Part 2 (1/2)

A jumble of emotions ripped through her-torn between wanting to feel his soft kiss on her lips again while running her hands along his naked body-and knowing she should fly away and save her principles while she still could. At each step he took, her good girl side screamed, 'Get out.' Her breath quickened and her chest felt tight.

Then his strong hands slid around her waist and he covered her mouth with the kiss she so desperately wanted. He penetrated her willing lips, but as their tongues touched, Sam's body sagged and her traitor knees gave way. Peter's strong arms caught her up and carried her as if he carried her away from danger. Her head swam as Peter crossed the few paces to the bed and set her down beside him, letting her lean on him and revel in his strength. When his skilled fingers unb.u.t.toned each b.u.t.ton of her blouse, she did not protest.

Why did it feel like her head was wrapped in cotton? Almost as if she were detached from the events, Sam watched as Peter's sensitive hands pushed the dark garment off her shoulders, revealing the leather bustier she had worn just for him. She hadn't been entirely truthful about why she was late to cla.s.s earlier -it wasn't that the lacing had given her trouble, it was the fantasy she had spun for herself as she put on the soft leather and pulled the laces tight. A fantasy that now was coming true. As Peter skimmed his finger along the top rim of the leather, her mind came back to the present and she was acutely aware of how her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bulged under its confines.

”Mmmm, I think we'll leave this on for a while,” Peter murmured in her ear. The leather is very s.e.xy on you.” His hand idly toyed with the laces for a moment before moving purposely to her waist. With a deft flick of his fingers, her jeans opened and he slid the zipper down. She whimpered a bit as his warm hand slid between her panties and the jeans. In spite of herself, Samantha pushed his hand away.

”No, please.” She didn't mean it, but the words came out of her anyway.

”Remember, you have a code to use, Samantha.”

It was difficult to breathe with him so close. ”Green.” She meant to say it calmly and with certainty. It came out as a bare whisper.

With a considerate smile, Peter helped her to stand. Her eyes were level with his nipples standing at attention in the night air. While she had an urge to lean forward and lick one of them just to see what they tasted like, she could not quite bring herself to be so forward. His hand brushed against her face and she looked into his dark eyes that smoldered with command and domination. No games, he had told her. Obviously, he meant it.

”I'm a patient man, Samantha. I want to have you tonight and I will. And it will be because you have begged me to take you. You will want this as much as I. I will have you no other way.” With that glint of calm authority in his eye, he brushed her hair out of her face. ”But your hands are too conditioned by years of upbringing. Let's take care of those first so they stop getting in our way.”

Gently he turned her now so that she faced the bed with its s.h.i.+ning scarlet sheets. His hands ran down her arms, pulling them behind her; she did not resist. Too late she felt the cold metal around her wrist and heard the 'snick' as the handcuffs locked. In surprise, Sam tried to pull her arms around to the front; first one way, then the other as she twisted around, trying to see the device that inhibited her movement.

Peter stepped around her, watching her explore her binding as he sat down on the bed, one hand resting gently on her waist to steady her, the other resting casually on his lap. Her eye caught the glimmer of keys dangling from his fingers and she stilled. Candlelight flickered in his eyes; Sam saw her fears reflected in their darkness.

”Peter...” She hesitated. Just what was she going to object to? From the moment he kissed her in the parking lot, she intended to lose her virginity tonight. Was she now going to balk because he was getting so close to the fantasy she held all her life? A smile crept over her mouth, twisting it into a wry shape. ”Green.” Her voice was steady this time, stronger.

”Then let's get you undressed all the way, shall we?” Peter's hands slipped under her jeans again, this time keeping contact with her skin as he pulled down her pants and panties at the same time. Her cheeks hot with a mixture of eagerness and shame, she allowed him to remove her clothing. Kneeling on the floor to help her untangle her feet from the two garments, he gently pushed her over and she fell onto the bed wearing nothing but her leather bustier and a pair of handcuffs.

There was no denying the wetness between her legs. Her scent was so strong even she could smell it. Cheeks flaring in embarra.s.sment, she tried to apologize. ”I'm sorry...I can go wash...”

”Why?” The look he gave her was one of puzzlement. ”Each person has a distinct odor-it is nothing to be ashamed of. In time, you will come to appreciate your own scent.” As if to prove to her he was not offended, his fingers now trailed along her mound and dipped between her lips to gently touch her c.l.i.t.

No man had ever touched her there before. Warmth spread through her at his stroke. Acting on pure instinct, Samantha gasped and spread her legs wider, knowing it made her look like a hussy, but not really caring as his soft caress pummeled the last of her good girl walls to dust. Unbidden, the image of a street corner came into her mind, her bound body spread between two poles, ready for use.

”Samantha, have you ever had an o.r.g.a.s.m?”

His question shocked her back to reality. What a thing to ask! The coy, independent side of her leaped to the forefront with a sharp retort. ”What difference does it make?”

He withdrew his hand and gave her one of those patient looks. Tears forming in her eyes at her own embarra.s.sment, she nodded. ”Yes, I have had a few small o.r.g.a.s.ms. But nothing like what I have read about in the romance books. I also know I have a small...” She couldn't look at him. Staring at the deep red of the ceiling, she forced herself to finish her sentence. ”I have a small c.l.i.t, so I guess big o.r.g.a.s.ms aren't going to happen for me.”

His laugh was rich and deep and rolled around the room like far away thunder over the mountains. ”Oh, Samantha! Your climax has nothing to do with the size of your c.l.i.t and everything to do with the skill of the one who manipulates it.” He smiled kindly down on her. ”Tonight you will have one to rival the romance books.

”Let's get you more comfortable, shall we?” Peter's deft hands rolled her over onto her stomach and the silkiness of the satin sheets brushed against her cheek. For a moment, Sam wished he had taken off her bustier so she could feel their slippery softness on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as well. The handcuffs released under his key and she sat up, rubbing her wrists more out of nervousness than need. With great willpower, she kept her hands from delving downward to cover her nakedness. Self-conscious again, she kept her legs shut tight and watched as he opened a drawer to put away the handcuffs and pull out something else. Something long, and red, and silky.

”Come on, back down on the bed,” he instructed her. ”Arms up.”

In spite of the romantic atmosphere of the Victorian four-poster, the candles and the red satin sheets, Sam felt far from romantic. Unsure, scared, excited-yes. Romantic-no. Still, she did as Peter commanded, reminded by his tone that she was giving him control.

With a quick efficiency, Peter knotted the silk scarf around her right wrist, then pulled it up to tie around the bedpost. All the while he kept up a small patter, keeping her mind occupied and her emotions calm. Satisfied she was firmly bound, he sauntered around the end of the bed on his way to fasten her other wrist with a second, matching silk scarf.

He never took his eyes off her the entire way around the bed, appreciating the curves of the woman who lay before him. ”You have a beautiful body, Samantha. With the weather turning colder, I know you want to favor turtlenecks and sweaters, but there's no reason you should stick with plain cotton underwear.”

”I haven't had anyone to show myself off to.” He was wrapping her other wrist in the soft silk and her voice quavered a bit. Peter was tying her open, just as she had always wanted. The dim voice of her upbringing urged her to tug on her bindings-to fight what Peter was doing to her. Instead, she smiled to let him know she was fine.

”You have me to show off for now. I like your body very much, Samantha.” Peter finished securing her wrist to the bedpost and moved a few pillows to make it comfortable for her to rest her arms. Satisfied, he sat beside her and entwined his fingers in the laces of her bustier again. ”Yes, I like your body-it's soft and giving-you take good care of yourself, I can tell. I like the heaviness of your b.r.e.a.s.t.s...” Peter paused to run his finger over the rim of the bustier, his touch sending a small s.h.i.+ver along Sam's spine. He chuckled. ”I like how my touch affects you and your body. In fact, I am ready to see the rest of you now.”

With a quick pull on the bow, the suede laces came undone. Sam's breath caught in her throat and she tried not to breathe as Peter slowly pulled the laces through, lest her rising and falling b.r.e.a.s.t.s betray her arousal. Unhurried, deliberate, Peter bared her body bit-by-bit to his sight. With each pull, more of her breast popped over the edge until the leather gave way and the bustier lay completely open on the bed. Desperately wanting to cover herself, her arms pulled down of their own accord, but the scarves held her firmly in place. Sam forced herself to remain still and not squirm as Peter's slender fingers closed over first one breast, and then the other.

Squeezing their ample fullness in his hands, Peter kneaded her soft flesh and Sam arched her back, pus.h.i.+ng them up to him. When he leaned forward and his lips encircled one of her nipples, his tongue gently brus.h.i.+ng the very tip, Sam gasped and heard herself plead wordlessly for more.

The virtuosity of a concert pianist, the deft fingers of a cla.s.sical harpist, and the trained hands of a surgeon all get the proper respect they deserve. But held against Peter's hands as he manipulated her body, those skilled artisans were no more than amateurs. Rolling each nipple in his fingers, the nubs hardened to tight little buds of fire. For a moment, the warmth of his tongue covered them, and when he moved down along her body, her wet nipples tingled in the night air.

She squirmed on the bed as his tongue circled her navel. Stopping, he looked up at her, mischief in his eyes. With a sudden dive, he wet his lips and blew a raspberry into her belly b.u.t.ton. She shrieked, jerking her knees up more in reflex than a desire to stop him, then giggled as he blew another one.

”Oh, Peter!” She gasped for breath. ”Last time I got zerbled, I was in grade school!”

”High time you got another one, then!” He dove for her throat this time, and planted a wet, sloppy raspberry right at the base of her throat and at the exact same moment, slipped his hand between the folds of her p.u.s.s.y. The incongruous mixture of playful fun and sudden arousal activated every nerve ending; her back arched and she cried out in a confusion of elation and longing.

With barely a pause, Peter slid down the bed and pulled her leg aside, climbing over it. He started a dive toward her mound, but what few 'good girl' instincts she still had rebelled, slamming her legs toward each other. ”Oh, Peter, no-please. You can't!” He wasn't really going to put his mouth down there, was he?

”Samantha, I can and I want to.” All frivolity disappeared as Peter climbed off the bed and pulled two more silk scarves out of the bureau drawer. At the foot of the bed he paused, running them through his hands. She knew he waited for her signal. He would not wrest control from her; she had to give it up willingly.

She understood why. If she voluntarily gave up control to him, it was for their mutual pleasure. It was the exchange of power he'd spoken of earlier. But if he forced the issue and tied her to the bed without her a.s.sent, then the s.e.x wasn't consensual-it was rape.

Clearing her throat and not looking away, she slowly, shyly opened her legs for him. ”Green.” Her voice was sure and firm.

The smile on his face made her consent all the more pleasurable. In the candlelight, dimples showed in his cheeks, casting small shadows that served to highlight his cheekbones. With a few deft ties, he knotted the scarves around each ankle and tied them to the bedposts. Sam was where she always had wanted to be-spread-eagled and available. Just as she had always fantasized.

Open.

Exposed.

Helpless.

Of its own accord, her body writhed on the bed. Not fighting the bindings, but reveling in them. She twisted and pulled, testing and enjoying the wonderful feeling of helplessness that spread through her. It was a feeling she longed for, had dreamed of in endless nights of frustration. What wasn't expected was the freedom. With her body bound, she now could pretend she had no choices whatsoever. She could pretend that what was about to happen to her was out of her hands.

But she didn't want to pretend. For too many years she had lived with the pretense and hidden her desires. Tonight, Peter was turning her into the object she always wanted to be. The thought of what he might do to her-what he could do to her-made her whimper as her p.u.s.s.y flooded with her arousal, the white cream oozing between her lips, readying her body for his use.

When she finally settled, her cheeks were flushed and a fine sheen coated her body, making it glimmer in the candlelight. The nipples on her breast, hard as two little pebbles, had grown dark with desire. She wanted them touched...kissed...tasted. Panting, her eyes sought Peter's as she smiled her resigned-yet-excited acceptance of her position.

Although he had removed his s.h.i.+rt, Peter still wore his jeans. The eroticism of her position, naked and spread on the bed, while he remained dressed and in control above her, made her breath quicken in antic.i.p.ation. Trembling, she watched him kick off his shoes and lean forward to take off his socks. She knew he watched her as he undressed; his eyes focused on her, soaking in the sight of her naked body. But she could not meet his eyes; each movement he made brought her closer to the moment when he would take her. She held her breath as his hands undid the belt at his waist; she could not take her eyes from his long fingers as he unzipped his jeans. Sam could already see the bulge of his arousal and she squirmed on the bed, whimpering in her awakening.

Peter took his time, drawing out the moment and his teasing had the desired effect. Sam's fear and arousal grew stronger with pa.s.sing moment. When he stepped out of his pants and faced her wearing only a pair of tight jockeys, he knelt on the bed beside her where she would have a very good view of what was in store for her.