Читать книгу Tease - Suzanne Forster - Страница 5

“Whatever you do, Tess Wakefield, do not come.”

Had she actually said that out loud? Tess tried to open her eyes, but her lids were uncontrollable. They quivered like feather fringe. God, she must be glowing like a beacon. Sensations were lighting her up from the inside, crackling like the filaments of a neon tube.

Had he heard her? What would he do? Take it as a challenge and increase the pressure? Or lighten it and drive her utterly mad? It wouldn’t take much. He could so easily sweep her up and fling her over the edge.

With one finger.

With one more breath on her aching nipple.

One more feather stroke.

Why didn’t he just get it over with? Why did he leave her alone for so long? He came when she least expected him and touched her in intimate places. One finger gliding through her wetness, and then he was gone. The way a child steals icing from a cake.

Two fingers rolling her nipple.

Tight and tender.

Teeth on her rump.

How long had he been doing that? Hours? Days? She didn’t know anymore.

But he didn’t know how strong she was, how ardently she had fought to take back control of her life. She could not be broken, even if it was joy that poured from the cracks.

Someone was laughing, shaking with laughter. Him? No, it was her. Tears soaked her face and salted her tongue.

Was he even there? Or was she imagining a lover worthy of the Marquis de Sade? A demon with the patience for whatever time it took.

Was any of this really happening? The water dripping on her body, splashing between her legs and becoming more intense with each drop. It was a torrent now. She was becoming the water, flowing, dripping, melting like a glacier in spring. How did she stop this flood?

She forced her eyes open and saw them staring back at her. Eyes. Everywhere. Hypnotic and black as cherries. Her own eyes, heavy with sexual desire. Begging. Release me. Don’t let me writhe and thrash like this, helpless. Electrical current grounds me. Lust cracks me like a whip. I am what you have made me, a whore for pleasure. But I will fight you to prove that I’m not. And I will win.

“Put your hands against the wall. Spread your legs.”

Was that his voice? Was he speaking to her? Was that his hand on her naked flank?

Oh, God, no. Another touch. Another feather stroke, and she would be gone. Shattered.

She was ready to climb out of her own body, shed it like a snake, anything to escape him. She grabbed hold of the metal bars, quivering, waiting for pleasure that was unbearable. It took her all the way to heaven and back. All the way to hell. She could not let go. She would shatter into pieces.

One touch and he would break her in half.

Whatever you do, Tess Wakefield, do not—