The Challenge (12 page)

Only he’d done something to her suit. Her hands were held fast behind her back, not by her will alone—but by his. She needn’t strain to keep her balance, the suit held her upright, and she couldn’t have sagged to the platform even if her knees gave out.

The notion that this man held complete power over her, that he needn’t ask her permission to do
anything
he wished unnerved her only a little. Time and again he’d indicated he wouldn’t hurt her by going slowly, by carefully stoking her pleasure, and by noting exactly what she liked and then giving her more. What scared her straight down to the deepest recesses of her psyche was the knowledge that his total domination increased her pleasure.

She shoved down the thought for later examination when she could think with some kind of logic. Right now, she had enough trouble remembering to breathe.

He pinched her nipples again. Harder. “Am I hurting you?”

“A little.”

He smiled then, a smile of expectation. Then he bent until his mouth closed over her throbbing breast, and he sucked away the ache, instigating a delightful new torment. His tongue flicked faster and faster until she almost staggered. In fact, she would have taken a step—except that her suit held her fast.

She couldn’t free her hands. She couldn’t close her parted legs. She couldn’t do one thing except stand there and take whatever he dished out. Wait for him to decide when, where, and how to touch her. She bit back a groan of frustration as he unhurriedly moved his mouth from one breast to the other.

His hands began to ever-so-slowly explore the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. She wanted to arch her breast into his mouth. She couldn’t. She wanted to twist her hips to urge his hands higher up her legs, but the suit held her immobile.

“You’re going too slowly,” she complained.

He pulled back his mouth from her breast and satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “If you don’t like the job I’m doing, I could always leave. Try again later?”

“No!” She shook her head, bit her lip before she begged. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I . . . need . . .”

He folded his arms across his chest denying her. “Yes?”

She licked her bottom lip. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing. But, I don’t want you to stop.”

“You really don’t understand yet, do you?”

Oh God
. She couldn’t think, not with her nerve endings on fire. “What don’t I understand?”

“What you want no longer matters.”

He’d issued the statement so matter-of-factly that she wanted to scream at him that this wasn’t the bargain they’d made. She’d decided to have sex because it seemed likely that this action was necessary to accomplish her mission for Earth, or so he could help her develop her psi powers. Had she assumed . . . assumed wrong? A raw feeling in her gut told her she’d missed something important.

“Maybe we should call this off.”

He shook his head, and the rawness in her stomach churned. “You had your opportunity. I believe your exact words to me were that you wanted me to give you all I had.”

She blew a strand of hair from her eyes, furious with herself, frustrated with him. “You’re holding back?”

“Not anymore.” His mouth slanted over hers, this time, demanding, taking, leaving her no option but to kiss him back. The few moments they’d spent talking had allowed her body to cool, but his kiss sent lava bubbling through her. Only the suit’s rigidity prevented her from throwing her arms around his neck, grinding her hips against him.

The big man did nothing in haste, kissing her with the same thoroughness with which he’d methodically aroused her breasts and toyed with her bottom. From his words, she’d finally concluded that the likelihood of her doing or saying anything to increase his speed was next to nil. In fact talking at all only slowed him down.

When he finally broke their kiss, he slipped his fingers into the slick folds between her legs, his touch so light and ethereal that shivers trembled up her center. “Woman, your heat pleases me.”

Without the suit she would have dissolved into a puddle at his feet. She no longer had the strength to keep open her eyes. She barely refrained from begging as he used those magical fingers between her legs and his clever mouth on her breast to draw her taut with joy.

Her body hummed with an almost electric energy. She was so close to exploding that another few seconds would bring her release.

And he stopped.

At the sudden cessation of his touch, at the loss of delicious, mind-blowing friction, her eyes flew open. He was intently watching her face, and she tried to hide her frantic need. “Why did you stop?”

“You aren’t ready.”

“I am . . . I’m . . . almost . . . there.”

He stepped back and walked around the raised platform, surveying her back and bottom where she couldn’t see him. He’d temporarily abandoned her, leaving her aching with need, standing there, waiting . . . for what seemed like forever.

She couldn’t bear if he drew this out for much longer. “Kahn, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode to the middle of the room, and she followed his movements with her gaze. He bent his suit into a sitting position so he appeared to be settled on a chair.

Now what?

He turned control of her legs back over to her, but her arms remained clasped behind her back. Her legs trembled, and only sheer concentration kept her from collapse.

She faced him confused and wary and so eager for release that she couldn’t think straight. Kahn had yet to dispense with the loose slacks that covered him from hips to ankle. His large chest exhibited no signs of perspiration, no high rate of breathing. She noted no bulge at his crotch. He didn’t appear to be aroused until she gazed into his fiery amber eyes that sparked with a heat that made her burn.

Only the discipline from years of training in self-control kept her from instant retreat. She swallowed hard, suspecting that he wanted more from her. And what he wanted he would take.

“Come here.”

Warily, she approached him, narrowing the distance between them. If she’d been a spiritual person, she might have said his aura had changed. But she was a trained martial artist, and although he was sitting, the man was in full-fledged fighting mode.

“Would you like to lie across my lap?”

No, she would not
. Then she recalled him asking her about pinching her nipples. When she hadn’t immediately complied, he’d simply kept up a sensual assault until she’d changed her mind. Clearly, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the same stunt again.

She swallowed hard and forced her feet to take two more steps. “Why?”

“Do you want the pleasure I can give you or not?”

She leaned over his knees as he’d requested.

“Scoot forward some more.”

She wriggled, heat rising to her face as she envisioned his view of her up-tilted butt.

“You have a very attractive bottom. Now part your legs for me.”

As soon as she placed herself in the position he required, he “froze” her suit in place again. Immobilized, she hung face down, her legs dangling, thighs parted.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked conversationally.

“Not exactly.”

“Glad to hear it.”

When he touched the back of her knees and skimmed his hands up her legs, the simmering heat that he’d kindled earlier flared with a vengeance. In moments, she no longer cared if he held her right side up or upside down.

She knew better than to urge him to take her. Reduced to waiting, she was shocked when he adjusted the suit so that she once again felt a mouth on each of her breasts. He’d told her he wouldn’t . . . no he hadn’t. He’d asked her what she’d preferred, and she’d assumed she’d convinced him.

She hadn’t. Her breasts ached from constant attention, and as his fingers stroked the sensitive flesh between her parted legs, every cell in her body tensed, tightened, aching for release. Despite her attempt to remain silent, tiny moans whimpered up her throat.

His hands were bliss and her greatest torment. She couldn’t move, couldn’t rush him, could only pray like hell that he would increase the tempo and pressure between her legs. When he did, he felt so good. She was so damn close.

Release was coming, the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt.

When he withdrew his fingers, she cried out in disappointment. But when his hand slapped her bottom, first her right cheek, then her left, up high, down low, then smack dab over the full curve, she cursed. “What in hell are you doing?”

“Making you hot.”

“I’m already . . . oh . . . my . . . ahhh.”

Oh, God
. He was spanking her, not to cause pain, but to stoke her desire. Somehow along the way the sting had become heat, and the heat fed the blaze between her thighs.

He couldn’t do this.

But he was. His hand slapped on more heat.

His spanking was bringing a rush of fire to her aching flesh. She didn’t know she could feel this needy. She didn’t know that a hot spanked bottom could increase her desire. She didn’t know that this sweet torture would bring her so close to climax that just one little touch would put her over the top. But he didn’t touch the center of nerve endings where she needed him most.

Damn him.

He’d said he wanted to make her hot. But she’d never thought, never imagined that the sting of his hand on her bared flesh could create such fire. Blood rushed between her thighs and she oh-so-needed his hand back between her legs. The heat on her stinging bottom was nothing compared to the wild fire blazing from her core.

Panting, cursing, she begged and pleaded for him to give her release. He didn’t.

Instead he gave her more heat. He’d built up from those startling and simple slaps to harder smacks, stoking her until the urgency inside gathered, piled up until every muscle tensed. Until her mind fuzzed and melted.

As he held her right on the edge without letting her go over, she swore that she was going to burst. No one could take endless stimulation. She pleaded with him to touch her between her thighs, just once. He paid not the slightest attention, his hand falling on her hot bottom again and again.

Finally, he stopped.

He gave her hot stinging flesh no time to recover. His fingers delved between her thighs, sinking one finger deep into her. But she needed him to move. She yearned for friction. And he knew. Yet again, the bastard denied her, holding perfectly still. With the suit’s mouths on her breasts never letting up for a second and her bottom radiating heat, she panted, squirmed against the suit that held her locked into place.

“You’ve . . . got . . . to . . . let me . . . come.”

He didn’t.

At her half-sob, half demand, he inserted another finger between her cheeks. At the unexpected invasion, as he slowly wriggled two fingers inside her from two angles, she sputtered as he took her to another level.

“Please.”

Another finger found her clit, and she couldn’t tell where one catalyst began and another stopped. Her entire body was on fire, desperate, needy. Her breath came in pathetic rasps, her throat released urgent moans.

Frantic, she pleaded. She cried out. She cursed him to finish, allow her release.