Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(9)

“No.” I blurt the word out. There is no doubt in my mind that Dallas loves me. Fully. Completely. Even painfully. “Never.”

“Then you mean the future.”

I nod.

“We’ll make this work.”

I want to ask how, but I don’t. I just nod. “You’re everything I want,” I say. “You know that, right?”

“I know it, because I feel the same way.”

“And I don’t share my toys easily.” I shift, sliding off his fingers as I rise up so that I can move to straddle his lap. “I’m pretty much a greedy little bitch.”

“Oh, really? How greedy?”

“Very.” I slide my hand down his chest and press my palm against his very stiff cock. “Very greedy.”

His hand moves to my waist. “Come with me into the shed.”

“No. Here.”

His brow lifts. “Someone might see.”

I take the hem of my blouse and tug it over my head, leaving me in only my sandals, skirt, and a very skimpy bra. “Only if they get through the hedge.”

“Interesting,” he murmurs as his hands move to my breasts, tugging the lace down so that I am fully exposed.

“What?” I reach behind and draw down the zipper on my skirt. I don’t want to get off his lap even for a second, and so I lift the skirt over my head as well, then toss it onto the side of the bench with my shirt.

“This.” He looks me up and down, his expression as hot and hard as his cock. “There’s a bit of an exhibitionist in you.” He leans forward and runs his tongue over my nipple. “I like it.”

I shiver, as much from his touch as from his words. The truth is that I like it, too. And not just because the cool breeze on my hot skin feels delicious. I like the fantasy of discovery. Of having someone see us and realize what they’re seeing. Who they are seeing.

I like the fantasy that our secret has been revealed and that, for better or for worse, we’re no longer living in shadows and we just have to move forward and deal, all the hiding over. All the secrets finished.

I like the fantasy, yes. But the reality scares me to death.

Right now, I’m not scared. I meant it about the hedge. No one is going to come back here. Hell, none of the guests know this secluded section of the yard even exists.

We’re safe to do what we want. And what I want is Dallas.

I lean forward to kiss him, then straighten before arching my back and cupping my own breasts. I watch his face, the expression of intense longing as I tease my nipples. Then I keep my eyes firmly on his as I lower one hand from my breasts and start to finger my clit as little frissons of pleasure shoot through me.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs as I succumb to pleasure and close my eyes, letting the sensations grow. “Get yourself off. Take what you want. Do it while you can.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when they do, I open my eyes and peer at him. “While I can?”

“Do you think you’re running this show, baby? You’re getting off because I say you can get off. You’re mine, remember? Every touch. Every orgasm. Your pleasure is my prerogative, and there will come a day when I’ll take it away and make you beg for it.”

“The hell you will,” I retort, but it’s a bullshit response. Maybe if I wasn’t naked, I could pull it off. But it’s only too easy for him to see how his words have made my nipples tighten. And it’s too damn obvious that I’m soaked now, his jeans probably ruined from how incredibly wet his words have made me.

“I own you,” he says, reaching out and capturing my clit between his thumb and forefinger. The wild, unexpected pressure makes me gasp, and when I jerk back a little, his hold tightens and I cry out from the sweet pleasure of an unexpected jolt of pain. “I’ve always owned you. Say it, Jane. Lift your hands up above your head and tell me that you’re mine.”

“You know I am.” My voice is breathy. I’m so f*cking turned on I can barely get the words out.

“Say it,” he growls, pinching my clit again. “Say it and lift your hands.”

“I’m yours,” I say as I thrust my hands toward the stars. “I’ve always been yours.”

I see the impact of my words on his face, the harshness melting into passion. I expect a kiss, but one doesn’t come. Instead, he unfastens my bra.

“Arms behind your back,” he says. “Wrists crossed.”

I start to ask what he’s doing, but I hold my tongue. I’ve told him repeatedly I’ll go as far as he needs me to. And I want to see where tonight is leading.

Where it leads is to my hands bound behind my back with my very own bra. I’m still straddling his legs, my knees on the bench and my * over his crotch. My crossed wrists are against my tailbone, and my hands are pretty much useless for keeping my balance.

He’s only bound me in that one place, but even so I’m antsy. This is Dallas, of course, and I trust him. For that matter, I’ve offered to let him tie me up before. We never got there, but he knows I was willing. More than that, he understands what a big step that offer was for me. I’d been bound and left alone during our kidnapping, and as a result, bondage isn’t exactly my kink of choice.

Dallas knows that—and yet he’s tied my wrists anyway. He did it boldly. Taking what he wanted. Taking charge. And not asking for permission at all.