Sweet Persuasion (Sweet #2)(37)

His hand trailed through her hair, glancing off her cheek with the gentlest of touches. “You’ll call me Damon. I see no need for dramatic titles. I, on the other hand, will call you beautiful . . . lover . . . mine. I’ll call you mine.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, rubbing her cheek along his palm.

“How prettily you do that,” he murmured. “You remind me of a contented cat, so sleek and purring.”

She made a low sound of contentment in her throat as she nuzzled closer to him. “If I could purr, I would, for you are so good to me, Damon.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’ll push you, Serena. I’m demanding. I expect obedience and compliance. But I will be so very good to you. That, I promise.”

She stirred restlessly against him, her skin itchy and alive.

He smiled, an arrogant smile of male satisfaction. He knew damn well she wanted him. Wanted him badly. Still, she voiced it because she was compelled to do so.

“I want you, Damon. I’m going to go crazy if you don’t make love to me soon.”

With his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, he tilted her chin, angling her so that her mouth was inches from his own. She sucked in all available air. Would he kiss her? Would he finally kiss her?

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. Soft and gentle. Just one kiss, so light, and yet it burned the tender skin. Her chest swelled and her stomach turned over, and just that quickly, it was over.

He pulled away, his eyes glittering as he smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip.

“Soon, Serena. Soon I will have you, and you will have me. Anticipation is half the pleasure. For this reason, I would not want our coming together to happen too quickly. It is to be savored, not rushed.”

She snuggled back into his arms, holding his promise close to her heart. Yes, she was impatient. She wanted him desperately, but it went beyond sex. She wanted his care. His regard. She wanted to be pampered. She wanted to belong.

Exhaustion, spawned by too much excitement, crept over her body. The adrenaline rush had left her and on the heels of her explosive orgasm; she resembled a gelatinous puddle.

When the car stopped, she moaned her protest, and Damon chuckled low in her ear. “Stay still, Serena mine.”

She relaxed in his arms as Sam opened the back door. Damon carefully extricated himself from around her and eased out of his seat. Then he reached back in for her, sliding his arms underneath her body and lifting.

A sigh of contentment whispered past her lips as he carried her up the steps to his house. As soon as they were past the doorway, he lowered her until her feet hit the floor. He turned her around until she faced him, and he reached for the lapels of the robe he’d adorned her with.

Her mouth opened in protest, but he silenced her with a stern look.

“When you’re in my home, you’ll stay undressed unless I’ve chosen to clothe you.”

She stared dumbly at him as he pulled the robe over her shoulders and let it slide down her arms. Air from the vent above blew quietly over her skin, and she shivered. Her hands went to her arms in a protective measure, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he husked as he pried her hands from her body. He caught her fingers in his and squeezed gently. “You are a beautiful woman, and I have no intention of allowing any of that beauty to remain hidden while you are in my keeping.”

“I have to have permission to put clothes on?” she asked incredulously.

He stared wordlessly at her, telling her in no uncertain terms what he thought of that question.

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

He put his hand to her back and urged her forward. Her bare feet padded across the wooden floor, and while before she had gravitated toward him, to the warmth and security of his body, she now kept a foot of distance between them. Self-preservation.

She wasn’t sure why she suddenly quaked with uncertainty, but now that she was on his turf, doubt niggled at her.

They entered what was obviously the master bedroom. It was huge, a suite. In the center, a king-sized bed rested. It was a mahogany, four-poster frame that dominated the space. Everything else in the room was secondary to this centerpiece.

To the left a large armoire stood flush against the wall. The wood was a match to the bed, in fact, to all the furnishings in his house. Rich, dark woods. Masculine and warm.

“Sit there on the bed,” he told her.

She walked to the edge and perched gingerly, hands clasped in her lap. He moved with grace and elegance that was a contradiction to the rough, animalistic way he’d f**ked her mouth just an hour before. He was indeed a contradiction, one that intrigued her. Outwardly he seemed so civilized, so refined. He was the epitome of culture, a consummate gentleman. And yet there was a caveman buried under the polished exterior. A man driven by his needs and desires. A man who quite simply wouldn’t accept less.

He opened the armoire, and she heard a slight rustle. A moment later he turned around, a small package in his hand. Curious, she stared as he opened the box and pulled out a gold circlet.

The bed dipped as he settled beside her, not one but two bands in his grip.

“Turn around and look at me,” he directed.

She shifted and turned, bending one leg and dangling the other over the side of the bed.

“I opted not to use a collar on you.”