“Enough?” she teased, licking her lips into a sultry half-smile.
He shook his head. “More,” he demanded.
Demanded? She didn’t like that. “Beg me,” she whispered.
“More,” he said, more humbly.
She gave him a nod of approval, but just before she let him see the thatch of her womanhood she turned around, wiggling the chemise up and over her bottom, then across her back and finally over her head.
His breath was coming hot and heavy over his lips; she could hear every whisper of it, almost feel it caressing her back. But still she didn’t turn around. Instead she let out a slow, seductive moan and slid her hands up the sides of her body, curving slightly to the back as she passed over her derrière, then moving to the front when she reached her breasts. And then, even though she knew he couldn’t see her, she squeezed.
He would know what she was doing.
And it would drive him wild.
She heard rustling on the bed, heard the wooden frame creak and groan, and she let out one sharp command: “Don’t move.”
“Francesca,” he moaned, and his voice was closer. He must’ve sat up, must’ve been seconds away from reaching for her.
“Lie down,” she said in soft warning.
“Francesca,” he said again, but now there was a hint of desperation in his voice.
It made her smile. “Lie down,” she repeated, still not looking at him.
She heard him panting, knew that he hadn’t moved, that he was still trying to decide what to do.
“Lie down,” she said, one last time. “If you want me.”
For a second there was silence, and then she heard him settle back against the bed. But she also heard his breath, now tinged with a dangerously ragged edge.
“There you go,” she whispered.
She taunted him a little more, running her hands lightly over her skin, her nails skimming the surface, raising goosebumps all along their path. “Mmmm,” she moaned, the sound a deliberate tease. “Mmmm.”
“Francesca,” he whispered.
She moved her hands to her belly, then slid them down, not deeply to touch herself—she wasn’t certain she was wicked enough to do that—but just enough cover her mound, leaving him in the dark, wondering just what it was her fingers were doing.
“Mmmm,” she murmured again. “Ohhhh.”
He made a sound, guttural, primitive, and entirely inarticulate. He was nearing his breaking point; she wouldn’t be able to push him much further.
She looked over her shoulder, licking her lips as she glanced at him. “You should take those off,” she said, letting her gaze fall to his still-covered groin. He’d not undressed entirely when he’d removed his wet clothing, and his manhood strained furiously against the fabric. “You don’t look very comfortable,” she added, infusing her voice with just the barest hint of coy innocence.
He grunted something and then practically tore off his undergarments.
“Oh my,” Francesca said, and even though she’d planned the words as a part of her teasing seduction, she found that she very much meant them. He looked huge and powerful, and she knew she was playing a dangerous game, pushing him to his very limits.
But she couldn’t stop. She was glorying in her power over him, and she couldn’t possibly stop.
“Very nice,” she purred, letting her gaze roam up and down his body, settling directly upon his manhood.
“Frannie,” he said, “enough.”
She let her eyes level onto his. “You answer to me, Michael,” she said with soft authority. “If you want me, you can have me. But I’m in charge.”
“Fr—”
“Those are my terms.”
He held still, then settled back slightly in acquiescence. But he did not lie down. He was sitting, leaning back slightly, his hands on the mattress behind him for support. His every muscle was straining, and his eyes held a feline air, as if he were poised to pounce.
He was, she realized, with a shiver of desire, simply magnificent.
And hers for the taking.
“What should I do now?” she wondered aloud.
“Come here,” he answered gruffly.
“Not quite yet,” she sighed, turning toward him until her body was in profile. She saw his gaze drop to the hardened tips of her breasts, saw his eyes darken as he licked his lips. And she felt herself tauten even more, as the mental image of his tongue on her sent a new rush of heat through her body.
She brought one hand to her breast, curving around the underside, pushing herself up, like some delectable offering. “Is this what you want?” she whispered.
His voice was nothing but a growl. “You know what I want.”
“Mmm, yes,” she murmured, “but what about in the meantime? Aren’t things sweeter when we’re forced to wait for them?”
“You have no idea,” he said roughly.
She looked down at her breast. “I wonder what would happen if I do…this,” she said, and then she moved her fingers to her nipple, rolling it about, her body twitching as the motion sent shivers down to the very center of her being.
“Frannie,” Michael groaned. She glanced up at him. His lips were parted, and his eyes were glazed with desire.
“I like it,” Francesca said, almost in wonderment. She’d never touched herself this way, never even thought to until this very moment, with Michael as her captive audience. “I like it,” she said again, then brought her other hand to her other breast and pleasured them in unison. She pushed them up and together, her hands making a sultry corset.
“Oh, my God,” Michael moaned.
“I had no idea I could do this,” she said, arching her back.
“I can do it better,” he gasped.
“Mmm, you probably could,” she acceded. “You’ve had lots of practice, haven’t you?” And she shot him a look, one of sophisticated elegance, as if she were comfortable with the fact that he’d seduced scores of women. And the strange truth was, until this very moment, she rather thought she had been.
But now…
Now he was hers. Hers to tempt and hers to enjoy, and as long as she had him exactly where she wanted him, she wasn’t going to think of those other women. They weren’t here in this room. It was just her, and Michael, and the sizzling heat rising between them.
She edged closer to the bed, batting his hand away when he reached toward her. “If I let you touch one, will you make me a promise?” she murmured.
“Anything.”
“Nothing more,” she said, her tone slightly officious. “You may do what I allow you and nothing more.”
He nodded jerkily.
“Lie back,” she ordered.
He did as she asked.
She climbed onto the bed, not allowing their bodies to touch in any way. Raising herself onto all fours, she let herself to sway above him, and then softly she said, “One hand, Michael. You may use one hand.”
With a groan that sounded as if it were ripped from his throat, he reached for her, his hand large enough to grasp her entire breast. “Oh, my God,” he gasped, his body jerking as he squeezed her. “Both hands, please,” he begged.
She couldn’t resist him. That one simple touch was reducing her to pure flame, and even as she wanted to exert her power over him, she couldn’t say no. Nodding because she could barely speak, she arched her back, and then suddenly both of his hands were on her, kneading, caressing, whipping her already heightened senses into a frenzy.