Wicked Ties(93)
a sharp inhalation, she took the scent of him into her nose. He lingered there: leather,
man, cypress, mystery. The urge—the ache—to press up and meet him gripped her.
“You puzzle me, too,” he murmured against her skin, pretending not to notice how
she tensed against him. “You took a big risk in digging beyond your own uncertainty and
starting a TV show that encourages people to explore their sexuality, whatever it is. But
you hesitate to explore your own. Why?”
“I explored. I’m just not sure I want to be…held down or restrained or—”
“Tied to my bed? You like being at my mercy.”
“I don’t want to work that way! It’s not normal.”
“It’s perfectly ‘normal’ not to want straight vanilla sex. You’re not wired for that,
cher.”
“I’ve got to be. I want to be!”
Before Jack, she’d never had a man bring her to multiple orgasms. It didn’t seem
possible that he was only able to because he tied her down and filled her head with
wicked suggestions of submission and other dirty deeds she had only fantasized about.
That wasn’t it. Any way he touched her would be mind-blowing because she found the
man himself irresistible. The pleasure he gave her had nothing to do with his
domination.
“I know you wish you were.” He smoothed a tangle of wild, flame-colored hair back
from her face. “But if you’d let me, I’d help you. I want to show you that your desires are
not only perfectly normal, but totally wonderful.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You’re burying your head in the sand and wasting yourself on what you want to be
true, rather than what is,” he growled, frustration tightening his mouth.
Morgan shook her head. No. A thousand times no.
But she feared he was right. Something deep inside her flowered at his words. Hope,
need, yearning. It was all there, every bit she’d tried to push down, block from her
conscious mind. A part of her—a big part—wanted to gobble up everything he had to
offer.
“Why are you running from yourself?”
Andrew’s ugly slurs replayed in Morgan’s head, slashing deep at her self-confidence.
You’re depraved. Only a whore wants that!
As the tension ramped up in her body, so did Jack’s grip on her wrists. He drew one
hand from her own to slide against her naked cheek. The warmth of his palm against her
cool skin brought her completely back to the present. Back to the fact that Jack lay on top
of her, his big body taut and tense and spread out, completely covering her.
“Why are you the way you are?” she challenged. “Does there have to be a reason?”
“I can cuff you to this bed,” he growled. “Order your sweet submission, fuck you half
the night and get you off half a dozen times.”
Desire gouged her belly like a hot sword at his terrible, provocative words. Morgan
closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, ignoring her dampening sex, and shook her head. “The
only thing I want you to get is the hell off me.”
She bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off her body. He didn’t budge.
“I can feel your nipples stabbing my chest and your pussy getting all sweet and damp
for me. I’m right, and you know it.”
“I know you’re pushy! Maybe I don’t want to be ordered or bound or made to submit.
Maybe I just want to be touched. Held. In the regular way.”
He raised a dark brow. “You think you want vanilla sex?”
“Traditional,” she corrected. “Absolutely.”
Jack hesitated, his dark eyes scanning her face. The disbelief etched there played
havoc with her composure.
“We have some…chemistry. I’m not denying that,” she rattled. “I just think we’d find
plenty of pleasure together without the ropes and commands.”
Staring, Jack appeared to be sorting through the possibilities. Quickly, he came to a
conclusion. And he smiled.
She didn’t trust that wide, white-teethed Cajun grin for an instant.
“As you wish,” he purred. “Vanilla it is, cher.”
His capitulation was too easy. Now she really didn’t trust him. “You mean that?”
“Oui. You’ll get nothing but kisses, gentle fondling, and straight missionary
penetration.”
Jack made it sound dull, damn it, and it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be between them. Still,
some weird stab of disappointment ached like a pain in her gut that he’d acquiesced so
easily.
Gosh, did she ever sound contrary. She’d won her way. She ought to be thrilled.
“Thank you,” Morgan whispered.