Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (13 page)

Everything about Jacques was luring her in. The trace of crisp, clean cologne mixed with light masculine sweat. The velvet heat of smooth skin over iron muscle. The subtle, suggestive roll of his hips and shoulders. He was making her burn for his kiss like she’d never burned for anything before.

Those lips would not meet hers until she obeyed.

Until she gave him control.

Until she gave him herself.

Jacques isn’t asking for much. Only a few words…
“I want to taste you, Jacques.”

The moment her breathy plea whispered through the air, her reward slipped between her lips, filling her mouth with the taste of coffee, cinnamon and pure sin. She felt herself falling into Jacques’s possession, more with each long, slow, deep thrust of his tongue, and instinctively resisted, pushing her tongue back against his, taking the kiss from him.

He eased back, enough for his eyes to meet hers, and the copper stare mesmerized her. Then he changed. Right there in the middle of the kitchen. He just transformed into something she’d never seen before. Something more threatening. More commanding. More sexual.

This was Jacques, the Dom, and he was sure as hell letting her read him now. The expression on his face announced that this man wasn’t interested in sparring.

Did he like this? Oh, yes.

Was he good at it? Without a doubt.

Could he be toyed with or manipulated? Never.

The hot, eager intensity of his eyes told her that he wanted to introduce her to his every wanton desire, but only if she was brave enough to let him drive her past her every limitation. She swallowed hard with fear, actual fear, and the heavy weight of a deep lust settled inside of her.

When he spoke, his voice was low and hypnotic. “You offered me a few days, my beautiful Isabella, and I’m taking you up on it. I’ll be honest though. I don’t think a few days will be enough for me, but we’ll get to that later. For now, this is mine.” His hands pressed firmly against her skin, not simply touching, rather taking her body against his.

“And this.” His fingertips traced across her forehead.

“And maybe even this.” They dropped over her heart.

Her insides clenched into a tight knot of anticipation. The words alone were enough to turn her inside out, but the controlled, excited rumble in his voice touched something dormant inside of her, coaxing it to life.

“I have a single term, Isabella. Total control. I always respect limits. There are some you will try to hide, others that you aren’t even aware you have. As for your list, a few of the things on that paper are hard limits and a few, I suspect, are not. I promise that your toes will curl while we find out, but either way, I demand total control.”

He pulled a chair into the center of the room. “Sit.”

“Stop. You hardly know this man,” Angel shouted.

Doubt momentarily shattered the fantasy as the reality of what she was about to do slammed into Isabella’s mind.

“You need this,” Devil demanded. “Jacques understands. He doesn’t judge or condemn. You need what only a man like Jacques can offer. Trust him and let go!”

Could she trust Jacques?
Ah, sí
. She could. Trust him to grant every sinful wish, satisfy every decadent fantasy and probably introduce a few she hadn’t even thought of. All she had to do was surrender to the tantalizing idea of being his to command, but she couldn’t move.

Powerful arms locked around her, bending her body into his and practically lifting her feet off the ground. Jacques kissed her again. Everything about the kiss demanded. Demanded her trust. Demanded her obedience. Demanded her total surrender. It was as if Jacques cast some kind of a spell. All she could think about was trusting him, obeying him, surrendering to him. The doubt, the guilt, all of the reservation vanished, replaced by the warm ache of anticipation and a delicious vulnerability.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice shook as she spoke.

“No questions, Isabella. Sit.” He rested his hand on the chair back, waiting. Challenge lit his eyes.

No questions, no demands allowed. She had to put her trust in him and accept his control. Total control. It was now or never. She kicked the Angel Isabella aside, brushed the Devil Isabella off her shoulder and sat.

Jacques smiled the most chilling, sexiest damn smile she had ever seen and laid firm hands over her shoulders. “Thank you, Isabella,” he said with a soft kiss to the cheek and stepped back.

The genteel man fell away, replaced by a predator and his exacting scrutiny. He began to circle the chair. Just looking. The absence of his touch was almost too much to bear, but she didn’t move. She craved everything Jacques represented in this moment and this was how to get it.

Her body flushed hot under the weight of his stare as he stalked her in the silence. So close, but so removed. Only his eyes touching her skin. Every nerve in her body converged into a warm hum that seemed to end between her thighs as she sat perfectly still.

Letting him look.

Wanting him to look.

The ocean crashed in the distance and the sound of her own breath echoed in her ears. She became hyperaware of her posture. The set of her shoulders. The arch of her back. The spread of her knees. Felt the fall of her hair on her skin, the hard chair beneath her and the cool tile under her feet. Her nipples pearled, catching the thin silk of her nightgown. Waves of tension and release washed though her core with each pass to build a grinding need. A compelling desperation.

When will he touch me? What will he do?

Jacques did nothing. Nothing, but walk and stare. Time became her enemy.

Doesn't he want to touch me?
With each rotation, the anxiety grew.
Maybe I'm not beautiful enough for him
. The apprehension mounted as the seconds ticked by.
Maybe I'm making a fool of myself.

Her eyes grew wide and wet. When she began to struggle for air, a firm hand grabbed hers and laid it over his erection. Jacques stared into her eyes, holding her fingers tight around him for a moment to silently communicate his pleasure before stepping back. Knowing all that she needed to know, Isabella let herself fall into the eroticism of the moment. The fear, lust and vulnerability, all blended into a head-spinning seduction.

She was seventeen again.

Jacques stopped in front of her and peeled his T-shirt over his chest, inch by tantalizing inch, slowly revealing the hard lines of his long torso. He stood, silent, shirt in hand, and watched her, watching him.

She didn’t move, could barely breathe. Every muscle was tight. The soft fabric of her nightdress irritating against her hypersensitive flesh. The secret clench inside her drawing the aching need deeper into her body. She felt the orgasm building and he hadn’t laid a single finger on her.

“Do you trust me, Isabella?”

“Yes, sir.” She felt uncomfortable calling him "sir." The title removed the intimacy between them and made her shudder, but she said it anyway.

“Yes, who?” he asked abruptly.

“Aren’t I supposed to call you ‘sir’ when we’re, um, doing this stuff?”

There was a long pause. A whisper of something crossed his face, but it was gone too quickly for her to decipher it. Firm fingers lifted her chin, not firm enough to damage her, but firm enough to make her pay attention. Jacques leaned over to look directly into her eyes.

“No. Call me Jacques. I want to hear my name on your lips. Always say my name.”

“Yes, Jacques.” The words floated easily over the air and a small, satisfied smile skimmed over those sexy lips.

He moved behind the chair and brought the cotton shirt over her face, holding it there with both hands. The soft fabric was warm and smelled delicious. Smelled of Jacques. She inhaled deeply.

“That’s it, Isabella. Breathe. Breathe me in.”

She took another deep breath.

As he held the shirt loosely over her face, his control sparked through her. Everything she believed about her sexuality confirmed by the undeniable force of the pure euphoria that came with his dominance. Her body and mind focused completely on him. The sound of his breath. His smell. The feel of his hands on her face. Everything else disappeared, leaving only awareness of the man standing behind her and the fiercest desire to please him. The fall into Jacques's possession was frightening, truly frightening, but the intensity of the arousal that came with the surrender was everything she had dreamed about since she was a teenager.

When he moved the shirt away, he held it in front of her face and folded it over, once and again, into a long strip. “Close your eyes.” He wrapped the band around her eyes and secured it at the back of her head, blinding her. “Do not move.”

She didn’t. Not one muscle. She wasn’t bound. She could move, get up, remove the blindfold, but the command held her fast to that kitchen chair. She listened to him moving around the room. Opening the refrigerator, the cabinets.

God, what's he doing?

“Open.”

Something brushed across her mouth. Isabella parted her lips and the end of a strawberry slid past them. She bit down. Flavor burst onto her tongue, juicy and sweet. She went liquid with pleasure, inhaling through her nose, and licked her lips. Light fingertips brushed over one breast and her head rolled back. The nipple was so tight even the gentle touch felt intense.

“Will you taste as sweet, my morning Isabella?” he asked, swirling circles around the hard nub.

She could barely swallow.

Jacques offered another berry and again, gently fondled her through the thin fabric of her nightdress while she chewed. Being fed made her feel so vulnerable. Being touched made her feel so sexual.

What will he offer next?
A tingle of excitement coursed through her.

One hand pressed under her jaw, tilting her face up and holding her head back. “You have the most beautiful mouth, Isabella.”

A finger coated in honey slipped between her lips. She kept her mouth open and swirled her tongue around it before sucking the sweetness off his skin. He pushed his hand farther into her mouth.

“I’m going to fuck this beautiful mouth.” His fingers pumped in and out while he spoke, mimicking his words. It didn’t hurt, but the vulnerability spiked. So did the arousal. Then he traced them over her lips, outlining the contours. “Would you like that, my sexy Isabella?”

“Yes, Jacques.” She felt her lips move against his fingers.

“Say it all, Isabella. Say, ‘I want you to fuck my beautiful mouth, Jacques.”

The command stole away the seduction and her mind seized with panic. She was in way over her head. Sex was one thing. This was something totally different. Her entire body tensed with nervousness.

Jacques moved behind the chair, crouching to bring his arms around her waist. Both hands slipped over her thighs, up her belly and every muscle locked tight. She stopped breathing.

“Are you ticklish?”

When she didn’t answer, fluttering fingertips danced over her belly button. “I asked a question, Isabella.”

The words sprang free as she sucked the air back into her lungs. “Yes, Jacques. I’m ticklish.” There was no humor in her frightened voice.

“I like the sound of your laughter. Laugh for me, Isabella.”

He tickled her a little more and she did, stunned by the rush of giggles that exploded out of her. A perfect release to the tension he’d built up inside of her. Her hands gripped the seat to keep her bottom from bouncing off the chair, and she laughed and squirmed until her sides ached.

When Jacques finally stopped tickling her, he pressed a kiss behind her ear.

“Trust me, Isabella. I will always take care of you,” he reassured and released his arms. “Open your beautiful mouth for me. Keep your lips parted. Always open to me.”

A blueberry slipped into her mouth. Then more berries, a few pieces of cheese and some sweet bread. When they weren’t feeding her, those decadent hands brushed gentle touches over her breasts, caressing her through the silk until she ached, but Jacques didn’t ask her to speak.

“I think you’ve had enough to eat, my angel. Hmm. What else shall I give you?”

Isabella quaked at the shockingly wanton images that popped into her head with his question.

“And I see you would like something else, my greedy angel.”

Warm hands cupped her breasts from behind. She eased back against the chair, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he squeezed her gently. His breath fell over her nape and she could feel his eyes on her even with the blindfold.

“You have the most beautiful body, Isabella.” Admiration coated the words. “The most beautiful, sensual body. It calls to me in ways that only people like you and I can understand.”

He pinched one pearl through the silk, then the other, holding them in a tight press between finger and thumb. She gasped, startled by the quick pain, and then moaned as a deep, steady throb pulsed along the invisible line that connected her breasts to her clitoris. It twitched.

“It’s never about truly hurting you,” Jacques promised. “It’s about trust, Isabella.”

I trust you, Jacques
. She curved her back, offering the taut points without hesitation to his skilled fingers, desperate to see what he would do next.