She wanted to control the kiss, and that was what she fought for. He was determined to control the kiss, and the right of might definitely held sway here. Especially when his arms surrounded her, his head bending, forcing hers against his powerful bicep as he licked and sucked and drove his tongue against hers until she was quivering. Hell, she never quivered for sex. But she was quivering for Ian. Shaking and trembling, her pussy clenching, her breasts throbbing, and imperative, desperate little mewls of pleasure tearing from her throat.
She spread her fingers through his hair and arched closer, rasping her nipples over the luscious mat of hair that covered his chest as his cock slid between her thighs, pressing into the material of her panties, driving her crazy with the need for more.
He pulled her head back, pulling at her hair as the fiery sensation streaked from her head to her nipples, then to her clit. She had never liked having her hair pulled until Ian. Until he showed her the pleasure and the pain, the agony and the ecstasy of being in his arms.
"Just this time," he groaned, his lips moving down her neck. "I'm going to fuck you until you're out of my system. Gone. Out of my head." His tongue licked over her collarbone. "Over."
"In your dreams." Her head tipped back as pleasure suffused her. "Oh God, Ian. In your dreams."
Pleasure like this didn't just go away. It tortured and tormented after the act, she could feel it, knew it, even though the pleasure itself was so new even to her. The jaded Domme, the feminine sexual dominant that demanded submission from her males. She was no novice to sex play, or to sexual games. But she was a novice to this pleasure, to the sensations rippling through her and holding her spellbound in Ian's arms.
As his lips surrounded the hard peak of a nipple, her lips went to his neck. Teeth raking, tongue licking, her hands stroking over as much of his flesh as she could reach.
Hard muscle rippled beneath her touch as the heat and suckling pleasure of his mouth threatened to dissolve her. He held her close to him, arms surrounding her, as though he would never let her go. And she didn't want him to let her go. She wanted him to hold her forever.
"Not enough," he growled, moving, flipping her back on the bed before she could do more than gasp, and jerking the boxer-type panties from her thighs and over her feet before she could fight.
She moved to twist away from him, to attack him with her own passion, her own needs. Before she could roll from him, his hands pulled her thighs apart, his wide shoulders wedging between them and his lips descending to the bare, saturated folds of her pussy.
Kira froze. She couldn't help it. Hell, it wasn't like a man had never gone down on her before; they had. She wasn't a virgin. She was experienced. Until Ian got his lips in the slick, bare flesh between her thighs. Suddenly, she didn't know what the hell to do.
Because he didn't touch her like an unfamiliar lover. He touched her like he knew her. Knew what she wanted. Knew what she needed. Knew that the sudden hard thrust of his tongue into her pussy would freeze her with delirious pleasure.
"Ian?" She stared down her body, watching as his lashes lifted and he stared back at her with slumberous, hungry eyes.
He licked. A long, slow swipe of his tongue that sent a ripple of white-hot sensation racing across her flesh. Especially when he reached her clit, flickered over it, then bestowed a firm, heated kiss to it.
"You don't like it?" He lifted his head enough to whisper the words, blowing a soft breath over the too-sensitive nub of nerve endings.
She stared into the heavy, brooding gaze. What was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to answer him?
"Stop talking and keep licking," she gasped, her hand pressing his head lower, his lips back to her waiting flesh.
He chuckled, but he licked. Oh God, how he licked. And sipped, and scraped his teeth over the swollen folds until she was writhing. Writhing and desperate because it wasn't enough.
She tried to twist, to throw her leg over his head and rise to her knees, to sit on that handsome face, that thrusting tongue. So she could get his cock in her mouth. She was dying to taste that wicked hard flesh, to tongue the precum from the tiny slit at the top.
"Stay still." His hand landed on her butt as she arched again.
"You didn't!" she gasped. He had smacked her?
Okay, so it didn't hurt, it was actually kind of sexy. But only submissives got spanked. She was not a submissive.
"Stay still or I'm tying you to the bed."
"Like hell." Her heels dug into the bed as she struggled from beneath him.
She assured herself that she couldn't have expected what came next. The way he used her momentum against her, flipped her to her stomach, then tied one hand with the long, thin gauze that fell down the post of the headboard.
Tied her wrist, quick as you please, as he straddled her back and held her into place. In the next second, her other wrist was similarly bound with the filmy curtain on the other post.
"Ian, you bastard!" she cried out hoarsely, almost laughing, unable to believe how quickly he had managed to restrain her. And he had restrained her effectively, wrapping the material around the posts close to the mattress so she couldn't pull herself up.
"Now, let's see if you can't be a good girl and let me have my treat," he growled at her ear. "Be very thankful, Kira, that this night is all that matters. Otherwise, I'd show you exactly how I would control that hot little body of yours."
Within a second he was pushing her knees into the bed, raising her hips and stretching out on his back. Sort of the position she wanted, except it was the wrong way.
"This is so wrong," she said, panting as she felt his broad hands cup and palm the cheeks of her ass.
Then he spanked her again. Light little taps, sharp ones, heated heavy caresses as his tongue plunged into her pussy and had her writhing into the caress.
"Untie me." Her voice was strangled, the imperative need for orgasm rising hard and fast inside her. "I want to touch you too. Taste you."
"Not on your life." He nipped at the swollen curve of one labial fold. A soft, gentle little bite that had her jerking in painful pleasure. Damn him, that shouldn't feel so good. It shouldn't feel exquisite. She shouldn't be enjoying weakness, she should be fighting for strength. For control.
But oh, it was so good. Her hips pressed down, driving his tongue deeper, feeling him lick. Sweet mercy, his tongue was curling inside her, dragging over the so-sensitive nerves there, and making her pant, making her beg for release.
"Ian, I swear, I'm going to make you pay," she cried, feeling perspiration coat her body as he shifted, his tongue retreated, only to curl around her clit.
He played there. Sucking the little button into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, kissing it deep and hot. He blew against it, he moaned against it, and then he licked around it, next to it, close to it, but never enough. Never enough.
"Please . . . oh please, Ian, don't let me lose it." She was so close. So close she knew she was going to lose it. That she was going to be pushed to the point that it fizzled and left her with a violent ache that couldn't be satisfied.
Not again. Oh God, she couldn't bear it if Ian did that to her. If he brought her so close, only to push her past the point where she could come at all.
Her body was weird. Her sexuality was weird. It would kill her. She couldn't handle it.
"Ian, it's been years." She twisted in her bonds. "Oh God, it's been so long. Please. Don't let me lose this. I have to come. Please, Ian."
She was desperate. He kept licking around it, building it higher. She could only go so high, then, phfft, it was just over. A violent ache that lasted for days and no relief. She would kill. She swore she'd shoot him with his own gun.
Then two fingers slid into her pussy. Not just slid in, thrust in, filled her, fucked into her with deep, hard strokes as his mouth covered her clit, sucking and licking, right there.
She screamed into the pillow. She bucked and jerked, twisted and exploded with such force she swore she felt he
r mind dissolve. It was exploding, melting, heat was lashing at it and disintegrating it, as the most deliriously violent orgasm of her life ripped through her.
She was dying. She had never known why the French called it the "little death" until now. She was dying. Done in by the most exquisite orgasm in her sexual history, or so she thought.
Before she managed to come down, before the first agonizing shudders had finished with her, Ian, diabolical lover that he was, pushed her higher.
He slid from beneath her, his fingers retreating. A second later the iron-hard length of his cock was tunneling inside the gripping, spasming muscles of her pussy with hard, heavy thrusts.
Gripping the material of the curtains that bound her hands, Kira pulled herself up, her muscles tightening through her body as she tried to breathe. Just one good breath as the first orgasm continued to tremble through her body even as he lengthened it and built the next.
The feel of his thick erection working inside her as his hands gripped her hips, held her in place with dominant force, was her undoing. She had never been a submissive, either sexually or in life, but oh God, she could definitely see the benefits at this moment.
"Ian . . ."
"I'm here, Kira." His voice was so rough, guttural as he moved heavily behind her. "I have you, darlin'. I won't let go."
One hand cupped a breast, his fingers working her nipple as the other moved between her thighs, playing her clit with just the right amount of pressure.
It was violently sensitive, but he knew how to touch, how to stroke. Just as he knew how to fuck her. He didn't go easy on her. He made pleasure and pain combine, thrusting hard and deep inside her, flesh slapping together, their moans mingling.
She couldn't bear this. Kira wasn't certain when she realized the line she had just crossed, when she realized that pleasure and emotion were comingling. She knew she couldn't bear it. She knew it was too much, too soon. She wasn't ready for this.
She tightened in his arms, fighting to pull back, to hold on to that measure of control. She shifted, mind and body, pulled on her training, on what she had become. She would give him the illusion she gave everyone else.
"Oh, no you don't." He bit her shoulder. Bit her. Again. "Do you think it's that easy? That I'll let you draw back now? By God, I won't take the Chameleon. I'll have the woman."
"Please." She shook her head, her upper body falling back to the bed, leaving her rear up, her pussy open to him as he pounded inside her. "Ian. I'm . . ." She was what? Scared? Lost? "Please . . ."
"I have you, Kira." He came over her, his voice thick now as the sensations began to build to cataclysmic levels. She heard the restraint in him though, and ached for it. Heard the regret that shadowed the dominance she knew he was capable of displaying. "I'm right here. Just come for me, baby. Give it to me. Give it all to me."
She was helpless. Bound, both physically and mentally, and she knew it. She was lost.
When the second orgasm came, she didn't bother fighting it. She screamed, crashed, jerked in his arms, and felt the muscles of her pussy clench violently on the suddenly throbbing length of his cock.
He had thought to use a condom? At least he had a brain. She could hear his release in his shattered groan, in the jerky thrusts, the throb of his erection, but she didn't feel the wetness of his semen.
For a wild moment, she regretted that. Wanted it. For one impossible, insane moment, Kira wanted things she knew she should have never considered. Had never considered before in her life. She wanted more than just the sex. And she wanted more than the restraint that tightened his body despite his release.
She wanted all of him. She wanted to defy that hard-won control that held him back, that kept a tight rein on the obvious hungers he was denying himself. She wanted to challenge him and feel him meeting her head-on.
She wasn't a submissive, but a part of her was dying to submit. To meet his dominance head-on, to push at the boundaries he had set, and to weave herself as firmly around his soul as she knew he was weaving around hers.
* * *
Eight
IAN RELEASED KIRA SLOWLY FROM the filmy lengths of material that hung along the side of the bed. The thin panel he had used bound her wrists, holding her body in place for him, something he doubted Kira had tried often.
He ran his hand along her back, clenched his teeth and merely caressed the rounded globes of her rear rather than watching them blush, hearing her scream as she found more pleasure in an erotic spanking than she could imagine, and feeling her come apart as she found the threshold between that pleasure and pain.
There were so many ways he wanted to touch her, fuck her. So many things he could do to her body that would leave her shaking, gasping his name, immersed in a pleasure he knew she had never reached before.
She was a strong woman, there was no doubt. But he knew her strength and he knew the hungers that even she didn't understand herself. And he knew that sexual, independent creature inside her was dying to defy the dominance he kept tightly leashed.
She was collapsed beneath him now, on her stomach, her head buried in the pillow as she fought for breath.
Ian straightened the filmy panels then rose and discarded the condom he wore before stretching out beside her in the bed.
A dumb move, he told himself as he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. A really dumb move, because she felt so right. She felt as though she belonged against his chest and in his arms. She fit him, and damn if that knowledge didn't rock his soul all over again.
"We have reports that Sorrell is becoming irritated with your defiance of him," she said as one hand smoothed over his chest. "You're encouraging the smaller cartels to defy him as well. He'll strike against you soon."
"I'm not discussing Sorrell with you, Kira." Ian stared at the ceiling through the diaphanous material that stretched across the canopy frame above. "I'm not discussing any of this with you."
"I'm here to help you, Ian." Irritation colored her voice as she lifted her head to stare back at him. "I have my own sources I can work. You're fighting a very dangerous man. Don't throw away an opportunity to gain any advantage you can."
"You being the advantage?" He let his hand smooth over the fall of hair that caressed his chest now. Her hair was softer than silk and warm enough to comfort a man on a cold winter night.
"I'm a hell of an asset." There was no ego there, it was simply the truth and Ian knew it. She was a hell of an asset.
"This is my fight." And he didn't want her anywhere close to the danger he knew was coming. "I'll take care of Sorrell."
He would identify him, and if he couldn't kill him then he would walk away and allow others to do it. Either way, when the game was up, he didn't want Kira anywhere close to the violence that would ensue.
"I want you on a plane out of here, this week," he told her then, meeting her gaze as he allowed the tips of his fingers to caress the gentle curve of her cheek. "Go back to the States and forget about this."
Her smile was a soft curve of sorrow. "Do you really think I'm going to do that? I've found in the last months that I would do a lot for you, Ian. But I won't do that."
"That isn't your fight."
"I've made it my fight."
Where in the hell had she developed all this stubbornness? She was the most intractable woman he had ever met. She didn't argue, she didn't scream or yell. She stated intentions and then followed through. He knew that. Besides what he had learned of her in Atlanta, his investigation into her had yielded the proof of it.
"I won't come back here," he told her then. "Tonight won't exist after dawn arrives, and it won't happen again."
She shook her head, causing her hair to ripple over the muscles of his chest and his taut abdomen.
"It may not. I hear you're a man of your word. But I'm not leaving Aruba until I finish what I came to do."
"Which is?" Frustration colored his voice. "What the hell do you think you can accomplish here?"
"I ca
n watch your back and gather the information you need from the sources you can't access as the Fuentes heir. That's my mission and I won't leave until this is over. You can make my job easy, or you can make it hard. It's your choice." She lowered her head as she spoke, allowing her lips to caress his shoulder, her fingers to knead the bunched muscles of his biceps.
Ian continued to stare at the ceiling, frowning, trying to distance himself from emotion and to use the only weapons he had on hand for the perilous operation he was conducting. He had the smallest team they could put together; hell, it was so small he didn't have a hope if the Fuentes soldiers didn't follow him against Sorrell. That was his strength, the loyalty the cartel possessed. It went beyond money, to familial affiliations. Diego was related to the better part of his generals. His generals were related to their lieutenants and their lieutenants were related to the soldiers. It was a circle that continued on and on.
There might be a few spies, a few speaking from both sides of their mouths, but they all agreed. Terrorism made it hard on the drug trade. Terrorist fanatics made it even harder to sell drugs. Ergo, don't let the French terrorist in on the business.
Some of the smaller cartels were too weak to fight the pressure Sorrell brought to bear, but the larger cartels opposing him were now doing what Ian had begun eight months ago. Absorbing those smaller operations with the promise of protection.
This wasn't a game, and there was a hell of a lot more to it than drawing in information. If Kira aligned herself with him, then for the first time in her own career, she would no longer be giving the appearance of a neutral party. She would be compromising herself. And that begged the question, why?
For ten years she had worked as an undercover independent operative for various agencies. First the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and then the Department of Homeland Security. Why risk herself and her supposed neutrality now?