Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(9)

“Push it down,” he commanded—there was no other possible word for that tone except “command.”

She swallowed and pushed the fabric down over her left nipple, baring the whole breast. The dress was tight enough about the waist that she could not push it farther, and it acted almost like a corset, pushing her breast up beyond all natural means.

The chill of the evening air was startling, and without thought her hand rose to cover herself, to warm herself.

“No, let me see.”

Pulling in a deep breath, she forced her fingers away, brought them down to her waist, although her right hand still cupped her covered breast.

His whole focus was on her bare breast now—his eyes dark and heavy, the lids half closed, but there was nothing sleepy or tired about the man. He was all intent, a wolf ready to pounce.

She curled her left hand into a fist, trying to keep back the urge to cover herself.

A loud laugh sounded from the ballroom and she jumped slightly, her fingers again longing to hide and cover.

“No,” he said again. “Now show me the other.”

Why was this one harder? It should have been easier. She’d done this once—why was it so difficult?

Her fingers trembled as she pulled the fabric down, experiencing the tingle as it brushed over the taut peak. She bit down on her lip harder as she positioned her dress, then forced both hands down to her sides.

Neither of them spoke. She stood and he leaned. His eyes traveled over her slowly and carefully, as if examining a piece of great art. It was almost like being touched: Every time his gaze moved, she could feel a little stroke, the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing against her flesh. Her already hard nipples grew tighter and tighter. It was almost painful—and yet also intensely enjoyable, the sensation moving through her to settle between her legs. She was damp there; she could feel it at the top of her thighs as the cool breeze swept by her, wrapping her full skirts against her and then causing them to dance in the wind. She shivered again, whether from cold or sensation she could not have said.

“Do you enjoy this?” he asked, his eyes focused on the rigid tips.

“I…” She actually didn’t know the answer, didn’t understand all the things she was feeling. She did know she was not ready to stop.

“Do you enjoy having a man stare at your bare breasts? At knowing he takes pleasure in it? Do you like the knowledge that at any moment somebody could come and catch you? Or that maybe eyes you do not see stare at you out of the dark?”

Somebody else could be out there? She hadn’t considered that. And yet it didn’t frighten her. If anything, the tingle between her legs grew greater. An unknown watcher. There was something almost erotic in the thought, no matter how wrong that seemed.

“You like that?”

“Yes.” She forced the words out. “Yes, I like it. I like all of it.”

A genuine smile played about his lips. Ruby was right. He did like it when she enjoyed. “I am glad you did not lie to me. I do not like lies.”

“I will always be honest.”

“That would be a first with a woman.”

She did not like the cynical note his voice took on. “I have never lied to you.” Although perhaps this current charade was nothing but a lie.

He did not answer her statement, but neither did he refute it. A slight shake of his head. “Play with your breasts for me. Let me see your pleasure.” The note of command was back.

Her hands actually shook as she brought them up and placed them over her breasts, her fingers almost icy. Play with herself? She didn’t know quite what that meant. “What would you like me to do?”

“Trace circles about your breasts, starting large and getting smaller as you near the tips. Pretend it is me touching you, my hands, my mouth. Imagine my tongue trailing over your flesh, lapping at you.”

It was hard to breathe. Slowly, carefully, she followed his direction. And it did feel good, so good. They were his hands; it was his mouth. She could almost feel the dampness of his breath, smell the smoke of his cheroot. Her breaths were shallow now, her fingers nearing the nipples.

“Now take your nipples between your fingers. Press tight. Roll them. Yes, just like that. Let me see your feelings on your face. Yes. Yes. Now squeeze tighter. Tighter. Make your nipples red, make them pout for me, make them beg for my lips, for my teeth.”

She pinched tight and then tighter, sensation racing between breasts and groin. She was beginning to pant, her whole body coiling, sensations she had never known coursing through her.

“Even tighter. Pinch them hard.”

“That hurts.”

“Do it for me,” he growled.

And she did. If this was what he needed, she would do it for him, just as she had promised. She would do anything to win this game. But it did sting. It did hurt. Yet the sting, the hurt, the pain, sped through her, heightening every sensation, making her whole body one big ache of need—making her want more and yet still more.

And she was not the only one feeling the need. She could see it in his every movement, his every breath, in the stiffness of his body. He wanted her. He wanted her badly.

She continued to squeeze, feeling the zing of the pain.

She bit down on her lip, teeth sinking into tender flesh.

Colton stood, took a step forward.

Then stopped.

A current flowed between them, one over which she had no control.