Free The Homecoming by Patricia Pellicane Page B

of it deep inside her. She shivered in anticipation. “Don’t hurt me,” she whimpered softly. “Please. Take anything you want, just don’t hurt me.”
    “What I want is you.” She moaned softly. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’ve seen you swing these huge tits, tempting your man to play with them.” As he spoke, he ran his hands over her breasts.
    She shivered and only half-heartedly tried to buck him off.
    “And that pretty little cunt, damn, I’ve been waiting forever for a taste of that. Tonight it’s my turn.”
    She tried to free her hands, but he held her firmly. On his knees, he dragged her toward the center of the bed. He let go of one hand as he circled the other with a silky bit of yarn and tied it securely to the bedpost. She struggled, fighting the ropes, fighting him. Despite the ecstasy that awaited them, she wouldn’t make this easy for him. For an instant she forgot it was a game. She hit him again, and bucked her hips trying to throw him off. Her efforts were for naught. A moment later her hands were tied securely to the bedposts.
    She gasped for every breath, her fogged brain reminding her who he was, what he was to her. The fear disappeared while excitement and arousal grew, burning, teasing her senses, leaving her trembling with need.
    Through clenched teeth she gritted a low feral growl, provoking his laughter.
    “You’re a tough little piece, all right, but it doesn’t matter how many classes you take. I’ll always be able to fuck you. And tonight I’m going to fuck you until we’re both damn near mindless with pleasure.”
    He chuckled at her frustration and ran one hand slowly down the length of her. Then, with agonizingly slow precision, his fingers reversed their course and slid up the length of her legs to tease and taunt, to drive her to the edge of madness. They brushed over her pussy and she trembled while emitting a low groan of yearning. He suddenly left her side and she cursed. “We need to slow up a bit. I want this to last some.” Seconds later, he stood at the door to the bedroom watching her. The light behind him cast his face in shadows. He stood leaning for a moment against the doorjamb, positioned at an angle that allowed just enough light to escape from the side of the doorway. She could see the long lean length of him. Her gaze took in his cock and the longer she looked, the harder, the hungrier it grew. She shivered with the need to feel it inside her and felt her pussy grow helplessly heavy and wet with longing.
    He left the door open, allowing light to fall across the bed, illuminating her body. “I like the bath salts you use. Smells like a French whorehouse. Sets a man’s dick a tinglin’.”
    “How nice for you,” she said dryly.
    A moment later he was at her side with two glasses and the bottle of wine. He sat on the edge of the bed and grinned. He poured the golden liquid into the crystal. “Want a sip?”
    She ignored his question. Even as she lay helpless at his side, she managed, “I’m going to kill you for this.”
    “You think so? You know what I think?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I think you’re going to love it so much that the next time I’m in town you’ll beg me to join you in bed.”
    “Not likely,” she scoffed. “Besides, it’s hard to beg a dead man to join you in bed, don’t you think?”
    He snickered in ridicule. “Like I said, you’re a tough little piece, but I’ll always be stronger.”
    “How strong you figure you’ll be, once I put a bullet between your eyes?”
    “Aw, honey, this love talk is makin’ me all hot and ready for a go at you.”
    She struggled in vain. “Untie me.”
    He chuckled. “You sure are a fine lookin’ woman. I like the way your tits wiggle when you try to fight the ties.”
    He grinned at her glare. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” he nodded toward the wine glass he held. “This stuff sure is somethin’. Your husband has some mighty fine taste in