I was long past
playing fair when it came to the delectable Miss Whittaker. When I decided to
break her down, I meant exactly that. Those walls had to go. Before I was done,
they wouldn’t even be rubble for her to hide behind.
It wasn’t as though I hadn’t
already let her come; I had, several times. But those orgasms were just the
hors d’oeuvres. I had much, much more planned.
Distantly, in the back of my
mind, I knew that my restraint couldn’t last forever. Already, the mega-semen
backup of all time was threatening to blow off the back of my skull.
Even so, I wasn’t about to use
any of those distraction techniques some guys depend on at such delicate
times--reciting the fantasy line-ups for the top ten NFL teams, envisioning
your third-grade teacher, the one with the facial warts, and so on. None of
that for me. I was way too busy concentrating on Emma herself.
My thumb and forefinger twisted
the hard little bud of her nipple at the same time I bit the nape of her neck
and sucked hard. I knew perfectly well the effect both such moves had on her
and I deployed them ruthlessly.
But Miss Whittaker was nothing if
not full of surprises. Without warning, she turned her head and sank her teeth
into my forearm. And not lightly.
Startled, I pulled back just enough
to give her the opportunity she wanted. She didn’t hesitate to take it. In an
instant, she turned under me so that we were face-to-face.
“Enough,” she said as she pulled
my head down until her lips brushed mine and I felt her breath, warm and sweet
mingling with my own. “I want you now , inside me.”
As she spoke, her thumb rubbed
over my crest, catching my pre-come as she squirmed to bring me closer. Her
thighs fell open, her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing, and her
eyes glazed with passion.
Hands down, she was the most
exquisite, enthralling sight I had ever beheld awake or in my dreams.
Damn, if I couldn’t come just
looking at her.
“ Now ,” she repeated, managing
to sound at once pleading and demanding.
I would have laughed but I’d
forgotten how to breathe. All I could do was stare down at her until I finally
got a sufficient grip on myself to respond.
No way would I let her win this
one. That was my mantra, my lodestar, the one unchanging reality in a world
swiftly spinning out of all control.
I put my weight on my knees and yanked
her arms over her head. With one hand, I held her wrists manacled.
“My terms,” I grated. “My way.”
As I spoke, her eyes rolled back
in her head. With a groan, she said, “Whatever. Just do it!”
She had no idea what she was
inviting but I would be more than happy to show her.
“ What? ”
Her startled exclamation a moment
later made me grin. If I did say so myself, I’d done a good--and more
importantly fast--job of securing her wrists to the headboard of the bed. But
then I’d planned ahead, grabbing a handful of Margo’s silk scarves out of a
drawer when we came into the room while keeping Emma too distracted to notice.
I had to hope that the late movie star, apparently no stranger to passion
herself, would have understood.
As Emma stared up at my handiwork,
her lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened even further. I took advantage
of her preoccupation to grasp a slim ankle, loop a length of silk around it,
and secure it to one of the posts at the base of the bed.
Too late, she realized what I was
doing. By the time she tried to jerk her other ankle away, I already had a firm
hold on it.
Staring at me in shock, she said,
“I can’t… I don’t…”
Ignoring the incessant throbbing
of my cock, I said, “I know I’m pushing you, babe. If you really can’t tolerate
this, tell me and we’ll stop.”
That was the Achilles heel of my
grand plan. She could call a halt at any time. No matter what it cost me, I
would never compel her to accept anything that she didn’t want. In that regard,
she had all the power.
I had to pray that I’d judged
The Science of Leonardo: Inside the Mind of the Great Genius of the Renaissance