Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy, #1) (55)

And torment it is.

He slowly dribbles the thousand-dollar wine over my belly button, then uses the tip of his tongue to taste it. He lifts the glass to me and lets me have a small sip, and the tang of it on my tongue seems to match the way my entire body tingles with need for him. And when he puts a tiny spoonful of caviar on each of my breasts and then closes his mouth over me to suckle, I cannot help but arch up from the pure, overwhelming, erotic sensations.

He moves lower then, kissing his way down my belly until he reaches my sex. He looks at me, his eyes hard on mine, before kissing me oh-so-intimately.

“For a man who wants to punish me,” I say on a wild breath, “you’re doing a terrible job.”

“I told you,” he murmurs, “I want you to remember. I want you to know pleasure. And I want you to think about everything you tossed away.”

“Jackson—”

But he is not listening, and when his tongue attacks my clit once more I really don’t even care. He takes me to the edge, his mouth working magic on my senses, turning my body into nothing but sensual awareness, a mass of erotic energy just waiting to explode.

Waiting … and waiting still …

And when he pulls his mouth away—when he sits up on his knees to look at me—I think that I really will scream.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, but there is such tension in his voice, I have no doubt that he wants exactly the same thing. And I want it badly enough that I have no shame.

“Fuck me. Please, Jackson. Just fuck me now.”

He gets off the bed and comes to stand closer to me. For a moment, I fear that he is going to deny both of us. “Please tell me you have a condom,” I say.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he takes something out of his pocket and sets it on the side table before stripping off his clothes. I turn my head, managing to see that he’s put a condom packet there. But there’s something else beside it, and that’s what he picks up now.

It takes a moment, and then I realize that it’s a blindfold.

“Oh, no,” I say. “No way.”

“Oh, yes,” he says. “My rules, remember? And right now, I own you,” he says as his fingers dance over my skin, highlighted by the sensual tones of his voice. “You’re mine to pleasure. To take. To fuck. And right now I want you to experience nothing but the feeling of me touching you,” he adds as my body clenches with need in response to this new seduction. “Of me inside you. You’re mine, remember, and tonight, I want you to know it. Fully and very, very completely.”

His words seem to crash over me, echoing through my memory.

While you’re here, you’re mine.

You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine …

Familiar words that once made me sick, but right now I can’t deny that I am wet. That I am on fire.

And that the goddamned flame on my breast is a symbol not that I am the one in control … but that if I’m not careful, Jackson will reduce me to ashes.

I do not protest when he moves forward and puts the blindfold over my eyes. The world goes dark, and as he said, it is only him that I know. The sound of his breathing. The feel of his hands upon me. The touch of his breath upon my skin.

He caresses my body with hands and kisses, a sweet seduction as he moves back onto the bed, making the mattress shift as he does. And then he is lightly caressing my sex, his fingers teasing and exploring, making me even hotter than I already am. Opening me. Readying me.

Without warning, he lifts my legs, and I feel the sensation of being stretched as he raises them onto his shoulders. I gasp at the sensation of his cock pressing hard against me, seeking entrance, and I relax, welcoming him. Wanting him.

And then, when he grabs my ass and thrusts into me, impaling me without warning, I scream just as he wanted me to, lost in the incredible sensation of being filled by this man.

He is huge, but I am so damn wet that it hurts only for a bit. Now he moves in a sensual rhythm, holding my hips with one hand as he guides my motions to work in tandem with his, and at the same time using his other hand to tease my clit so that I am overwhelmed by the sensation of both being filled and of catching fire.

I’m alive with pleasure—wild with desire. And the fact that I can see nothing only adds to the vastness of what I feel, just like Jackson had said it would.

“Come for me,” he says, thrusting harder and deeper. “Christ, Sylvia, I want you to come for me now.”

I cry out in surprise when I feel his own release, and then in pleasure when every bit of sparkle in my body seems to center on my sex, only to burst out again and send me spinning. I arch up, feeling as though I could fly, and then fall back down on the bed, wanting nothing more than to have Jackson beside me.

I fear for a moment that he will not come—that he will punish me by leaving me alone and bound in this bed. But he does not. Instead he unties my arms, then removes my blindfold. And then, to my surprise and delight, he brushes a tender kiss across my lips before sliding into bed beside me.

“Sleep now,” Jackson says.

I lay there breathing hard, my back against his chest, my body exhausted and my mind content. And as he holds me in his arms, I sink into his warmth, entirely unprepared for the cold fingers of memory when they creep up to fill my sleep and haunt my dreams.

I watch myself in the red dress, as Bob circles the other me who stands in the soft lighting.