Strip You Bare (8 page)

She’d done this before, with Charlie. But it had been so different. Always, always he’d been apologetic. A simpering look on his face as he’d tugged his dress pants down and exposed himself. He couldn’t help it. He needed relief.

He was
sorry
.

Micah wasn’t sorry. Micah had his hands in her hair, ready to close the distance between her mouth and his dick if she didn’t do it herself.

Micah stood there like a king expecting to be worshipped.

She was a willing supplicant.

None of this fake bullshit. None of this
I want to protect you by making sure the orgasms are only mine.

This was honest. At least this was finally honest.

He wasn’t asking for a favor with false regret in his tone. And she wasn’t doing him a favor. She wanted this. Needed this.

He tightened his hold on her hair and she gasped as pain pricked her scalp.

“Suck it,” he said, his voice hard.

She leaned in, flicking her tongue over him, a moan escaping her as she tasted him. Then she opened wider, drawing him in deep, taking it slow.

She felt his body stiffen, his grip painful now. And she loved it. Craved it. He didn’t have to act like he was ashamed. Like he was
sorry
.

Like
she
should be sorry.

He liked this. And he liked her like this.

She liked herself like this, and nothing else mattered.

She put her hands on his thighs, still covered by denim. Hot. Hard. She could feel his muscles trembling beneath her touch.

Oh yeah, he was a big, badass biker who had a lot more experience than she did, but he was into this. He wanted it.

He
needed
it.

She shifted, gripping the base of him and squeezing tight as she continued to explore him with her lips and tongue.

She’d never, never in all her life imagined she would be here. Down on the floor with a chandelier and the horrified ghosts of her ancestors looking on, as she knelt in front of a man she didn’t even know.

Damned if that didn’t turn her on even more.

Because she was so sick of the expected. So sick of her damn self. Of being what everyone wanted her to be and ignoring what she wanted.

She lifted her head, then licked him base to tip, relishing his flavor as she did, looking up and taking in the tortured expression on his handsome face.

He was all feral now. Lost in this moment, his hand buried in her hair. No trace of the businessman he claimed to be.

Good.

They were both erasing parts of themselves. The neat parts. The civilized parts.

She had a feeling they would both have more fun like this.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice raw, ragged. She nodded, feeling resistance where he still held her tight. “Don’t lie to me.”

She bit her lip and said nothing. Agreed to nothing. Because if this was where lying got her . . . she might never tell the truth again.

“Now, I think it’s time I took your pretty ass upstairs.” He tugged hard on her hair and she rose back to her feet. “But this isn’t
Gone With the Wind
here. I’m not going to carry you, and the door isn’t going to close when we get to the bedroom, understand?”

She nodded slowly.

“Good,” he said. “Take your dress off.”

“But . . .”

“Off. Now.” She bent at the waist, about to take her high heels off. “Leave those.”

“But . . .” she started to protest again.

“I didn’t ask, baby. Leave the shoes. Everything else goes.”

With shaking hands Sarah reached behind her back and began to pull down the zipper. Disobedience had never even entered her mind. She was committed now, wasn’t she? His pants were still undone, his body still brazenly exposed. A reminder of what had just transpired.

Turning back now would be a disappointment. Not to him. Her. To how far she had come in the past few minutes.

How far she had come in just making the decision to stay here in the mansion, knowing he would be back, making these kinds of demands. Knowing that she would say yes.

A shiver went down her spine as she pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. She wondered then, as she reached back and unhooked her bra, if her acquiescence was even necessary. As she removed the silken garment, she looked up, meeting his gaze. Sharp. Cold. Hard. A predator.

There was something thrilling about it. About knowing she was in too deep now. That if she tried to leave, he would probably stop her. She let her mind linger over that image. Encourage the spark that fantasy sent through her body.

Firm hands on her body. Strong and rough.

Without pausing, she wrapped her fingers around the flimsy fabric of her panties and pushed them down her legs, kicking them to the side, careful not to catch the heel of her pumps in the tangle of clothing on the floor.

And now she was just as he had commanded. Naked, except for the deep-red-wine-colored shoes on her feet.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice hard. “Walk up the stairs for me.”

She did as he instructed.

“Wait,” he said, gripping the back of her neck firmly, the warm weight of his touch sending a shiver through her. The harsh possession in the hold only amping up her arousal. He was so much stronger than she. His power over her, physically, was absolute. Why did that turn her on so damn much?

Right now, she didn’t have to care. Right now, she just had to want it.

“Take your hair down.”

It was a command, as sure and certain as his hand on her neck.

He removed his touch. He wasn’t going to do this for her.

She reached up, shaking fingers searching for all the little pins in her hair, scattering them on the marble floor. Not caring about their ultimate fate. Her dark hair fell down to the middle of her back in a silken wave, and Micah growled. It was such a feral, uncivilized sound. Directed at
her.
Typically the picture of civility, a portrait of demure southern womanhood. But not right now.

No, not right now.

“Now, walk for me.”

Without looking over her shoulder, she began to walk across the room. Conscious of the sway of her hips, the brush of her hair against her bare skin. But she didn’t stop. She fought to keep her shoulders straight, her posture perfect. So that she could carry a book on her head.

Her mother would be so proud.

The idea almost made her laugh. Almost.

She put her fingers on the banister and began her ascent, trailing her palm along the polished wood as she walked up the curved staircase, utterly conscious of Micah’s gaze on her body. Just thinking about the way he was looking at her, the angles, what all he might be seeing, sent a jolt of heat through her, restlessness between her thighs that she knew well.

Twenty-four-year-old virgins had a lock being turned on and left unsatisfied. But that empty sensation was about to be banished, and that . . . well, that spurred her on when nerves might have told her to quit.

Was she crazy? To want to lose it with a stranger?

Hell yes.

But she could never have done this with someone who knew her. Someone who expected her to be good.

Micah wanted her dirty. Wanted her bad.

She stopped at the head of the stairs, and for the first time, she looked back, down, at the man below her. He was still on the first floor, staring up at her, a hungry expression on his face.

“Which bedroom?” she asked.

A slow smile crossed his face and he started for the stairs, wrenching his shirt over his head, shrugging his jeans and boots off as he walked, leaving them behind, leaving himself completely naked.

She’d never seen a man totally naked, up close and personal. No. All her experience was with half-opened pants, and shame, trying to get come off a guy’s slacks so no one would know what they’d been up to.

Oh yeah, cleaning up the mess was always her problem. Because the mess was her fault.

He’d never said that, but she’d known he felt it.

Or she’d thought so back when she’d imagined he was as virginal as she was.

She wasn’t thinking of him. Not again. Not for the rest of the night. Micah was here and he was blessedly naked. Hard and muscular and Lord almighty like nothing else she’d ever seen.

The hard cut of his chest sprinkled with dark hair, his abs, and the glorious ink that covered acres of golden skin . . .

And his cock. She wasn’t about to be prudish about it now. That was what he’d called it. It was dirty and raw, and not a word a lady would ever say.

She liked it.

More than that, she appreciated that part of him.

And his thighs. His narrow hips. Basically, every masculine inch of him.

She stood, frozen as he closed the distance between them, making his way up the stairs. And once he reached the top, he wrapped his arm around her waist, propelled them both backward and against the wall. Now they were skin to skin, his chest pressed against her breasts, his cock hot and hard between them.

He gripped her hands, his fingers wrapping around her wrists like iron manacles, pressing her hands back, the plaster biting into her knuckles. He lowered his head, kissing her neck, his teeth scraping her tender skin.

“Wait,” she said, her words a hoarse whisper.

He didn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. She didn’t want him to.

Instead, he lowered his head, blazing a trail down past her collarbone, to the plump curve of her breast. She ached for his attention. For whatever he would give. This was outside the realm of anything she’d experienced before. She had always been treated as a vessel, ready to pour ill-gotten pleasure out, while never receiving any of her own. But this was different. Micah was different, she could tell already. Could sense it in the way he moved against her with intent, the way he sought out the tightened bud that was burning for his attention and sucked it deep into his mouth, the way he moved his hand down her waist, her hip, sliding it back around to cup her ass. He squeezed her tight, followed by a hard smack she hadn’t been expecting.

She made a sharp, shocked sound that he captured by pressing his lips to hers. It was a reminder. A reminder that he couldn’t be predicted, that he couldn’t be controlled. That he was several leagues beyond her experience, way out of her depth. And she was very likely to drown in this. In him. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.

He transferred his attention to her other breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple before breathing across her skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps over her flesh. Every time she thought she could figure out what he might do next, he surprised her. Whenever she expected pain, he went feather soft. When she expected him to move slow, he moved quickly.

The evidence of that came when he put his hand between her thighs without any preamble, sliding his fingers through her slick folds, moving his thumb across her clit, then pushing a finger deep inside of her without any hesitation. She gasped, the unfamiliar penetration taking her a moment to acclimate to.

“Yes,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck as he continued to tease her.

She felt frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but simply hold on to his shoulders and try to keep herself from sliding to the floor in an undignified heap. Maybe she should just let herself slide to the floor. Was there any room for dignity here? She didn’t think so. She didn’t care.

She flexed her hips, pushing his finger in deeper, increasing the pressure of his thumb against that sensitized bundle of nerves. A ragged cry escaped her lips, and she did nothing to disguise it, nothing to quiet it.

“We better move before I lose it and fuck you right here,” he growled.

Dimly, through the haze, she recognized that wouldn’t be the best idea. Losing it up against a wall would probably be more pain than pleasure. But she wasn’t sure anymore if that was a bad thing. She lost perspective somewhere. Had lost a sense of what was bad, and what was good. She had a feeling pain at Micah’s hands would be better than pleasure from anyone else. She wasn’t sure where that thought had come from, but she believed it.

“This bedroom.” He opened the door nearest them and propelled them both through it, scooping her into his arms before depositing her roughly at the center of the bed.

He moved to the side of the bed, jerking open the drawer of the nightstand, producing a box of condoms. Her throat tightened, her heart thundering hard against her breastbone. This was happening. They were doing this. She was going to do this.

The word
no
climbed her throat, settled there, lingered.

He opened the box, pulled out a plastic packet. “Protection,” he said. “I always wear it when I ride. Leather in the streets, latex in the sheets.”

She tried to laugh, but she couldn’t. He tore it open, placed the latex over the head of his cock, and sheathed himself. She swallowed hard, trying to swallow down the nerves, the building hysteria. Why hadn’t she had some of this reservation downstairs? Why hadn’t she had any of it before she decided to stay? Before he’d come back to the mansion.

It was too late now.

“First things first, though,” he said, dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, grabbing hold of her hips and tugging her forward, her legs parted, the heart of her exposed to his hungry gaze. He flattened his hands over her stomach, his forearms tight over her hips, holding her steady, his fingers clasped. She was completely immobile. Trapped. At his mercy. “I’ve been starving for you since the moment I first saw you. It was always going to end here.”

He lowered his head, taking a leisurely taste of her with the flat of his tongue. A deep, shuddering wave went through her body, and she reached behind her head, gripping hold of the duvet cover, looking for something to anchor herself. She arched her hips, tried to move away from him, but he held her fast. He didn’t ease her in, far from it. After that one, leisurely stroke, he moved full into his feast. He was like a starving man presented with dessert. She had never imagined it could be like this. Had never imagined a man could attend to a woman’s pleasure with so much fervor.