Tie Me Down: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (4 page)

He never would have figured her for a thong girl, not the tough-as-nails detective he’d researched so carefully. But here was the proof, the black lace Brazilian thong cupping her sex like a lover. Nestling between the folds of her pussy as he was so desperate to do.

Reaching out, he trailed a finger along the edge of the undergarment, relishing each gasp and shiver his journey elicited. “Tell me,” he said as he leaned forward until his hot breath was only inches from her beautiful mons, her sexy clit. “Do you have more
of these?” He pulled the waistband out and allowed it to snap back against her stomach with a satisfying
smack.

“Yes.” It was a gasp, and a barely coherent one at that.

“Good.” He smiled at her, let her see the wicked promise in his eyes. Then leaned forward and with his teeth, ripped the thing to shreds.

Dear God
, was all Genevieve could think as she stared at the torn remnants of her most comfortable underwear.

Dear God, what was she doing?

Dear God, how was she ever going to survive this night? Cole was shameless, shameful, and he made her feel the same.

“Please.” She lifted her hand to his hair, tangled her fingers in the cool midnight strands. “I need you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he answered, nipping at her inner thighs with his teeth. Electricity shot straight from the bites to her clit, making her crazy. His next words made her crazier still. “Every way you can take me, you’ll have me.”

His tongue darted out, traced her slit in one long, slow sweep.

She nearly came off the bed, her body out of her control for the first time in her life. “Cole!” The cry was low, keening. A plea for him to stop, to continue, to do something—anything—to relieve her of the sensual misery he had thrust her into.

But he ignored her, simply sat back on his heels and prepared to feast. His need was red-hot now, his cock threatening to burst. But he fought back the desire, sublimated it. She would come for him again, come against his mouth this time. Only then—when she’d lost all control—would he give in to the lust driving him to the brink of madness. Only then would he let himself climax.

Clamping his hands on her upper thighs, he pushed her knees wide enough so that he could wedge his shoulders between them. Whispered to her of everything he was going to do to her. And then leaned forward and thrust his tongue as deeply inside of her as he could reach.

She went wild, her body thrashing against him. Her hands clutched his hair, her legs spasmed and she screamed as she arched against his mouth.

He held her still, stopped the bucking of her hips with a heavy hand on her
stomach and continued to take her higher. She was delicious, intoxicating, the sweetest honey he had ever known, and in that moment he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

“Cole!” It was a plea, a demand, a cry for surcease, but he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, had to taste every drop of her sweetness, had to experience every shudder and cry she could give him. Stroking deep, he concentrated on hitting every sensitive spot she had, worked to take her higher than anyone ever had before.

When she was just about there, when she was sobbing and pleading and he sensed she couldn’t take anymore, he pulled his tongue out of her luscious warmth. Slipping his hands beneath her ass, he lifted her up, opened her wider, and closed his teeth gently around her clit.

Her body arched violently as she came, bucking so wildly that she almost dislodged him. But he held on, used his tongue and teeth and lips to ride her through one climax to another and another.

He was a man possessed, utterly enchanted by, completely addicted to the exquisite feeling he got from giving her pleasure. He could stay like this forever, his cock throbbing, his mouth buried in her hungry, sweet, incredibly responsive pussy. Making her come could be his new obsession.

Sliding first one finger and then another into her, he nearly lost it at the unbelievable perfection of her body. She was tight, hot, her muscles clenching in a rhythm he could feel resonating all the way to his dick.

Genevieve bit her lip, tried to stop the screams rising within her. But it was no use. She was going insane. Cole was driving her completely, around-the-bend, no-holds-barred insane. His tongue was everywhere, pushing her from one orgasm to another and another. And his finger was thrusting inside of her, stroking her G-spot and then pulling out while he sucked at her clit until she had gone beyond individual orgasms, was instead moving from one climax to the next in a never-ending stream that became one long orgasm without beginning or end.

She fought to hold on to sanity, to break the hold Cole had on her. But he was pushing her into the bed, the palm of his hand massaging her stomach while his long fingers played over her mons.

She lost the ability to talk, to think, to breathe. He was taking her over completely, making her his in this most intimate, most violent act. Conquering her until she no longer knew who controlled her body, until she gave up everything she was and could be to him.

“Cole, I can’t take it. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his tongue circling her clit and sending her higher still. “You’ll take more and more and more until there’s nothing left. You’ll take everything.”

And then he bit her, and her body went spinning into space, the pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known before. Beyond anything she’d even dreamed existed.

Digging her hands into his shoulders, she held on for dear life. Desperate for something solid to keep her anchored. Desperate for Cole to help her find her way out of this maelstrom of sensation and emotion he had thrust her into.

But there was nothing of the savior in Cole, only the need to brand her in a way he didn’t understand. He’d had a lot of women, had used his fame and charm and looks to take whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

But Genevieve was different, a primitive voice in the back of his head warned him even as it urged him on. As it pressed him to touch her everywhere, anywhere, to mark her so that she could never forget whom she belonged to. She was more than he’d ever thought he’d find.

Thrusting his tongue inside of her, he sent her over the edge to one final climax before skimming his mouth across the curve of her hip to the flat plane of her stomach and the sunburst tattoo that encircled her navel. Unable to resist, he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her waist, relished the cry she didn’t try to hold back. He soothed the hurt with his tongue and lips before pulling back.

“What—” she asked, dazed. Confused. Her body trembling in the aftermath of so much pleasure.

His balls were on fire, his cock burning with the need to bury itself in all that heat. Flipping her onto her stomach, he reached into his nightstand and snagged a condom. Rolled it on. And then, intertwining his fingers with hers, he wrapped their hands around the iron slats of the headboard—her hands covering his—and thrust into her from behind.

She cried out, arched wildly, tugged as if to free her hands from his grip. But he held on, covering her with his body. Sinking his teeth deep into her shoulder to hold her still as he pounded into her again and again.

He was rough, as he’d intended to be, any gentleness he’d had in him used up by the long, sexy minutes of eating her out. But he made sure that every cry he pulled from her was of pleasure, made sure that every stroke into her body took her one step higher.

He rode her hard and fast, slamming her into the mattress again and again. Each thrust was a frenzy of raging need, each stroke a declaration of control and ownership.

And she was eating it up, her muscles clenching more and more tightly around him as she begged for more. He kneed her legs apart so he could go deeper, driving his cock so hard and deep inside of her that she’d never forget the feel of him. Never forget who was in control.

Sobbing, Genevieve dug her fingernails into his hands, hanging on for dear life as his powerful thrusts moved her up and down the mattress. “You have to—you have to,” she gasped, her body shaking uncontrollably as she clenched her pussy even tighter around his dick.

He saw stars and his body screamed for relief. But he refused to give up, to give in. She would come one more time.

Easing his teeth from her shoulder, he licked the marks and whispered, “No, sweetheart,
you
have to.” Then followed the words with a desperate lunge inside of her. “Let it take you, sweet Genevieve. Let it have you.”

She screamed, her back arching beneath him like a bow as the waves exploded through her, her pussy clenching around his cock again and again. Gritting his teeth, he kept up the hard, steady strokes until sweat streamed down his body. Until his muscles—and his cock—cried out for relief. Until yet another orgasm whipped through Genevieve and she screamed his name while she came.

Only then did he let himself go, the release that swept through him so strong and violent that for a moment it was like death itself.

Genevieve woke up slowly, her well-used body aching in places she hadn’t known could ache. But Cole had been insatiable throughout the night—they both had—reaching for each other again and again as evening spun into night and night into dawn.

How many times had she come, she wondered as she stretched languidly. More than enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Well, it was hard to have nightmares when your brain was almost complete and total mush.

Was it possible to come too much? She pondered the question as she reached a lazy hand across the bed for her lover. Because she wouldn’t mind one more—

Her hand met nothing but cold sheets, and her eyes opened of their own volition. “Cole?” she called, her voice carrying in the silent house.

“Cole?” she tried again as she sat up, but he still didn’t answer.

She tried to reassure herself that he was merely downstairs making coffee, that he hadn’t given her the best night of her life and then snuck out of his own house before—she glanced at the clock on the bedside table—eight o’clock in the morning. But the house was too still, too lifeless around her.

He
had
left.

Genevieve sighed as her hopes of a quickie before work faded—along with the loose, relaxed feeling she’d awoken with. Climbing out of bed, she saw her clothes and shoes stacked neatly on the chair by the door.

Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?
she thought sardonically as she crossed the room on legs that were much shakier than she would have liked. Or was this more
Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out
?

Definitely the latter, she decided, as she grabbed her clothes with angry hands. He was the one who’d insisted they come back to his place; if he’d wanted to do a disappearing act in the morning, he should have let her take him home instead.

But could she really blame him, she wondered, as she sank into the chair, her legs shaking so badly that they wouldn’t support her. She had picked him up in a bar—had
behaved like the quintessential one-night stand. Was it his fault he’d given her the best sex of her life—by an amazing margin? Of course not, any more than it was his fault that she suddenly wanted to stick around for more.

Too bad he hadn’t felt the same way.

Her gaze wandered to the bathroom, and she wondered if she dared take a shower before she let herself out. Maybe she should just get dressed and head home.…

Her gaze dropped to the torn underwear and shirt in her hands—it would be a miracle if she made it home without her clothes falling off. Cole had really done a number on them the night before, and the idea of wearing them again—especially without a shower—just didn’t appeal.

A hot shower was the least he owed her, she decided, as she put the clothes aside and headed into the bathroom. After all, he had ripped more than two hundred dollars’ worth of clothing the night before. The fact that she’d enjoyed every second of it was of absolutely no consequence.

It wasn’t until she was in the bathroom, shower running, that she glanced at the bathroom vanity and saw the note he’d left between the two sinks.

Genevieve reread the note three times, a goofy smile on her lips that she couldn’t seem to shake off. He hadn’t walked out on her—he’d merely gone to get something for them to eat. Her stomach growled at the thought, reminding her of just how many calories she’d expended the night before.

But even hunger couldn’t wipe out the rosy glow that surrounded her. It seemed her first one-night stand was working out better than she could possibly have imagined.

After a quick shower, Genevieve slipped into her work pants sans her torn underwear. The button was missing to the pants, but at least the zipper still worked—though she had no idea how it had survived Cole’s brutal handling. Her shirt, however,
was another matter—if she tried to wear it home, she was asking for an indecency charge.

After debating with herself for a minute or two, she finally decided Cole wouldn’t mind if she borrowed a T-shirt—especially if she washed it and got it back to him in the next couple of days.

Crossing to his dresser, she opened and closed three drawers in quick succession and found underwear, sweatpants and socks, but no T-shirts. She finally struck pay dirt when she turned to his closet, and couldn’t help smiling at the neatly folded stack of black T-shirts of all different types and logos. There was one to fit every mood and occasion.

Tugging a shirt randomly from the bottom of the pile, she stepped back, startled, as a large manila folder came with it.

A paper clip from the file had gotten snagged on one of the shirt’s arms, and as she pulled them apart, the contents of the file slipped onto the floor.

Cursing, she dropped to her knees and began to pick up the documents and pictures, trying to clean up the mess as quickly as possible. It would be just her luck for Cole to return home to find her apparently riffling through his personal effects. But as she shuffled a group of newspaper clippings together, she froze. Her eyes caught on one of the papers—her name was at the top of the page.