Dark Lover (18 page)

And Ian was going to be on her hook, squirming. Ian was going to lose all control.

Jan looked from her to Ian and back again as the PC whirred. “You know,” she finally said, “you can be a bitch—but I don't hate you—even though you hate me. You only hate me because I'm attractive and closer to Nick than you are. I actually respect you, Sam, even if you're hung up a hundred different ways.”

“Gee, I'm touched,” Sam said, and then she heard her own gasp of pleasure.

Ian had been waiting for the DVD to play, his gaze on the screen. He went still.

Jan glanced at the monitor and turned red.

Sam forgot Jan. She watched Ian. He was rapt. His expression was hard, his gaze riveted now. She knew exactly what he was watching. She'd replayed that first scene and a few others a few times.

Jan walked out; Sam barely noticed.

The air in the room had changed. It was charged now, on fire.

Ian's gaze never left the monitor as his eyes darkened impossibly. He sat down. She saw his chest rise and fall beneath the dark T-shirt he wore. “Come here,” he said softly.

This was it, she thought. “Only if you say pretty please.”

His shoulders stiffened and he tore his gaze from the monitor. His eyes were blinding, as bright as lightning. “Do ye really think ye can tease me with a tape?”

“I sort of know it,” Sam said dryly. “Wouldn't you rather come with me to Hemmer's than stay here with a born-again virgin?”

His gaze skidded back to the screen. He breathed hard. “Come here.”

She usually hated taking orders, but not this time. That harsh command sent desire cascading through her, from her hollow rib cage to her shaky legs. Sam walked slowly over to him, reminding herself that this was what she'd wanted to set in motion. But he was going to squirm—a lot. Not that she wanted a way out. She just wanted him to beg and plead for it.

Sam paused beside the chair where he sat. Before she even looked at the couple on the screen, he seized her wrist. “How many times have ye watched?”

Sam wet her lips, trying to speak, but she couldn't. His hand was fire on her skin. His face was hard and tight, strained. Sam looked at the monitor and inhaled, her heart thundering, her thighs impossibly tight.

He was rubbing that steel ring over her, everywhere, with his massive and broad length
.

He hit the Pause button.

Sam stared at his hand. His knuckles were white. She looked lower, at the huge bulge in his jeans. It had to hurt. But that was okay, because she hurt, too, and she'd been hurting for a while…Then she looked at the screen. “Too bad the cameras were mounted. A zoom shot would have been great,” she said thickly.

He slowly looked up at her. “Oh, I can zoom in.”

She wet her lips. “We're going to a party.”

“The party's right here.”

It was hard to remember why she wanted to make him pant for her—why she'd decided to hold out until he did. He caught her hips and pulled her closer, then smiled up at her. For one moment, Sam was certain he was going to move his face against the jersey of her dress, between her thighs, against her sex.

“You can come with me, or I'll go alone.”

“Threats.” He released her and stood, reaching for the zipper on his jeans. Sam's heart lurched. He slid his hand over the huge bulge there, watching her, then snagged the zipper. He slowly lowered it, his gaze on her face.

Sam knew she was fixated. She could hear her own heavy, wild heartbeat. She should pretend nonchalance, but she couldn't look up.

She felt his mouth curve. She knew he smiled, and knew there was amusement, too. His arousal sprang free of the jeans. The steel ring, pierced low on the head there, glinted.

She felt her thighs clench, her knees buckle.

“What's wrong? Will ye faint?” he taunted.

She was dizzy, she thought, inhaling sharply. He made a soft sound, took her hand and slid it over the shaft, held it there. Sam tried to breathe and failed. The ring lay on the edge of her thumb now.

He caught the hem of her dress. “I'm not leaving this room,” he said. “Neither are ye. Not until I say so.”

It was so hard to speak. It was even harder to think. “I don't want to go anywhere,” Sam heard herself say thickly. She ran her hand down his entire length. He was silent, throbbing heavily there. Her own body was on the verge of implosion. She wondered if the ring hurt. There was a fine line between pleasure and pain.

Too late, as she pushed up at the ring, making him gasp, she realized she was not the one in control.
She was lusting insanely for him now
.

“Dinna stop,” he warned, tugging the hem of her dress up her thighs.

She somehow tore her gaze upward.

He smiled arrogantly at her. Triumph was reflected in his eyes.

“Sonuvabitch,” she managed. He had won.

“Did ye really think to play me with a sex tape?” he murmured. “Who's being played now?”

Sam looked from his gorgeous, hot eyes to his full, slightly open mouth. She cursed. She bent down, gripped him more firmly, and pushed her tongue at the ring. He went still; she cried out. Then she started to taste him, the ring against her tongue.

His entire body trembled and he jerked convulsively. “How many times did ye watch the tape?”

She sucked hard, unable to speak. The ring fluttered against her tongue.

He tightened his grasp. “How many times?”

She choked off a moan. The pressure was building impossibly now. She began to tremble, her cheek pressed against him now, the ring digging into her skin. “Do you really want me to answer—and stop?” she managed hoarsely.

His hand moved to the bottom of her chin, and he forced her to look up at him. “Ye'll never want a toy again.”

Their gazes locked. His was fierce, triumphant and
blinding in its lust. And then he jerked her upright. Sam reached for his shoulders instinctively. She was ready to jump him. It should be the other way around. “Damn you, Maclean,” she said harshly, leaning fully against him.

“But yer ready to die.”

He was right. Sam hooked her calf around his waist. He turned her backward over the desk, began to force her down. Sam wrapped her other leg around him.

“Hang on,” he whispered.

“Bastard,” she said.

He impaled her.

His huge length and width filled her, stunning her almost senseless—except for the crescendo of pleasure that instantly began. Sam cried out. There was so much heat. The pressure was impossible. He laughed, pushed her down on the desk so she was flat on her back, sending objects and papers flying. “I told ye I was the best.”

My God, she thought, he was right. Her mind glazed over as the waves of pleasure crashed and broke. He seized her shoulders, held them down and began moving urgently, into her, hard and deep. Sam felt the ring. It sent her over another precipice and he cried out, too.

He moved harder and faster now, with more urgency, his seed burning. Impossibly, Sam wanted even more, because the rapture was so raw, so intense, so otherworldly. Flying, she raked his back with her nails. He caught her hands to restrain her, growling, still thrusting repeatedly. He lost his balance as he tried to hold her still and Sam hit him with her thigh, her knee in the hollow between his ribs. When he choked in surprise, she drove him off the desk.

They crashed against the near wall and fell hard to the floor.

Maclean actually tried to break the fall for her. As his shoulder struck the floor, he pulled her against his body and on top of it.

Sam pushed a knee on each side of his hips. His eyes widened; he grinned.

She looked down at what reared between them and inhaled harshly. “That has to hurt.”

He seized her wrist, his grasp brutal. “I like pain. Fuck me, Sam.”

She forgot about the ring and the pain it might cause. Sam drove her body down his shaft, hard and fast.

This time, Maclean was the one to break first.

 

S
HE NEVER FELL ASLEEP
after sex. But she'd fallen asleep and Sam slowly opened her eyes.

She was on the floor of the living room and she was alone. Pale early-morning sunlight was creeping inside from the two east-facing windows which overlooked Park Avenue. And as a pain went through her lower back, as she sat up, her head throbbing slightly, she saw her broken nails. There was absolute recollection. She was coherent now. She was also stunned.

They'd had sex like it was a matter of life and death. If he wanted her on her knees, she wanted to stand over him; if he was being dominant, which he was most of the time, she had to make him submit to her. She touched her jaw, which was sore. At some point she'd hit it on the edge of a coffee table. The back of her head also ached from slamming against the wall. As for her lower back, well, she'd been on her hands and knees, enjoying it far too immensely. The moment she'd realized, she'd reared up. Man, it hurt.

They'd gone at it wildly, violently, insatiably, for most of the night—if not all of it. She was unusually strong, he had his superpowers, making him even stronger, and they'd exhausted one another by trying to control each other, by trying to overpower the other. Sitting up now, starkly naked, Sam wasn't sure what to think.

They hadn't even kissed.

It had been the rawest, most brutal, most urgent sex she'd ever had. Or had that even been sex? She was grim. She had never wanted anyone the way she did Maclean and there was no explanation for it, not when he was such a mess. The arousal was stunning, the urgency more so, and later, she'd try to figure out why she needed him so much when he was so scarred and so defective, and so incapable of normalcy. And damn it, he had won. It hadn't been the way she'd thought it would be. She'd been out of her mind with desire, as never before. He'd controlled most of the night.

On the other hand, he'd wanted her desperately.

At one point, when they'd stopped for a moment, he'd pulled her back beneath him, the oddest look in his eyes, as if he feared a return to reality.

She hugged herself, the gesture rare for her. She was truly shaken.

Because desperate was the best way to describe Maclean's passion, his sex drive, the shattering urgency. Pain and pleasure had become wrapped up together in one big ugly package—and it had begun when he was a prisoner. She had no doubt.

Her heart stirred. There was compassion…there was concern.

She recalled the look on his face she'd seen so many times last night. When he was on the brink, his expression became raw and revealing, the mocking facade was stripped away. And the emotions that cycled through him had been obvious—she'd seen anguish, confusion and relief.

Sam cursed uneasily now.

And what about the incredible ecstasy she'd experienced? She thought she felt herself flush. The sonuvabitch had been right. He'd been able to give her more pleasure than she'd ever had. Was that one of those god-given at
tributes, too? Mortals couldn't climax a dozen times in one night—almost ceaselessly.

She suddenly pulled her legs to her chest. Why was she even analyzing what had just happened? It was only sex! She avoided intimacy and entanglements like the plague and she never bothered to think about her conquests. Why should she? It was always fun. Easy come, easy go.

But Maclean wasn't one of her boy toys. Sex with Maclean had been savage and stunning. She couldn't compare it with any other experience. They hadn't had fun. They hadn't kissed. They'd even hurt one another. She'd been satisfied—more than ever before. But she felt an odd nagging, almost like disappointment or dismay. It almost felt as if something had been missing from the experience.

Since she couldn't possibly be disappointed, since she only wanted sex, she was mistaken.

They'd both gotten what they'd wanted, right?

There was one more thing. What they'd just done was nothing like what was on that DVD.

Sam slowly stood up, unable to shake her sense of unease. The DVD had to be a fake after all, because those two people had cared about one another. As for last night, there was no reason to brood about it or him. If she let herself feel sorry for him, she'd soon be toast on his plate. Burned toast…

Grimly Sam glanced around and saw her dress on the floor, not far from the desk. She recalled Ian ripping it apart and tossing it aside. She got to her feet. She'd known from the get-go that Maclean really was bad news. And that meant she had to stay away from him.

It meant no more hot rounds like this one. It meant there'd never be a DVD from the future.

Hemmer…They'd stood him up. He was probably furious and making all kinds of plans for them.

Sam walked over and picked up the dress; it was literally ripped in half and useless. She did not feel better. Her
resolve felt shaky. Staying away from Maclean was impossible—he had the page. She started a search for her purse, which was on the console not far from the sofa where Jan had sat last night. Then she almost smiled. Jan could have never handled Maclean; he'd have been bored to death with her.