body pressed against him, of her sweet, responsive mouth, swamped his consciousness. Again, he experienced that wild need to possess her . . . sink into her scent, drive into her body fast and furious. Just the thought of penetrating her—of even taking her in a simple missionary position—of her mouth beneath his, of his cock high and hard inside her . . .
It made him uncontrollably aroused. He stiffened with the vigor of a teenage boy.
It surprised him, because the simple fact was, he hardly ever bothered with simple, traditional sex anymore. Maybe he was depraved. He’d never really thought about it before, because his partners were in total agreement with his desire. He required a healthy dose of kink to stimulate him, nowadays. It was one of the downfalls of wealth. Women were willing to give him almost anything he wanted sexually.
At that moment, treading water beneath a spectacular midnight sky, he longed for something different, though. He wished he could again touch a woman like it was the first time, with the wondrous lust of a teenage boy.
He wished it wasn’t just Harper McFadden that inspired that longing in him.
Besides . . . it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of doing some grittier things to her as well: tying her up, pleasuring her. . . maybe taking her places she’d never been before, watching her as ecstasy tightened her beautiful face and she surrendered to him.
He couldn’t do those things to Harper, though, as much as the idea tore through him and left stinging hunger in its wake. Not with his past, he couldn’t. Not with Harper’s. If others considered his sexual preferences sick, he could tolerate that. He never hurt a woman, and had enough experience to know that his partners were very well satisfied.
But exposing his sexual bent to Harper would also expose his vulnerability. With others, his preference for sexual domination had no history. No basis. It just
was
: an in-the-moment heat, a consensual hunger with no roots.
It’d be different with Harper. It’d be messy. It wouldn’t be just a release of sexual tension, pleasure, and good-bye.
Would it?
The recalled sensation of how her breasts had felt crushed against him, the nipples defined and hard, rushed into his consciousness and tugged at his cock. She was larger than she had been when she was a girl, of course. To him, her breasts were perfect: large enough to make a man want to lose himself in them for hours, yet high and firm enough to accentuate her elegant, slender figure.
He plunged face-first into the cold water. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy or simple to have her. But God, it’d be so fucking good. Besides, why was he so worried about his effect on her, his demands on her sexually? What had she done to deserve so much consideration on his part? She’d left him.
More importantly, she’d
forgotten
him.
A few minutes later, he gave up the fight. He submitted to his hunger, even if only in the safety of his mind. He stood beneath the hot spray of the poolside shower, his cock in his hand, his eyes clamped shut.
In his fantasy, they were in the forest, not another human being for tens of miles in any direction. There was no one to interfere, no one that had the power to stop them, to threaten their lives.
To separate them.
There was only Harper and him, and their need.
She looked up at him from where she lay on her back on a blanket, her blue-green eyes wide with anxiety, but also heat. And trust.
She was bound with rope, the black silk, twined strands a jolting erotic contrast to her pale, naked skin. He’d restrained her like he wanted her, so that her beauty was fully exposed to him. Nothing hidden. Nothing denied. Her feet were raised off the blanket, her knees bent in the direction of her chest, her legs spread wide. He’d restrained her so that her calves pressed tight against the back of her thighs. Her wrists had been bound to the outside of her thighs, displaying his strong,
It made him uncontrollably aroused. He stiffened with the vigor of a teenage boy.
It surprised him, because the simple fact was, he hardly ever bothered with simple, traditional sex anymore. Maybe he was depraved. He’d never really thought about it before, because his partners were in total agreement with his desire. He required a healthy dose of kink to stimulate him, nowadays. It was one of the downfalls of wealth. Women were willing to give him almost anything he wanted sexually.
At that moment, treading water beneath a spectacular midnight sky, he longed for something different, though. He wished he could again touch a woman like it was the first time, with the wondrous lust of a teenage boy.
He wished it wasn’t just Harper McFadden that inspired that longing in him.
Besides . . . it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of doing some grittier things to her as well: tying her up, pleasuring her. . . maybe taking her places she’d never been before, watching her as ecstasy tightened her beautiful face and she surrendered to him.
He couldn’t do those things to Harper, though, as much as the idea tore through him and left stinging hunger in its wake. Not with his past, he couldn’t. Not with Harper’s. If others considered his sexual preferences sick, he could tolerate that. He never hurt a woman, and had enough experience to know that his partners were very well satisfied.
But exposing his sexual bent to Harper would also expose his vulnerability. With others, his preference for sexual domination had no history. No basis. It just
was
: an in-the-moment heat, a consensual hunger with no roots.
It’d be different with Harper. It’d be messy. It wouldn’t be just a release of sexual tension, pleasure, and good-bye.
Would it?
The recalled sensation of how her breasts had felt crushed against him, the nipples defined and hard, rushed into his consciousness and tugged at his cock. She was larger than she had been when she was a girl, of course. To him, her breasts were perfect: large enough to make a man want to lose himself in them for hours, yet high and firm enough to accentuate her elegant, slender figure.
He plunged face-first into the cold water. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy or simple to have her. But God, it’d be so fucking good. Besides, why was he so worried about his effect on her, his demands on her sexually? What had she done to deserve so much consideration on his part? She’d left him.
More importantly, she’d
forgotten
him.
A few minutes later, he gave up the fight. He submitted to his hunger, even if only in the safety of his mind. He stood beneath the hot spray of the poolside shower, his cock in his hand, his eyes clamped shut.
In his fantasy, they were in the forest, not another human being for tens of miles in any direction. There was no one to interfere, no one that had the power to stop them, to threaten their lives.
To separate them.
There was only Harper and him, and their need.
She looked up at him from where she lay on her back on a blanket, her blue-green eyes wide with anxiety, but also heat. And trust.
She was bound with rope, the black silk, twined strands a jolting erotic contrast to her pale, naked skin. He’d restrained her like he wanted her, so that her beauty was fully exposed to him. Nothing hidden. Nothing denied. Her feet were raised off the blanket, her knees bent in the direction of her chest, her legs spread wide. He’d restrained her so that her calves pressed tight against the back of her thighs. Her wrists had been bound to the outside of her thighs, displaying his strong,
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