held her, lifted up and off the bed though her shoulders were still pressed into the mattress.

And Thor was still dressed.

Somehow that made it all hotter. Dirtier. He was fully clothed while she writhed about, flushed red and naked and wide-open to him.

Imagining what she must look like to him made her shudder again, perilously close to another wild shattering.

“I don’t beg,” she panted out at him, trying to force a little more air into her chest.

The look on his face was too wicked to name.

“If you say so. But I did not ask you to beg. Just ask me for what you want, Margot. Ask me, or I will simply hold you here. Like this. Forever.”

She believed him. She wasn’t sure why, because it didn’t make any sense that he would actually do something as ridiculous as what he’d threatened when the entire point of them being here was to have sex. Not stand around in odd positions.

But the truth was that her body didn’t find anything about Thor ridiculous.

Not one thing. Not even his sensual threats.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows again. She told herself she was uncomfortable, that she was cold and in a strangely angled position—but even if that was true, she couldn’t say she cared much.

Thor’s hands were big like the rest of him, and he held her ass securely as if he really could do it forever. She felt almost as if he was burning her, his palms were so hot.

And her pussy was so wet it occurred to her that she ought to be embarrassed.

She told herself she wasn’t, but a kind of electric shame flashed through her, telling her what a liar she was.

“I don’t understand,” she managed to say, though she could hardly hear her own voice over the roaring in her ears.

“You do.”

“I don’t see why I have to perform for you.”

“You can either own your sexual desires or you can deny them,” Thor said, that voice of his like gravel though it rolled through her like some kind of honey, pooling in all the dark places inside her she’d never acknowledged. “But only one of those things is going to get you off.”

Something was building inside Margot then. It felt much too intense. It felt much too close, too scary—

But this is sex, she told herself. It’s just sex.

And sex wasn’t scary. It was sometimes awkward, or messy, or better in theory than in practice because penises never behaved as advertised and her own orgasm was often hard to chase down, but it wasn’t scary.

Besides, she was here for research purposes. And there was nothing scary about research. Why was she psyching herself out?

“Put your mouth on me,” she blurted out, and it was as if she’d stuck her hands into an electrical socket. Everything went white-hot inside her, all over her, until even her breath felt edgy. Raw.

“Where?” Thor’s voice was stern. Implacable.

“I can’t...”

“If you can’t name it, Margot, how can you truly enjoy it?”

“This is no time for philosophy.”

He didn’t relent. “Where, Professor? Where do you want my mouth?”

She was wide-open before him. He was lifting her off the bed as if he was prepared to serve himself a taste of her—and she was bright and hot and shuddery at the very idea. Her pussy was melting and wild, with a dangerous pulse all its own.

And it wasn’t as if the rest of her was any better.

Margot pressed her elbows down against the mattress beneath her. Her hands were in fists against the comforter. She was tense and needy, sensations she’d never felt in her life shivering through her again and again.

“Between my legs,” she whispered, because she had to know.

She had to know what it would feel like.

On some level she was appalled with herself for failing, yet again, to be as explicit as he’d been. Since when had she become so prudish? She was an academic. Not some sheltered adolescent tucked away in a convent somewhere, unable to form dirty words without imagining she’d be struck down from on high.

But she couldn’t seem to make herself say any of the words she might have used. She couldn’t seem to force herself to be more specific.

Thor shifted. He bent toward her, and her hips lifted of their own accord, but all he did was press his lips against the inner slope of one thigh.

“Is that what you mean?” he asked, and she could feel the words against her tender skin, as if he was tattooing them there with his own lips. As if there was no part of her he wouldn’t mark. “I am between your legs, am I not?”

Another wave of heat swept over her. It even pricked at the backs of her eyes, and Margot was suddenly horrified at the notion she might actually cry.

Even more so that she would do it in front of Thor.

Here, while she was supposedly researching Icelandic sex traditions.

She didn’t understand how he could be doing these remarkably physical things to her, but her body seemed to want to process them as emotions.

Too many emotions to bear.

Margot didn’t want to understand.

But she was too hot. She felt raw and exposed, and greedier than she’d ever imagined she could feel. About anything.

It was as if she had never wanted before in all her life.

As if everything before this moment was pale. Insubstantial. As pointless as a single candle against the howling blizzard outside.

But she told herself that was the point.

She was here to try to understand this land of fire and ice in the most intimate way possible. The way the locals did.

“My...pussy,” she forced herself to say, and managed to get the word out without stuttering like a child. “I want your mouth on my pussy, Thor. Please.”

If he noticed that she’d come perilously close to begging after all, he didn’t mention it. She felt his mouth curve, there against the soft inside of her thigh. Then he lifted his head and that was worse. Or better.

He looked like some kind of god. Old-world and elemental. Fierce and uncompromising, and entirely bent on destruction.

Margot had never wanted so badly to be destroyed in all her life.

“Your wish is my command,” he told her, his voice dark and lazy, with an edge to it that made her wonder a little bit wildly what it would be like to choose to follow his commands.

In the sorts of very specific ways she imagined he practiced nightly in his own, personal dungeon.

He adjusted the way he held her, and she thought he would take the opportunity to make more challenging remarks. To draw this out even further—

But instead he bent and set his mouth there where she needed him the most.

He didn’t simply lick into her.

He ate at her.

Thor growled as he feasted on her sodden, tender flesh, then sucked on her clit until she bucked.

He was greedy. Thorough. Impossibly hot. He went back and forth, keeping her on edge and unable to predict what he’d do next—

When the first wave hit her, it seemed to come from nowhere. Margot felt herself stiffen and then the ripples spread, getting more and more intense by the second, until she was jerking against his hold.

And Thor didn’t stop.

He rode out her orgasm, as if he wanted to eat it whole, too. And something about that image made it worse—or made it more intense—and so it went on and on and on.

But so did he.

Margot thought she had stopped coming, or maybe it was one long orgasm with no beginning and no end, a rise and a fall and then a lush sweep right back into it all over again.

She went from peak to peak, rolling over and over, until she lost all awareness of herself. She didn’t care if she was too bright, too red. She didn’t care that she’d locked her legs around his neck, that she was arched up off the bed in total abandon or that she was grinding her pussy into his mouth.

All she cared about was this. Sensation after sensation, chasing each other toward something bigger. Brighter.

Too wild to name.

Eventually, the storm blew itself out.

Or he decided it had. Margot couldn’t tell.

Thor pulled her legs from around him and settled her back on his bed, smiling a little as if he knew exactly how limp and wrung out she was.

Margot couldn’t breathe. And the crazy part was, she didn’t much care about that the way she knew she had before.

He straightened and stood there over her, and her heart pounded all over again as she stared up at that hard, wicked mouth of his. It was as if he was still pressed against her, his tongue and his teeth and that jaw of his driving her into madness.

How could it be that he didn’t even have to do it again? That the memory of what he’d just done pushed her toward that edge all over again...

Margot felt dizzy, but she didn’t want to analyze it.

It was easier to look at him instead. So big. So tall. Every inch of him a conquering Viking, packed with hard muscle, that tousled dark blond hair, and those gleaming blue eyes of his that burned wherever they touched her.

And he’d told her to ask for what she wanted, so she did.

“I want your clothes off,” she told him, and her heart was still beating too hard, so she couldn’t pay attention to how strange she sounded. How unlike herself. “Now.”

Thor’s mouth didn’t move. But she could see the hard sort of smile in the blue of his eyes. He inclined his head and then stretched out his arms to the sides as if he was surrendering.

But she didn’t think either one of them believed he was doing anything of the kind.

His eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. “Do as you like.”

It was couched as an invitation. So there was no reason it should have felt like an order.

But there was that fever in her, making it impossible for Margot to care about feelings. Not when she was still so wet and greedy.

Not when she still wanted him more than she wanted her next breath.

And the fact that she had never felt that way before—about anyone she’d ever been with or any sex she’d ever thought about having—

Margot couldn’t let herself go there.

There were too many precipices littered about and she wanted no part of any of them. Not if considering their danger might make her rethink what she was doing.

She didn’t want to rethink it. She didn’t want to think.

Margot pushed herself up to kneel before him, and a little throbbing thing shook itself awake in a distinct sort of feminine pleasure at the fact he still towered over her.

Something in her shouted that it wasn’t right to like this feeling. This strangely compelling sensation that she was small where he was so large, fragile where he was tough, everywhere—

Margot ignored it.

She pushed up the fine, soft T-shirt he wore and worked it over those massive shoulders of his. And her reward was that when she did, his chest was right there before her. His skin was hot to the touch. And he smelled so good it made her eyes water and her belly tighten.

She didn’t care if it was right or wrong or what she ought to feel when she followed an urge she didn’t recognize and bent forward, pressing her open mouth to the hollow between his pectoral muscles.

But he still wasn’t naked and Margot was running out of patience. And nerve. Her fingers felt too big, too clumsy when she wanted to take her time. She wanted to explore every fascinating ridge of his abdomen and all those smooth, heavy muscles that gleamed in the firelight, but there was that dark need deep inside her, winding itself tighter and tighter.

She felt heavy with it. As if she might scream, or cry, or simply burst apart at the seams if she couldn’t find her way to that...more.

“Why are you frowning?”

Margot hadn’t realized she was until he said so. And the amusement in his voice didn’t help. She didn’t want to tell him that she was desperately trying to keep herself together. That she’d already come too many times and she couldn’t seem to stop trembling, down low in her belly. That some part of her was terrified that there was more and that she wanted it so badly.

Or worse, that there wasn’t. That she’d already had her fun and Thor would be a disappointment the way she finally admitted to herself many other men had been.

It’s unfair to call a mostly satisfying sexual encounter a disappointment, she lectured herself then, the way she always did. There’s no such thing as a sex god. You were there, too.

But if he’d asked, she would have said that there was no way she could come and come and come again from a little bit of oral sex, either. It wasn’t something she’d ever liked all that much, despite how many times her friends—and ex-boyfriends—had told her there must be something wrong with her.

Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Maybe she just hadn’t met Thor.

“I want you inside me,” she threw at him, and only realized when the words hung between them that she sounded as if she was in the middle of a fight.

Because, of course, he had no idea that she’d just scared herself with her thoughts. His blue eyes gleamed too bright, as if he might laugh at her, and that was suddenly the worst thing that she could imagine.

So Margot tilted her chin up and doubled down. “Not your fingers. Not your mouth. Your cock, Thor. Now.”

His smile was slow. Languid.

And so hot that Margot felt scalded.

“Yes, Professor,” he murmured, as if there was a single part of him that was at all submissive when she could see perfectly well that there was not.

He stepped away and Margot bit her tongue so hard to keep from complaining that it actually hurt. She tasted copper but was happy she’d kept her complaints inside when all he did was move to the side of the bed, rifle through the drawer in his nightstand, then pull out a condom.

Then Thor crawled up onto the great big bed. She hadn’t seen him kick off his shoes, but he was barefoot when he threw himself down in the center on his back.

He was also still wearing his trousers.

“Why do you still have clothes on?” she asked, and she could hear the greed and impatience in her voice.

And those other things she refused to acknowledge.

“You didn’t take them off,” he replied, entirely too much laughter in that voice of his.

Margot scowled at him.

“You should know that the more you do that, the more inviting I find it,” he told her, and Margot couldn’t tell if he was teasing her.

Or why it made that tight thing inside her seem to flex.

Then hum.

She was no blushing virgin. And yet that was what she felt like with him. Silly, somehow. As if she didn’t know herself at all. As if the person who had walked through the doors into this hotel earlier this evening was a complete stranger to this naked creature who was literally panting for a man she’d just met. She wasn’t sure she had the slightest idea what to do about that—

But right now she didn’t care. She couldn’t let herself care.

Margot kept her eyes on Thor’s as she crawled toward him. She stopped when she was kneeling beside him, and she wanted—desperately—to conceal the fact that she was breathing so heavily. She could feel her rib cage expand and contract, and worse, she could feel the way her breasts swayed.

But there was no hiding such a thing. She didn’t try, and she told herself that accepting it felt a little bit like power.

When really, the most powerful thing about her at the moment was that molten greediness between her legs. She felt like she was her own furnace.

“Is it your turn to beg?” she asked.

“If you want me to beg, all you need to do is ask me for it.” His mouth curved, but it was more a challenge than a smile. “Like anything else on the menu.”

Margot didn’t have words for the thing she wanted.

Because she wanted everything.

She settled for putting her hands on the waistband of his trousers, still looking at him as she did.

“Are you waiting for me to stop you?” Thor looked almost offensively relaxed for a man who was as hard as he was. Margot could feel the heavy length of his arousal under her hands, leaving her in no doubt that the man was built...proportionally. But he only grinned at her and then folded his arms beneath his head as if he was on a beach somewhere. “Or to give you permission?”

Everything about this—about him—made her bristle.

But it also made her wet.

Wetter.

Margot decided to run with the latter and started to undo his fly. It was slow going because he was so damned hard his cock was pushing up against the fabric, distending the front of his trousers. She expected him to wince, or hiss out a breath or two, but not Thor. He stayed where he was, stretched out beneath her like some kind of boneless cat, watching her with those electric blue eyes of his at half-mast.

And then she didn’t care what he was doing because she pulled the great, thick length of him free. Her mouth actually watered, when she would have called herself no more interested in performing oral sex than she was in receiving it. Both could be pleasant, but she believed they got in the way of the good stuff that she knew how to ride straight to her orgasm.

And yet Margot wanted to lean forward and suck the thick head of him into her mouth. She wanted to lick him like a Popsicle until he melted, too. She hardly knew who the hell she was, practically drooling over the man’s cock like this.

But she was a reasonable, rational adult woman who owned her own sexuality and knew better than to expect Cirque du Soleil in bed, no matter how gloriously sexual and uninhibited Thor had claimed he was. And she wanted him inside her more than she wanted to taste him.

Margot told herself that it was giving in to damaging fantasies to imagine that she shouldn’t have to choose between the two when she knew that biology was biology and masculinity wasn’t made of Viagra.

Thor had tossed the condom down beside him when he’d stretched out on the bed, and she reached over to swipe it up then. She was aware of him watching her, but he didn’t move. He didn’t lift a finger. He didn’t even shift his hips when she tugged his trousers down another inch or so to the middle of his thighs.

And somehow that made everything hotter. He let out a breath when she rolled the condom down over his cock, likely because it took a minute to make the edges roll down smoothly over something that big.

“What do you want?” he asked again when the condom was finally in place. And when, to her shame, Margot discovered she was breathing heavily all over again.

“You,” she whispered.

“I think you can do better than that.”

Later, she promised herself, she would unpack why it was she wanted to do better simply because he told her she should. Why she wanted to please him. Because all the strange, new things that were tight inside her, winding around and around and making her so shivery, were tied in to that wanting. To her hot, melting pussy, her aching clit and that empty space she wanted him to fill so badly it made her nipples hurt.

“I want...” Her tongue still stung, reminding her that she’d bitten it. And that reminded her that this was research. Fieldwork. An experiment. This wasn’t her, really. This wasn’t who she was or had ever been, and that was probably for the best. “I want to fuck you, Thor.”

That wasn’t the sort of thing Margot had ever said in bed before, because she’d never been much for talking, much less using dirty, potentially offensive words. She wondered why that was when Thor’s blue eyes blazed. His hard mouth curled in one corner and his face seemed to tighten as she watched.

She didn’t need him to tell her it was the same greed that throbbed in her, too. She knew.

“Do your worst,” he told her, his voice low, dark and with a kick of wildness that seemed connected directly to her—deep inside her.

It felt like the storm outside, battering the windows. Battering her from the inside out.

Margot felt clumsy again, but that didn’t stop her. She crawled over him, basking in the heat of him, the clean male scent. She threw her leg over his hips, propped herself up with one hand in the center of his chest, then reached between them to wrap her fingers around the thick head of his cock.

She didn’t know what she expected when he shifted beneath her. Directions, maybe. Commentary, almost certainly.

But all Thor did was wrap his hands around her hips, his grip loose and his thumbs resting in the creases of her thighs.

And then did absolutely nothing as slowly, so slowly, Margot began to lower herself onto him.

It was as if everything slowed down with her. As if they were the storm hurling itself against his windows—and somehow every single speck of snow and ice as well.

Margot could feel everything. Everything. The way she filled herself with him, inch by thick inch, though she had to pause every other breath to let her body accommodate his size. She could feel the rough fabric of his trousers against her widespread thighs, and the hair that roughened his legs. She was too conscious of her own breath, loud and harsh, but she didn’t let it stop her.

She was trembling when she finally took all of him and was flush against him, and she knew he could feel it.

For a moment she could do nothing but sit there, with Thor so deep inside her all she could do was melt and quiver around him. She braced her hands against his abdomen to keep herself upright, but still. It was as if she was caught in that gaze of his. As if she was burning alive.

“This is my favorite handshake,” Thor murmured, a kind of inky, addictive darkness in his voice. “This is how you take the measure of a man, is it not?”

“I already know you talk too much.”

He smiled at that, but there was something entirely too knowing in his gaze. “Whereas you only talk to hide. But there is no hiding here, Professor.”

Margot wanted to object to that. She wanted to defend herself, somehow. Or make him take that back before it lodged inside her the way she could already feel it doing. She wanted to explain herself to him, somehow.

But that could wait.

Because he was stretching her. He filled her, hot and heavy, and that tight thing inside her pulled taut at last.

And she couldn’t ignore it. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t taking her over like its own kind of desperate fever.

She lifted herself up, then settled down again.

And she could feel that in her toes, her fingertips, her hair—and everything in between.

It wasn’t the least bit disappointing, she was forced to notice.

Thor didn’t say a word. His thumbs moved idly in that hinge between her thighs and her hips, but he didn’t try to take control. He didn’t wrap his hands tight around her and slam her down hard against him.

But the fact he could have done those things—that his ability to do it was written all over him and Margot thought she could almost taste it—only made it hotter when he didn’t.

And the way he watched her with all that glittering blue male arrogance told her he knew it. Not only did he know it, he was using it against her.

Deliberately.

Because she was the one doing the fucking, but that wasn’t what it felt like. She felt as if Thor was hammering into her, holding her down, making her scream and cry and writhe out this mad, red pleasure.

And every time she lifted herself up and slid back down, it was as if she could feel each and every one of those screams in the back of her throat.

Her breath was harsh and grew harsher. His matched.

Margot went faster and faster.

But it didn’t matter how hard she went, how she rocked her hips, how she lost herself in the sweet hitch and the hot slide. There was no getting away from the fact that nothing about this felt appropriately academic.

She felt alive. She felt wide-open and exposed. She knew that he could see her—really see her—from that flush that rolled over her skin to the way her breasts jiggled as she worked herself against him. She wanted that to distance her from what was happening, what she was doing. She wanted it to throw up a wall.

She wanted something about this to feel the way sex normally felt.

Good, always good, but always her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like herself with Thor, it was that she couldn’t tell the difference between them. There was just that brilliant, blistering ache between them, and they were both a part of it.

It was heavy and it was dark. It was bright and it was hot. It was the place where they joined and it was all around them, like the eye of a storm and the driving snow at once, and there was no escaping it.

There was only going toward it.

She felt shattered already, she felt ripped into pieces and possibly broken, and that was before that crazy fire began to climb to its flashpoint inside her.

Again.

She thought he should have used his fingers. That it should take work, the way it sometimes did, instead of that too-good slide of her clit against him on her lush upstroke.

Margot kept waiting to crash into one of those walls—

But there was nothing there. Just too much sensation, the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and Thor surging inside her over and over again, pounding her out of her own skin and into the ether.

Once. Then again, those hands moving up to grip her waist as she came apart around him.

He held her there, still keeping that same hard pace, making her moans flip over into something that sounded perilously close to screams as he kept going.

And kept going, fucking her straight through that first shattering and into another, far higher and far more dangerous one, because she wasn’t entirely sure she’d survive it—

This time he went with her, groaning out something in Icelandic as he pumped himself into her.

And Margot collapsed against that wide, hard chest of his, finally as boneless as he was, tried to catch her breath and waited for the shame of losing herself so completely to claim her.