Page 104 of Sucker For You

Yes.

Staggering together up the bungalow steps, searching under the eaves for the key, kissing frantically, her shoulder blades bumped into the door as he grappled at the knob with one hand. He cursed against her lips again while she laughed in joy and relief—until that laughter expelled in a gasp of startled pleasure when he hefted her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, freeing his access to the lock, her head falling back to grant his tongue access to her throat, too.

“Ah!”

A wet lick of heat flicked over her pulse, and his thumb slipped under her sweatshirt to find the dimples below her spine. Every muscle in her body convulsed. She whimpered, her thighs straining for purchase against his board shorts—and then the door opened, spilling them across the threshold, their legs braided together, her hands in his hair dragging his head up and into a renewed tangle of lips and tongues.

His breath, her mouth.

They fumbled with buttons in the ember-dim glow of an aquarium light, unsteady with urgency and desire while they kicked free of fleece and denim and leather. Her lips traced thestrong muscle of his neck. Salt, clear water under a radiant sky. Hungry for more, she laved her tongue against the shudder rippling through him, his whisper of her name, the flex of his palms on her panties. She guided them to the couch. Her fingertips found the unfinished labyrinth inked over his ribs, found where its lines ended at his hip.

She didn’t stop.

“Is-Isabel—” He choked when the exploratory wander of her thumb dipped under his trunks. She smiled, a little feral with satisfaction as he sank onto the cushions beneath her. “Are you. . . you’re sure?”

“Yes.” She bent low to seal her mouth to his. Her hand delved deeper. She wrapped her fingers around him.

“A-ah. . .” with a weak-kneed, spine-arching groan.

Then she bit lightly down on his lip.

Instantly Wes bucked up off the couch, swearing, his cock pulsing in her grip. “Jesus C-Christ, that’s—Isabel,God—”

She did it again, harder.

And again.

“Ah!” Another spasm jerked his hips higher into her hand. A moment later, another curse was a plea against her tongue. Now his fingers twitched with eager restraint at her panties. “Isa—please, c-can—can I touch you—please, I—”

“No.”

She released him. His broken moan was sweet to taste, and sweeter still against the ache between her legs. She stepped back. Daring to demand his gaze, to glory in his desperation and deny it, to leave him with a parted mouth and black, glittering eyes, wanting her so badly that each breath rattled his chest and stuttered his hips, she hooked a finger under her panties and said, “Tie your hands.”

Silence.

He’d stopped breathing. She refused to look away. Despite the frantic demands of her body and his, she remained motionless before him,waiting. . . waiting until. . .

Finally—finally—he surrendered to their shared need.

He moved again. Just his tongue, darting across his passion-bruised lips, but:

“F-fuck. Yes.”

“Good.”

He manhandled his way into his duffel bag. He retrieved a coil of multicolored nylon with a carabiner. A foil square, too. She toyed with the corner of that packet to extract its latex sheath, then toyed with the edge of her panties as well, inching the silk down her hips, flushed and damp, the pressure at the apex of her thighs narrowing to a throb—while Wes twisted a handcuff bind from the slack in his rope.

She nodded.

When he began to tighten the cord around his wrists, however, she stopped him. “No. Behind your back.”

Another frozen, scorching moment. Then:

“Help me?”

“Yes.” She’d need both hands. Her panties slithered to the floor with a ripple of cool air across her over-sensitive skin. She stepped between his knees. She leaned close, canting her hips for balance, working by touch: over his bold shoulders, across the roughness of his elbows, along the ink and scarring and weathering on his forearms, to his wrists: readied behind him. The taut peaks of her breasts skimmed his chest while she slipped the rope over his hands, while she inched the nylon slack into contact with his own skin, holding him steady—stay with me—and ready, the heat of their bodies brightening the dark.

His breath trembled and mingled with hers. “Isabel. . .”