Bound and Determined (6 page)

She yelped with far more effect than the smack warranted and she tried to tell herself he hadn’t just fulfilled a fantasy. “You’re a complete arse, Quinn.”

“Manners, Ms O’Malley, manners. Be lucky you didn’t get more. You earned it.”

Through gritted teeth she said, “Please put me down.”

He did, and not gently at all. Breath whooshed from her and her knees wobbled.

Sinead made a mad dash for the bathroom, taking care to avoid the blasted comb.

“Earlier, at the pub,” he called out, “you were generous enough to give me two minutes. Now I’m returning the favour.”

She slammed the door behind her. Before she could turn the lock or smile triumphantly, he shoved the door open, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Happy to help, if’n you need it.”

“Piss off.”

“Leave the door open.”

“I need a little privacy.”

He allowed his gaze to sweep down her body. “I’ve already seen your lovely self.”

“I need a few minutes’ privacy,” she repeated. “I have some personal things to attend to.”

“Do it with me standing here or not at all. You’ll not be getting any privacy. You haven’t earned it.”

“Earned it? How dare you?”

He grinned, a man with the upper hand.

“You’ll be getting no quarter from me, wife-to-be. You’ve given me the shrift through half a dozen American cities, and it was fecking hot in Chicago. I got drenched in rainstorm in Portland. I nearly got mowed down by a taxi in New York. You dashed out the back of a pub, and another of your bloody fans in the kitchen tried to hold me back with a knife.”

She blinked. “He did?”

“And that wide-eyed pup Brandon gave me a false hotel for you. If you think you’re shutting another door on me, think again.”

The man might be infuriating, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Two minutes, Sinead.”

Saying nothing else, he looked at his watch.

She sighed in utter frustration. She’d spent her adult life dreaming about being with a man who was her match, a man who wouldn’t put up with any nonsense, a man who was big and strong and capable. Now that one stood here, his foot positioned so she couldn’t slam the door a second time, she was finding the reality wasn’t nearly as appealing.

She gathered her toiletries from the marble countertop and dumped them into an oversized cosmetic bag. If he seriously had his own aeroplane, she probably didn’t need to worry about making sure the liquids were kept in a separate plastic bag. And if they were flying commercial, he could bloody well wait while she dealt with security. “If you’ll excuse me.” She swept past him.

She grabbed her suitcase from the floor and tossed it on the bed. She’d flown in earlier from Kansas City, and she’d played a couple of sets. She was tired, and she didn’t want to deal with this overbearing male. “Can’t we leave in the morning? This is ridiculous, starting a transatlantic flight so late at night.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she looked at him.

“I am trying to be reasonable.,”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said. “The bed is perfectly big enough for both of us.” He shrugged out of his bomber jacket and dropped it on the edge of the mattress. “And the room is paid for.”

“Never mind,” she said. In his tight black T-shirt, he was even more dangerous. And when he pulled the hem of that T-shirt up, she all but salivated. But, Christ, did he have a nice, tight-looking abdominal area.

“Never mind?”

“We can fly tonight,” she said.

“Or we can fuck in this big bed. Not saying you’d get much sleep.”

She grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from her case.

He picked up her discarded clothes from the floor where she’d left them scattered.

She tried not to be embarrassed by him handling her bra and knickers. After all, he’d had his hand between her legs, and he’d brought her to a shattering orgasm. She grabbed her tartan and T-shirt from him, but he held onto her underwear. Could this day get any worse? “I can pack my own clothes,” she said.

“I’d wondered,” he said quietly.

She looked at him.

“If you had on a bra beneath that T-shirt while you were onstage. I could see your nipples from halfway across the pub. Do you know how many men were lusting after you?”

Their eyes met.

“Aye, lass. Including me. I couldn’t wait to get my hands and my mouth on you.”

While he put her laundry in the zippered part of her case, she pulled out a pair of black knickers and a clean bra. This whole situation was bizarre, surreal. Her enemy was packing her bag while she was pulling out fresh clothes. They stood close enough that their arms brushed and she inhaled that clean, crisp scent that was uniquely him.

She thought of trying to wriggle into her knickers while she was still wearing the robe. Then she decided against it.

She placed all the clothes she was going to wear on the bedspread.

She tried not to notice that her hands shook as she fumbled with the belt. It took three tries to unknot the blasted thing.

He collected her dance shoes from the floor and stuffed them into her case then yanked the zip closed before folding his arms across that broad chest and shamelessly watching her.

She shrugged and allowed the thick terry cloth to fall to the carpet.

“Lovely. You’ve the body of an athlete.”

Under his appreciative gaze, her nipples had once again hardened. Her pussy was still damp. No matter how they fought or how much she intellectually hated him, her body responded to his masculinity.

She grabbed the bra from the bedspread.

His eyes darkened and he reached out, taking her by the shoulders.

“You’re mine,” he said.

“Never.”

He cupped both her breasts. Then he stroked both nipples with his thumbs. The nipple he’d squeezed earlier felt tender, but in a way that made her instantly respond.

“Damn, but you’ve a responsive body.”

Her knees buckled. Instinctively she grabbed for his wrists to hold herself steady.

She hated this push and pull of emotions. She wanted him, and she desperately wanted not to want him.

He stunned her then by kneeling in front of her.
No
.

She kept her legs together.

“Don’t deny me.”

“I will.” Again and again. No matter what her traitorous body wanted.

He released her breasts and she released her grip on his wrists.

Then determinedly he worked his left hand between her thighs. “Your pussy is drenched.”

“A natural enough reaction.”

“So that’s the way it’s to be?” He slid a fingertip across her clit. Then he pushed, hard enough to wring a gasp from her. “Means nothing to you, Sinead?”

“Sex is sex. You can get it on any street corner.”

“And this?” He began to rub.

She forced herself to stand still instead of swaying with the motion. Damn there was something appealing about having such a large, forceful man on his knees, his mouth a whisper away from her cunt.

Abruptly, he slid a finger inside her.

Christ
. He shocked her, but he didn’t hurt her. It felt…

He inserted a second finger inside her.

He looked at her, then pulled them out and showed her his fingers, glistening with her juices. “Means nothing,” he repeated.

“Are you trying to prove a point? Trying to prove that the Big Bad Evil Quinn is a lady’s man? Is that what this was about?
Fillean meal ar an meallaire
.
” Evil returns to the evil doer.

He stood and caught both her hands, imprisoned them behind her back and forced her body against his, her tight little nipples abrading against the cotton of his T-shirt. “That wasn’t evil. This…” He captured her mouth in a quick, brutally tender kiss. “This isn’t evil, either.”

She looked up at him, aware of her nakedness and his full state of dress, his aura of command.

He knelt and easily slid both fingers back inside her.

She moved then, her body betraying her mind. She spread her legs to accommodate him.

“Shall I do you like this till you scream?”

He gave her no time for an answer.

“I think that’s what you’ll do. Scream. You’re not one for a quiet climax are you?”

Not gently, he parted her labia then moved forward and captured her clit between his teeth.

Oh God, how long since a man had eaten her pussy?

Deliberately this man was undoing her resistance, with his combination of pain that brought her to the brink of tormented pleasure.

He licked her, he nipped at her. She started to whimper. Then he pressed his tongue against her. She jerked her hips. She moaned. Her soft little sounds grew louder as he finger- fucked her in addition to licking and sucking.

She curled her hands into the thick locks of his hair, dragging his head closer. She was so close, almost there…
almost
. “I want to come,” she admitted.

“And I want you to beg for it,” he said, words muffled by her heated flesh.

 
He pulled back and removed one finger from her pussy. She felt him move the moist finger backwards so that he was probing against the entrance to her arse. She’d never done this before, but…
yes
…

“Tell me.Tell me you want my finger in that tight little hole. Beg me to finger-fuck both holes.”

“Quinn. I can’t.”

He continued to torment her just a little, not enough to get her off.

She jerked her hips in response to his finger, his mouth, his tongue. Oh God, his tongue…

Then he stopped.“Beg.”

Her body felt like a tightly-strung instrument. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Please.”

“Beg,” he repeated.

“Please finger-fuck me, Quinn.”

She’d never used such graphic language before. But with him, it didn’t embarrass her. “Please…”

“The words, Sinead. I want to hear the words.”

“Please finger-fuck me.”

“Not just my cunt, but my arse.”

Hot colour chased up her cheeks. “Finger-fuck my cunt, my arse.”

“And your clit, Sinead? What do you want me to do with your clit?”

“Lick it, suck it.”

“Tell me it all.”

“I want…” She cleared her throat. She was a performer. She’d been on stage since the age of five. She knew how to step out of reality and into an alternate place. This was really no different, despite the fact it was her enemy kneeling in front of her, his masterful mouth only a breath away from her most intimate place. “Please, Quinn. Finger-fuck my cunt and my arse while you lick my clit.”

“Do not come without permission,” he told her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s how things will be, Sinead. We’ll be using clamps. I’ll tie you up. In the bedroom, hellcat, you’ll be mine. If you’re very good, I’ll let you climax. But never, and make no mistake about this, without permission. If you come without my approval, it’ll be a long, long time before you’re allowed another one.”

She was barely able to think. In spite of his sensual but harsh words, he hadn’t stopped touching her. And Lord help her, she didn’t want to make him stop. An orgasm churned deep inside, and she wanted the release it would bring.

Earlier, on the bidet, she’d had a tiny release, nothing compared to what he’d given her a while ago while he tormented her nipples. But even that, she knew, would be tame compared to what was building now. Every muscle and sinew felt stretched tight, demanding satisfaction. “I’m not sure what kind of women you’ve dealt with before,” she told him, “but I’m not one of the simpering villagers where you rule like lord and master. You can’t tie me up or force me to beg for your sexual favours.”

“Oh, aye, lass, I can. And you’ll do it of your own free will. You’ll crawl to me with bindings in your teeth and you’ll drop them at my feet and beg me to secure you to a punishment bench.”

“Punishment bench?” Was he serious? He couldn’t make this up, could he? “You sound positively medieval.”

“Quite the contrary. My punishment bench is modern. The hooks are brand new.”

“I’ll see you in hell first.” But because the picture he painted was so close to her own fantasies, she shivered.

“Love, you’ll be happy to make the trip.”

Brutally he slapped her cunt.

She gasped. She was horrified, not just because of his vicious act, but because she was so incredibly wet.

“Do you like that?” he asked.

“Not on your life.”

“Your mouth tells one story,” he said. “Your body tells another. You were made for me, Sinead, for my mastery. For my lash. Come without permission and you’ll feel the wrath of my belt across your arse cheeks.”