Cilla grins up at me. “I was just inviting Luke—and you, of course— to come over and—”
“I’m good,” I say, not even willing to hear what she’s got to say. Lucas’s hazel eyes narrow into tight slits. I look away from his face.
We’re quiet during the limo ride back to the hotel, sitting on opposite sides of the backseat with our bodies stiff with tension. But the moment we walk through the door of the suite, he drags me to him, pinning my hands above my head and forcing my lips apart until my knees go slack.
He pushes me away from him. Keeping his voice level, he points to the chair by the desk. “Sit down, Sienna.”
“No, I’m not going to—”
“Sit,” he repeats. I’m fuming and my body is trembling, but I sink down, my bottom hanging off the edge of the chair. Then he demands to know why I was so rude to Cilla. I turn my face away from him when I answer him.
“Because she looked over me like I wasn’t fit to lick her motorcycle boots.” Because I’m afraid of your past together. “Because I want you,” I whisper in a ragged voice.
He takes my face between his hands and kisses my lips hard. “Don’t tell me you’re threatened by Cilla,” he hisses against my mouth. I nod my head and he tangles his hands in my hair, releasing a low growl from the back of his throat. “You drive me f**king crazy, Sienna. She’s one of my best friends—we grew up together—but she’s not you. Never in a million years.”
It feels so good to hear him say those words, and I circle his neck. “I want you,” I tell him again, pulling back from him. “I want to be that person you need me to be.”
“I won’t believe that until you’ve calmed down, until you’re absolutely sure,” he says, but I grind my body against his. “Stop or I will punish you this time.”
I take his hand, pressing it between my legs. He cups my chin, turns my face until we’re eye to eye. Releasing a groan, he sets me away from him and removes his own t-shirt. I watch, holding my breath, as he rips it into several long strips with ease.
“What are you—?”
“Be quiet and get naked.”
I strip down so fast he cocks an eyebrow as he comes toward me. He tosses one of the hotel towels in the chair. “Sit down,” he says and I slide into the seat. He kneels down in front of me. When I reach out to stroke his hair, he catches my wrist, tethering it to the arm of the chair. I gasp. Giving me a dangerous look, he ties my other wrist to the opposite side of the chair. Then, spreading my legs wide apart so that I’m completely exposed to him, he binds my ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Lucas, I—”
He covers my mouth with the tips of his fingers, bending his head to touch me. I squirm, grasping at air with my own fingers. For what seems like eternity, he tastes and bites and sucks. When I’m close to coming, when I’m rocking back and forth in the chair almost violently and bucking my hips to his mouth, he stops.
“I’m going to make a phone call,” he whispers, untying me. “You are not to touch yourself until I return, do you understand?”
I nod as he helps me to my feet. Opening my legs with his hand, he nudges his finger inside of me. “Do you understand?” he repeats in a harsh voice.
“Yes sir.”
The moment he leaves our suite, I sulk into the bathroom.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You were in there a very long time, Ms. Jensen,” Lucas muses, startling me, as I pad out of the bathroom. When had he come back to the room? He’s sitting in the seat he’d bound me to a couple hours ago, quietly strumming his guitar. Heat floods my body because I can’t help thinking about how his mouth had teased my body. How he’d warned me not to come. How he’d left me wanting more, wanting him to finish.
“I was dirty from—”
“You were f**king yourself.”
He’s not asking me, he’s telling me what I’ve been doing. Before I can think of something witty to say, I blurt, “You refused to finish.”
“And that’s what you want now. For me to finish. For me to keep f**king you.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes, what?”
“Sir.”
“There aren’t any more barriers between us,” he says, his words hovering somewhere in between a question and a statement. I nod my head.
He rises to his feet, placing the guitar to the side of the bed. Now, I’ve got his full attention. Static runs through my body, making every inch of me feel as if it’s been electrocuted. “Turn around and put your forearms and hands flat on the desk,” he says.
“Why? So you can spank me like a little kid?” I demand, recalling some of his earlier threats. There’s a sarcastic edge to my voice—one that lures a slow spreading grin from Lucas. God, why does he have to look so beautiful, so perfect, and yet so sinfully dangerous?
“Not at all like a child,” he says.
Shivering, I face the desk and bend over in the position he’s instructed. I would be stupid if I said I wasn’t the tiniest bit frightened, but the other feelings that course through me—blurry and wonderful and intoxicatingly confusing—trump the fear.
I feel sadistic and crazy for wanting him and this.
I feel so f**king alive it burns.
Lucas removes the white robe from my body, leaving me bare. His fingers are feather soft against my skin as he guides my hips further away from the desk and bows my back so that my bottom is jutted up at him.