by Shayla Black
God, she was probably going to regret this.
“Kiss me,” she panted.
Not even a single beat of her heart passed before he tumbled her back to the bed. The second her back hit the mattress, his fingers dug into her hair, fisting tightly at her nape. He angled her head to his liking and devoured her lips. His chest eclipsed hers. His hips wedged between her thighs, making himself at home.
Bailey couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t like it. As he drove his tongue deep and took command of the kiss, all her self-control and will to resist disappeared. He didn’t ease inside or test his welcome. No, he crushed her lips with his own and took complete command.
He tasted like a heady swirl of man, beer, and desire. The stubble of his way-past-five-o’clock shadow scraped gently as he grabbed her wrists and shoved them over her head. As soon as he transferred his grip to one hand, he took deeper possession of her mouth, his tongue surrounding hers, laving, seducing. He gripped her hip, his fingers holding her tight.
Under him, Bailey arched restlessly. His onslaught was everything she remembered—unrelenting and insistent—but more. Hungrier. Somewhere between another swooping kiss and a long groan, she tasted his hot persuasion. Less than twenty-fours had passed since he’d last seized her mouth, but his touch vowed it had been a lifetime to him.
Her head spun. Her heart soared. Her only anchor in this dizzying desire was Joaquin. She couldn’t throw her arms around him, so she wrapped her legs around his hips and ground against his thick erection. He prodded her sex, sending an electric impulse skittering between her legs.
The appreciation in his moan inflamed her more. He knew precisely how to enthrall her, and he used his knowledge without hesitation. Bailey floated in a thick morass of need she’d only believed possible in books or movies. It scattered logic. It set her body aflame.
She whimpered and opened her mouth wider. Joaquin claimed the space instantly. Her whole world narrowed to him alone as she caressed his tongue with her own, still pushing her hard nipples into his chest and gyrating on his cock between her legs.
He tore his lips from hers, breathing heavily. Searching her stare, he cupped her nape again, and aligned her under his mouth for his next conquering kiss.
“Tell me to take off your shirt,” he murmured first.
She craved the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. “Touch me.”
“I want to so fucking bad, I’m about to crawl out of my skin. But you’re going to have to tell me that you want me to rip that little shirt off your body and expose those pretty nipples before I lay a finger on you. Full consent or nothing.”
Bailey couldn’t catch her breath. Her blood heated, raced, churned. As he dragged his lips up her neck and skimmed across her jaw to hover just above her mouth, she knew she’d say almost anything to feel him inside her.
“Take my shirt off,” she gasped. “I want you to see me.”
Joaquin didn’t hesitate. He didn’t bother with buttons or dragging the garment over her head. He released her wrists, fisted the silky soft fabric just above her breasts, and yanked. It gave easily, rending under his strength.
Cool air splashed her skin. The hot flame of his stare negated the chill. Her nipples beaded under her bra. The way he looked at her, like he’d die if he didn’t take her, made Bailey reach for him.
The second she wrapped her hand around his shoulder, she wished he’d lose his shirt. Everything under the cotton felt steely, unyielding. She was no stranger to men with good physiques. Dancers were always well developed. The strength and discipline necessary to execute lifts made for cut chests, bulging shoulders, and tight abs. But Joaquin excited her more. He hadn’t developed his muscles by wearing spandex and lifting women who weighed less than a hundred pounds. He’d earned his on the streets, in battle, trying to make the world a safer place.
“Take this off.” She tugged at his sleeve.
He raised a black brow at her but didn’t move.
“Please . . .” She wheedled, kissing her way up his chin, brushing the corner of his lips.
“If we’re both undressing, you understand it’s very likely I’m going to fuck you.”
“I haven’t said yes,” she reminded him with a sly smile.
Joaquin propped his elbow on the mattress beside her head, his face hovering over hers. “I wouldn’t stop until I found a way to make you scream your consent. You think about that, then let me know if you want me to start stripping down.”
The girl inside her knew she ought to heed his words. Some devil inside her prodded her.
“Making me scream sounds pretty ambitious. It may not be something you’re able to do.”
He froze. “If you have any intention of putting a stop to this, don’t tease me. Because I’ll be so fucking happy to prove you wrong.”
His words only whipped her into a darker frenzy. Bailey had little doubt he could do exactly as he threatened. And the idea made her sizzle. “Please take off your shirt.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re in so much trouble, baby girl. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this—and make sure you do, too. I won’t rest until I’ve wrung every ounce of pleasure from your body.”
“Promise?”
At her taunt, he gave her a low laugh, then raised himself up enough to straddle her. He didn’t make a production of removing his shirt, just reached behind his head, gathered it in his fist, yanked, and flung it across the room.
Bailey gasped. Each inch of him rippled and bunched with every movement. Dark satin skin stretched across hard flesh. A light dusting of hair over his chest led to a treasure trail that zipped down the line bisecting his chiseled abdomen. Honestly, if she had conjured up a fantasy man, he’d have looked a heck of a lot like Joaquin.
“Your turn,” he said thickly, sliding a finger under her bra strap. “Tell me to take it off.”
She swallowed down nerves. As a ballet dancer, she wasn’t exactly the most gifted in the breast department. Small boobs worked great in a leotard, and she never had to worry about curves messing up her lines. It was even a bonus when she wanted to wear something backless or strapless because she didn’t have to worry about finding the right garment to support girls she lacked. But staring a potential lover in the face . . . A man as downright manly as Joaquin probably expected ample breasts. He’d probably had some beautiful ones in his past.
“I’d rather see you lose the rest of your clothes.”
“Maybe so, but I might not be motivated to lose my pants until I see your nipples. Give me permission to strip you out of that bra.”
His gaze looked fixated on her breasts. The undergarment didn’t hide much. He had to be able to see that, well, there wasn’t that much to see. Her legs and her butt were way better.
“You seem like the kind of guy who always gets what he wants. I’m in the mood to make you wait.” She gave him a mock sigh. “But after bagels and booze and other stuff I almost never eat, these jeans are awfully tight.”
As she toyed with the button just below her waist, he watched. “Are they? We can’t have you uncomfortable. You want to lose those or do you want help?”
If she dropped these jeans, the chances they’d actually have sex increased exponentially. Bailey doubted very highly that he’d be okay with making love to her with her breasts still covered. On the other hand, maybe she could occupy him in other ways before she had to expose her nonexistent chest.
“Why don’t you help me?” She dropped her fingers to her zipper and let it fall with a quiet hiss.
Joaquin gripped the denim, looking at her like he couldn’t wait to tear into her. Her heart skipped. Blood rushed to all the places it only should when aroused. Lord, she was probably in way over her head. So why was she baiting the beast? Because he made her feel desired and sexy, and she wanted him every bit as on edge as she felt.
“I can’t resist a damsel in distress.” He tugged on the fabric around h
er hips.
As she held on to the lacy waistband of her nude panties, he made quick work of her jeans, jerking them down her thighs, past her knees, then shoving them beyond her feet. He tossed them across the room, too—in the opposite direction he’d thrown her shirt.
As he looked down at her now, his eyes darkened, glittered with lust. He gripped her hips, his hands so big that his thumbs almost met on top of her mons. Bailey’s breath caught. He nearly touched her there, and as electric as her body pinged now, she couldn’t imagine how turned on she’d be when he actually did.
“Pretty panties, but useless. I want to see that beautiful pussy underneath.”
Joaquin had more than a way with words in bed. He’d probably done this a few hundred times. Bailey felt herself both falling under his spell and mentally flailing. How did she answer him?
“I took something else off. Now it’s your turn. Your jeans would look better on the floor.”
Where had that voice come from? She’d sounded almost seductive.
He gave her a hard stare. “Somewhere along the way, you’ve gotten the idea that sex with me is an egalitarian activity. Let me assure you otherwise.”
“You think you’re going to run this show?”
“There’s no think about it, baby girl. Since you and I have come here, I’ve had more than a conversation or two with Thorpe and Sean. I’ve realized a few things about myself.”
Callie’s assurances that Joaquin had all the earmarks of a Dom rushed back to her. “Oh.”
“That bother you? Because if it does, we need to stop now and have a long talk.”
She could stop this train wreck with a little white lie. No exposing her small breasts or her needy soul to a man who’d probably crush her in a single night.
Even knowing he would probably hurt her sooner or later, Bailey just shook her head. “It turns me on.”
Relief slid across his face. “Good. I can tell that wasn’t easy for you to admit.”
“When I was a senior in high school, someone dared me to swallow straight Tabasco sauce. That was easier.”
He laughed. “You’re an unpredictable little thing. I like it. I was expecting you to be refined. Totally polite in bed. The real you is way sexier.”
Joaquin pressed their chests together. Bare abdomens met as he kissed his way up her neck and consumed her lips again. At his first touch, he sent her reeling. That dizzying slide into desire dragged her under even deeper, to a place where focus and restraint burned away. She grabbed his steely shoulders and clung as she opened to him completely.
Just as he penetrated her mouth, he dragged his fingers up her rib cage and paused under her breast. Her nipple beaded painfully in anticipation. He raised his head, fixed utterly on her.
“Tell me to touch you,” he barked.
He wanted to be in control, but he’d promised her that he wouldn’t do anything until she gave him a green light. For a moment, Bailey felt a sense of power that balanced the scales a bit. It probably wouldn’t last long; she fully believed he’d take all her control, then leave her whimpering and panting and totally sated.
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” she admitted softly.
He downshifted immediately, skimming his palm back down to her waist. “When was your last lover?”
So far in the past, she was embarrassed to admit it. “A few years ago.”
“Years?” Joaquin let out a stunned breath, then caressed the side of her face. “Don’t be nervous. I love everything I’ve seen so far. I have no doubt you’ll make me sweat when I see the rest. Can you trust me on that?”
When he put it like that? Bailey nodded.
“Good. We’re supposed to have a safe word. It’s something you can say to stop the action if I play too hard with you, but you can also use it if you’re feeling uncomfortable or self-conscious. Would that help you?”
“Totally. Thanks.”
“How about . . . if we stay with traffic lights. You say ‘red,’ and I’ll stop touching you entirely until we talk it out. Now, will you remove that damn scrap of lace over your nipples before I lose my ever-loving mind?”
So masculine, so determined. And so something the female in her couldn’t resist. Bailey did her best to shelve her worries. “Do it for me?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Sit up.” He tugged her upright and rose above her, crouched over her body, their chests nearly brushing.
His fingers prowled into her hair again, tightening slowly until he tugged, forcing her to arch her neck just under his lips. His breathing picked up speed as he swooped down and covered her lips again, diving in and tasting every recess.
Now that he had her where he wanted her, the hand he’d anchored in her hair skated down her back, making her tingle. His other hand curled around her shoulder until both met at the back of her bra strap.
Vaguely, she realized he must possess a lot of core strength to hold this position above her without leaning on her or bracing himself on the mattress below. But as soon as the thought formed, he’d unhooked the two little wire fasteners across her back and she was free.
Joaquin didn’t bother taking the bra off. He inched back, pushed the cups up, then lunged down, latching onto her left nipple and sucking it as deep as he could.
The contact was a lightning strike to her clit.
His fingers bit into her spine. He sucked in a breath as he all but inhaled her breast past his lips. The suction jumbled her thoughts and blew her mind.
Bailey tunneled her fingers in his thick hair and pulled him closer. She surrounded her fingers with the thickness and gasped. Breathing became irrelevant when he switched to the other nipple, took a playful bite with his teeth, and swept it into the hot oven of his mouth.
Quickly, she realized that the nip of his teeth both made her tingle and prepared her sensitive flesh to take more sensation. She let loose a ragged moan. Her one attempt at sex in yards of taffeta in the back of a moving vehicle hadn’t at all prepared her for Joaquin.
“These are . . .” He shoved her back against the pillows and braced his forearms up her back. His fingers curled around the front of her shoulders, positioning her exactly how he wanted her before he returned to the first nipple. “So fucking incredible. They’re even harder than they were a minute ago. I’m not going to let up on these for a long while.”
And he meant that, taking Bailey along for the ride until her nipples throbbed, fire laced her veins, and her sex ached.
“Joaquin!” She sounded like she was begging because she was.
“Tell me what you need, baby girl.”
Bailey didn’t know. Harder. More. Something . . . She couldn’t get a word out, just panted and fisted his hair.
He gave her a guttural growl. “Give me an answer.”
“I don’t know. I need . . .”
“Want me to give you what you need?” he asked as he transferred his lips to her other nipple again, this time pinching the first in a relentless press.
She yelped, yet it felt so good. She wasn’t just drowning in pleasure; it was a riptide with a vicious undertow taking her farther and farther down.
“Yes. Please. Now.”
“I’m going to make this so fucking good.” The sharp edge of his teeth scraped her nipple again. “After I make you suffer a little.”
Suffer? She hadn’t asked for that. “What?”
“You told me earlier that you were in the mood to make me wait. I feel exactly the same.”
Before she could protest again, he dragged her bra strap down her arm, grabbed her hand, and shoved it over her head. Edging up her body, he grabbed something just above her. A second later, she felt soft but sturdy fabric grip her wrist. A clicking sound resounded in her ears.
“Cuffs?” The thought both terrified her and made her swoon.
“I want you totally at my mercy.”
Somehow, she doubted he’d have much. He’d overwhelmed her in nothing flat. She couldn�
�t wait for more.
“Say yes to me.” His hazel eyes bore into her, commanding her every bit as much as his dark voice.
“Yes,” she whispered.