Losing Control(58)

He swoops down before I can formulate a response. When his hands are all over me and his tongue is literally having sex with my mouth, I cannot remember why I’m mad, why I’m supposed to protest. He’s so goddamned sexy. The effortless command he has over everything around him, as if he can snap his fingers and everything and everyone will fall in line, is as sexy as it is infuriating.

I want to be repelled because a sane, smart woman would be. But no, every autocratic action actually turns me on because with Ian, I don’t have to think if I don’t want to. I recognize that I could let him take care of me. That he would willingly make all my decisions for me—what to wear, what to eat, where to go.

And yet . . .if I do that . . . if I allow him that much control over me, then where will I be after my vacation with Ian is over? Back in a tiny one bedroom walkup eating ramen noodles and wearing polyester.

“You think too much,” Ian says, smoothing his hands down my arms and then following the path with his wet mouth, leaving a pattern of nips and soothing kisses down my upper arms. His tongue finds the tender skin of the crook of my elbow and the soft spot on my wrist, causing me to whimper and grind against him.

“I have to,” I gasp. “There’s no one else to do it for me.”

“Let me think for you then.”

I weaken because the idea is so tempting. Not having to think, letting Ian take control? Would it really hurt that much to allow it for one night or even a few days?

“I can almost hear the cogs in your brain churning,” he murmurs. His mouth has latched itself to the exposed skin of my throat. It’s so much harder to remember why I was resisting when his mouth is moving up and down the column of my neck. His hands are holding my arms tight to my side. I’d like to blame my capitulation on alcohol, but I only had one drink tonight.

“I don’t want you to think that if I let you have your way with me this one time, I’m giving in forever.” I drape my arms over his shoulders and twine my fingers in the bottom of his hair.

“That thought hadn’t even occurred to me, bunny. You like to fight me and I like the challenge.” He licks behind my ear, causing me to shudder and squeeze him. “Like that do you?” He repeats his action and I squirm even closer to him.

Dropping my head on his shoulder, I whisper a plea, “Don’t hurt me, Ian.”

His arms tighten around me and I feel the hard warmth of his body through the heavy lace and the thin silk of my shorts. “It’s me who should be afraid.” And then he plunders my mouth and I don’t even notice that he didn’t give me his answer. Or maybe he did and I don’t want to accept it.

His tongue traces my collarbone and licks at the hollow of my throat. He shifts me slightly to undo the button on my shorts and release the zipper. Before I can form a response, his hand is down my shorts and pressing hotly against me. He presses his erection against my thigh and thrusts in a lewd manner. I know exactly what he wants.

“What about my doubts?” I ask, but inwardly I’m thrilled that he’s finally, finally ready. His mouth crashes down on mine, devouring me and leaving me with little doubt as to his intentions.

His lips are wet from my saliva and his fingers are tight against me. “I’m going to fuck those doubts right out of you.”





Chapter 21


“CAN YOU DO THAT?”

“Absolutely.” His statement of arrogance is followed by his fingers piercing me. Two long digits push inside my wet channel, eliciting an audible moan.

“Oh hell, Ian. That feels so good.”

I can see his smug gleam at the lack of resistance, at how my body is responsive to his very presence—not to mention his talented touch.

“Your panties are soaked. Have you been wet long?” he asks.

It’s rhetorical because he’s more interested in pushing up my shirt to bare my tummy and then higher to expose my breasts. My nipples are distended and aching. The light rub of the fabric only served to heighten my arousal.

“Ian, I want . . .” My demands trail off as he mouths the sensitive upper curve of my left breast.

“What, bunny, tell me,” he commands. His fingers stroke me, curling toward my pubic bone and then dragging along the tissues all the way out. He repeats this gesture in an infinitely slow loop. He is burning me up. My thighs hug his hips tight, and I pull on that blue-and-white-dotted tie so that his mouth is against mine. I surge against his fingers, needing the release from the tension that his fingers are stoking.

“I want you inside me,” I tell him. I want his mouth on me, his cock inside me. I want him surrounding me so that all I can see, hear, and feel is Ian Kerr. He angles his head so that he can kiss me deeper. His tongue is again everywhere inside my mouth, pressing against the roof, licking along the sides of my cheek and the sensitive skin under my tongue.