Dash of Peril. Lori Foster
didn’t, not really.
“Tell me you understand.”
If that’s what it took to get his hands on her... “I understand.”
“Good.” He cupped both breasts, lifting as if to measure their weight while letting his thumbs brush just under her nipples.
Margo locked her knees and tried not to gasp as her nipples stiffened.
With a dark look of satisfaction, Dash caught each nipple with his fingertips and lightly tugged. “You like that?”
“Yes.” Her lips parted, her eyes grew heavy—and she leaned toward him.
“Ah, no, honey. Remember? You’re to stand still.” He pressed her nipples a little more tightly until she froze with a gasp. He searched her face with no discernible emotion. “Does that hurt?”
It felt too wonderful to bear. “No.”
“Feel good?”
She managed a nod.
“I’m glad.” He did a little more tugging. “You’ll be still now.” He waited, and when she didn’t move, he smiled. “That’s better. Now let’s try this again.” He went back to teasing, brushing the very tips, rolling, toying with her.
On a soft groan she closed her eyes.
He paused. “Your arm is okay?”
“Yes, yes.” She nodded hard. “Absolutely fine. Just don’t stop.”
“Please.”
It took her three breaths, and she said, “What?”
Very gently, he told her, “You forgot to say please.”
He looked so serious, watching her as he added more pressure to her nipples again. She licked her lips and whispered, “Please.”
He didn’t smile, but she saw the pleasure in his dark eyes. “That one word sounds so pretty coming from you.” He bent his head. “Let me see if you taste as good as you look.”
That was all the warning she got before he closed his mouth around her right nipple and started gently sucking.
“Ah, God...Dash...”
“What?” He moved to the other nipple, nipped with his teeth, tugged, then sucked her in. She felt the rasp of his velvet tongue, the heat of his moist mouth, and as he sucked the sensation went straight through to her womb.
Urgency mounting, Margo reached for the waistband of his pants...and Dash caught her wandering hand, then moved out of her reach.
While he seemed to contemplate some decision, his thumb coasted over the pulse throbbing in her wrist. “Maybe sitting in the tub will make it easier for you to stay still.” He knelt in front of her, coasted his hands over the backs of her thighs, then her bottom, before hooking his fingers in the waistband of her yoga pants. He stripped them down her legs. “Step out.”
The steamy tub kept the bathroom warm, but still her wet nipples puckered at the touch of air...and the touch of command in Dash’s tone.
She stepped out.
Staying on his knees, he eyed her lacy panties. “Such a contrast.” Using one finger, he traced tantalizing circles around the front of her underwear, dipping every so often to a spot that turned her knees to butter.
Margo was busy contemplating ways they’d be able to have sex with the clunky splint in the way when Dash said, his voice low and gravelly and sexy as hell, “I’m going to make you come.”
She wanted to say, When? Instead she held her breath.
“Twice,” he added. “That ought to help take the edge off so you can settle down and rest.”
Oh, definitely. That’d be a big help.
He eased her panties down to her knees and touched her again, oh, so gently, using only one finger. “But we’re not going to have sex.”
Wait a minute...
He brushed her panties down the rest of the way. “To ensure you don’t make your injuries worse,” he continued, helping her to lift first one foot and then the other, “you’re going to do exactly as I say, exactly when I say it.”
“But—”
Standing again, his body only a breath from hers, he cupped a hand over her sex and stared down into her eyes. “If you don’t,” he warned with enticing gravity, “I’ll stop and instead of being satisfied, you’ll have to sleep with your frustration.”
She couldn’t get enough air into her starved lungs. It was almost as if Dash knew her secret fantasies— fantasies she’d never shared with anyone, that no other man had ever picked up on, and had definitely never enacted.
But she believed him when he said he would satisfy her.
The drugs stole her edge, but she wasn’t completely without reason. When the sex games ended, Dash would need to know that they were only games—and they had a time and a place that could never infiltrate her real life.
Later she would explain it to him. Right now, she desperately wanted to see how things played out.
Her entire body warm and pulsing with need, she stared up at him, nodded and whispered ever so quietly, “Thank you.”
* * *
MARGO LOOKED SO SWEET and so fucking ready, it took all of Dash’s resolve to stick to the plan. She might not realize it, but he recognized her desire on a very basic level. He understood her, appreciated her sexuality.
She was a woman through and through.
Tough when she needed to be, strong always and incredibly intelligent. More than equal to a man in every way that counted.
But sometimes a woman enjoyed the innate contrasts of being smaller, gentler and physically weaker than a man. It worked for him because on occasion he enjoyed playing the dominant role.
With Margo, he liked it a lot.
His goal was twofold. First, he wanted to help her relax and deal with the discomfort of her injuries. Arousal blunted many things, including aches and pains. A mind-numbing orgasm could also relieve her of worries, of the many problems ahead.
Secondly, but just as important, he wanted to show her that she could be herself with him. That sexual need didn’t detract from her strong personality and capability. Taking a more submissive role in bed—with him—wouldn’t carry over into her everyday life out of bed.
Stepping back from the temptation of her nudity, her silky hair and fragrant skin, and especially her helpless anticipation, he studied her body while rubbing his mouth. She trembled with need; he couldn’t leave her like that. She would rest better after getting off.
After he got her off.
But he also couldn’t forget, not for a minute, that she was hurt. And that meant he’d just have to do without, torturous as it would be, until she was better able to reciprocate.
“You really are so fucking hot.” He was going to love touching her, hearing her moan, feeling her come with his fingers pressed deep. Knowing how it would affect her, he said, “Let’s get you in the tub so I can get started.”
He held her right arm to keep her from slipping, then arranged her to his liking.
Breath held, she let him.
“Rest your left arm on the ledge.” He helped her, ensuring she didn’t get the splint wet. “Is that comfortable?”
She drew a breath. “Yes.”
With a hand opened wide between her shoulder blades to support her, he said, “Lean back.”
She did, and the water lapped at her nape, dampening her short dark