Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(45)

So why wouldn’t her feet move? One step and she’d be in the hallway, moving away from temptation. Austin’s body heat behind her represented the flames of hell in one respect and the promise of all-out erotic bliss in another. She wanted to punish him. Wanted to make him suffer for deceiving her, deceiving others, making her want him to the point of desperation.

He’d known exactly what would keep her from bolting. Giving her a tool to get back at him for inspiring too many emotions to count. Jealousy, anger, desire, confusion…even gratefulness for getting information she couldn’t get access to even from her beloved laptop. She’d never held a rope such as the one caressing her palm, but it already felt familiar. Necessary. Lifeblood. Upon handing it to her like an offering, Austin’s breathing had grown choppy against her neck. The outline of his erection was prominent against the small of her back, his touch so sure. For good reason. If she gave in? used this room for what they’d intended, he would spin a web of sex around her and banish all else. A blessing and a curse.

Polly closed her fist around the rope. No. He wouldn’t spin anything around her. She would spin around him. Control had been handed to her; she only had to embrace it. Memories from the previous evening filtered from her mind, traveling lower until they grew heavy in her loins. The rush of satisfaction she’d experienced holding the belt. Using it on Austin. Being in that place was far more favorable than how she felt now. Running on empty, throat hurting with the need to shout. Maybe she would hate herself tomorrow for channeling her frustration with one of the main sources of it, but the outlet proved too tempting to pass up.

“I want you to…”

Austin’s breath ceased behind her. “Finish that thought, Polly.”

She ran her thumb over the smooth, twisted silk. “I want you sitting in a chair.”

“Done,” he rasped, his hand sliding from her belly, brushing over the front of her skirt as it went. Polly waited until she heard him moving one of the armless chairs from the dining table, dragging it across the floor. She knew the slow drag was deliberate when she felt it low in her belly, when her eyelids drooped. As much lip service as he paid to Polly holding the reins, he couldn’t help manipulating, pushing the situation in the direction of his choosing.

Maybe he needed to be cured of those inclinations.

Careful not to look at Austin where he now sat in the chair, Polly turned from the exit and crossed to the sliding glass door, drawing the curtain closed and bathing the room in black. The effect was extraordinary, symbolic, creating a “before and after” that Polly knew was lost on neither of them. She was grateful for the change of scenery, the falling of darkness, because it was an excuse to pretend everything in the light was from another life. The outside life.

It was that freedom that had Polly stripping clothes off as she walked toward Austin. Shirt lifted over her head, bra unfastened and dropped without breaking pace. When her skirt came off, the soft material hitting the floor was accompanied by a groan from Austin. Dressed only in lace panties, she unfurled the thin rope and let it trail along the ground beside her.

Austin moved restlessly in the chair, splitting his attention between the rope and her mostly naked body. “You’re going to drive me out of my f*cking head. Aren’t you?” His knees fell open, giving her a tantalizing view of the bulge between his thighs. He moved his hips in a hot upward roll that shot Polly’s pulse rocketing sky-high. “Seeing your * in lace has me halfway there.”

The flesh in question dampened, the rough quality of his voice, the base sexuality of his words, making Polly hyperaware of every centimeter of her skin. Her nipples felt tight in the cool air-conditioning, eager to be touched. Not yet.

“Take your shirt off,” she ordered in voice she wished held more command.

Austin’s masculine hands working the buttons of his shirt was nothing short of artwork. He released each one with an almost inaudible pop, eyes trained on her like some kind of sleek pleasure-giving machine. Cocky, but visibly starved for her next direction. Transfixed by…her. The combination of arrogance and need was an assault on her senses, compelling her closer, but she remained still until his shirt drifted to the floor.

“Pants?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. After taking a moment to savor the power of standing above Austin, she bent forward, sliding her hands up his strong thighs, and stopped just short of his distended fly. “I’ll be taking care of you below the waist.”

When she dropped to her knees between his legs, Austin growled a curse, his sculpted stomach shuddering. “I should warn you, I’m feeling more than a little possessive of your mouth this morning after seeing you smile at another man. You made me want to kill, Polly.”

Unable to ignore the jolt of feminine pleasure his admission gave her—dark though it had been—she undid his belt, yanking the leather free of his pant loops with enough force to jerk his hips forward on the seat. “Is that supposed to serve as a warning?”

“Yes.” The single word came out sounding strangled, his grip so tight on the chair’s edges the wood creaked beneath it. “I suggest using that rope to keep my hands off. I’ll be tempted to reclaim the mouth that did the smiling. And I doubt I’d be gentle about it.”

A shiver of heat coasted down her back. The idea of Austin’s hands tangled in her hair, urging her mouth down faster, wasn’t unpleasant. Just the opposite, actually. It caused a breath-stealing clench between her legs. But what she had in mind appealed much more in that moment. She lowered his zipper at a leisurely pace, so at odds with her thundering pulse. “Do you need a reminder of who’s holding the rope, Austin?”