Wicked Ties(124)

“Be very sure,” he demanded.

Morgan hesitated, her soft gaze pointed down, seeking his. Yes, she wanted to know

what was different, what awaited her. But she didn’t ask, just stared.

“I’m sure,” she whispered. And the confidence on her face told him she meant it.

“Sir.”

“You’re amazing, cher.”

The sight of those blue eyes, filled with lust and trust was a kick to his self-control. It

was a fucking wonder he didn’t tear off his clothes and ram himself inside her sweet

body in two seconds or less.

Instead, Jack urged her legs farther apart. Morgan complied without a word, then

wrapped the cord attached to her cuffs around the base of the bed’s solid cherry posts,

down low. He secured them tight.

She wasn’t going anywhere now. And she looked gorgeous, such fairness outlined in

black leather, the red velvet cords serving to anchor her in place and keep her legs

deliciously spread. He’d never seen anything so fucking sexy.

Jack stood, fighting off a shiver of desire searing him and threatening to strip his

control.

Eager—hell, shaking—with the need to touch her, Jack smoothed his palms down her

sides, dipping in with the slight curve of her waist, as he dusted kisses down Morgan’s

skin. She swallowed a gasp as his touch drifted down the flare of her hips and his mouth

found a sensitive spot where hip and thigh met.

Was there anything more perfect than her offering of such fair skin, more tempting

than palming the firm length of her legs, kneeling so close to the heaven of her pussy?

Not in his mind. This…Morgan and everything she offered was everything he’d looked

for.

He prayed to hell today proved they both had what it took to fulfill one another, be

the lover the other needed.

Reaching around, he trailed his fingers down the slope of her buttocks, gripped the

back of her thighs. Was she soft everywhere? Yeah, and it just tore him up. He, who’d

killed in battle, taken a bullet, sustained scars from more than one knife fight, learned to

tell his enemy to fuck off in eight languages, touched Morgan and her seemingly

untouched skin. He glided his way down clear to her ankles, his mouth following the

same hot path until she was clenching her thighs, until her legs tensed beneath his

hands and mouth.

“Are you wet?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped, watching his every move with wide eyes. Not stunned or shocked.

Aroused. Dilated. Hungry. “Morgan?” he growled in warning.

“Yes, I’m wet, sir.”

“Better,” he said, nibbling at the creamy flesh of her inner thigh before gliding his

tongue up her hip.

The sound of her moan resonated in his ears. Damn, how the hell was he going to

last, without rising to his feet, tearing off his pants and taking what they both needed?

With gentle tugs on all her bindings, Jack assured himself they were secure. Just one

more…

Reaching to his bag again, he pulled out a thick red silk scarf. Perfect, he thought,

folding the crimson scrap of cloth and settling it over her eyes. Morgan could touch and

taste and hear— and through those senses experience everything she needed. But she

could not move or see, which allowed him the control he wanted and might need…just in

case.

For a mere instant, Morgan tensed. But she forced herself to exhale, to relax. Proud of

her calm, dazzled by her show of absolute trust, he kissed her mouth lightly, savoring the

flavor of her hot tension and bee-stung berry lips.

Fists clenched, he eased back and stepped past her. A deep breath, a little prayer.

Then he forced himself to uncurl his fingers, cross the room and open the hotel room

door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Morgan felt Jack walk past her. Behind her, the door opened. A draft of February air

breezed a chill across her skin. Then footsteps.

She tamped down her panic. He wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t be. The raw

tenderness in his eyes and the unrelenting grip of his hands on her convinced Morgan of

that. So what the hell was he up to?

He cupped his hand around her shoulder and settled against her, whispering in her

ear, “The safe word is still swamp.”

Even blindfolded, his tension couldn’t have been clearer if he drew her a picture.

“Okay, but I won’t need it.”

Jack exhaled. Warm breath on her cheek, then the soft skate of his fingertips down

the slope of her breast, followed by the hard pull of his mouth on her nipple.

Instantly, a path of fire zinged between her breasts and her clit. Moisture rushed

between her folds. The pleasure was so bright, Morgan even felt a curious warmth at her

back. She couldn’t squeeze her legs together for relief, since Jack had tied them so far