Stephanie Julian - No Reservations

He found he’d stopped breathing, wondering if she’d finally realize what she was getting herself into. Some of the pieces in that cabinet were sure to make a novice in certain sexual practices blush.

He wanted to reassure her that he would never push her to do anything she felt uncomfortable with. But when she finally looked over her shoulder at him, instead of surprise, he saw curiosity.

“I’m not totally sure I want to know what some of this stuff is but . . . mostly they’re beautiful. Did you . . . Have you used some of these?”

He took a second to answer, knew he didn’t want to lie to her. “Yes.”

Her breath hitched and again, he couldn’t tell if he’d put her off or turned her on.

“So you’re into BDSM.”

He shook his head. “No, not the whole scene. Bondage, mostly. Dominance. I’m not into the master-slave thing. I don’t think dog collars look good on women.” He paused, watched her lips part as she drew in a deep breath. “But there’s something about giving yourself over to another person so completely . . . something about being restrained by someone you trust, that’s . . . freeing.”

Her eyes had narrowed, as if she were trying to comprehend what he was saying, to figure out the hidden meanings.

For him, there were none. He liked to dominate in bed. He wasn’t interested in making a woman crawl on the floor or lick his feet.

But tie her to a bed—or a chair or a piano bench—and hear her beg for release?

Yeah, he got off on that.

“I’m not sure I could do that.”

“Do what?”

She shook her head and that beautiful hair slid over her shoulder. He wanted to wrap it around his hand and tug her head back so he could kiss her.

“Give that much control over to anyone.”

He rose then, drawn by the sudden uncertainty on her face. But instead of going to her, he headed for the bar next to one of the windows.

“Would you like a drink?”

She didn’t answer right away but he heard her approach.

“Just ginger ale for me please.”

He poured her a glass of soda and handed it over then poured himself a Coke. If she asked to leave because she was freaked out, he didn’t want to have to arrange a ride for her. He wanted to take her himself.

They sipped their drinks in silence before she drifted off to sit on the nearest chaise.

“I know you said you don’t play with Jared’s crowd, but you do use this room?”

“I used to, yes.” With Mia. He didn’t have to say the words. She’d understand what he wasn’t saying.

“So your fiancée was into the same scene?”

He shook his head, squashing a grimace midformation. “Not until she met me.”

“I can imagine you’re pretty good at persuasion.”

“This isn’t something I would ever persuade anyone to do. You have to want to experience it.”

And that’s where Mia had been wrong. She’d thought because he enjoyed it, he’d want her to participate. And he would have. But only if she’d actually enjoyed it and not simply put on a show for him.

He realized Kate was smiling at him and couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t think he’d said anything funny.

“You know, you could come over here and let me try to persuade you to kiss me.”

He froze for a second as his brain processed what she’d said, then he did exactly what she wanted.

He sat next to her on the chaise, with enough space between them that she didn’t feel crowded. Or persuaded.

As he turned back from setting his glass on the nearest table, he found Kate had moved closer. Their height difference wasn’t as noticeable now. His lips practically brushed her forehead and her spicy scent was a stronger draw.

His heart began to pound as her gaze held his and he was glad he’d set down his glass. He might’ve dropped it otherwise.

Especially when she moved even closer and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Or,” she said, “you could let me kiss you?”

So he wouldn’t have to beg? “I have no problem with that.”

He watched as she bit her bottom lip, eyes narrowing as she closed the distance between them completely and her lips finally touched his.

He felt like a teenager at his first make-out party. Overexcited and flushed and horny as all hell. And unsure what to do with his hands.

Which was ridiculous for a thirty-year-old man.

Then Kate kissed him and left him breathless.

Kate didn’t make a big production out of that kiss. She simply poured her heart and soul into it and took Tyler under.

Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, her fingers lightly caressing his jaw and his cheekbones. Her soft lips moved over his slowly, as if savoring the taste of him. He certainly savored her.

It’d been a while since he’d kissed anyone other than Mia and it’d been two years since he’d kissed her.

He was almost afraid he’d forgotten how until instinct took over.

One arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other around her waist. Then he drew her closer. Which still wasn’t close enough. As her lips opened for the thrust of his tongue, he lifted her onto his lap. The satin of her dress made her slide across his thighs and his cock hardened even more.

Her hip pressed against his growing erection and his eyes closed at the pressure. He wanted to rub against her, to lift that dress so he could stroke his hands along the inside of her thighs. She’d be so damn soft there. And even softer between her legs.

She moaned as he slipped his tongue into her mouth then arched against him, squirming closer.

This kiss was going to get out of hand pretty damn fast. And he loved it. Lust burned in his veins, urging him to spread her out on the chaise and lick her from her toes up.

Instead he drowned in her taste, nearly suffocating because he didn’t want to break away.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, he slipped his lips from her mouth, heard her gulp in air and had to do the same. Then he nuzzled her hair away from her ear so he could bite the tiny lobe and felt her shiver.

Her hands had already slipped to the buttons on his shirt and were pushing them through their holes. He groaned when she reached his waistband and brushed against the tip of his cock, pressing against his pants’ zipper.

She didn’t seem to notice, though, because she’d already spread her hands across his stomach in preparation for sliding them up his chest.

Christ, why the hell did he have to wear a damn undershirt? He could have her hands on his skin already.

Instead, he’d have to release her to get his shirt and T-shirt over his head.

But first, he had to deal with her dress.

The zipper was carefully hidden. The tiny tab almost eluded his broad fingers. Finally, he found it tucked inside the seam at the top of the short collar.

When he began to release it, Kate froze, her cheek pressed against his, her body trembling.

He almost stopped, convinced he was going too fast, until she slid her hands to his shoulders and began to push his shirt down his arms.

Nipping at the tendon in his neck, she made him shudder, and he almost lost his tenuous grip on that tab.

As she continued to kiss her way down his neck, he drew the zipper down her back. The dress fell apart, baring warm flesh to his touch. He spread one hand across her back and wove the other through her hair, tilting her head up so he could take her mouth again.

She kissed him without reserve, putting her whole body into it. As he stroked her back, he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Christ.

Now he could barely breathe.

Swallowing a groan, he pulled away, breath catching in his throat as he gazed down at her.

Flushed cheeks. Red, kiss-swollen lips. Hazy, sensually dazed eyes.

Beautiful.

Holding her gaze, he reached for her shoulders and began to draw the dress down. She didn’t make any attempt to stop him.

Instead, she dropped her arms to her sides so the bodice came down smoothly, revealing small, perfect breasts.

He barely restrained the urge to leave her arms trapped at her sides and pull her forward to suck on those peach-tipped mounds. They’d barely fill his palm but he bet they’d be sensitive. Maybe he could make her come simply with his mouth on her nipples.

She moved then, withdrawing her hands from the sleeves and letting the dress pool at her waist as she reached for him. He was already shaking his shirt off his wrists as she slid her hands under his T-shirt and began to lift it up his torso.

He raised his arms to help her, urgency consuming him. But she took her sweet time. And when she finally got the material bunched around his neck, she leaned forward and put her mouth on his chest, on the taut muscle of his left pec.

Yes.

Whipping the shirt over his head, he grabbed her head, tempering his response at the last second so he didn’t handle her too roughly.

But he didn’t want her to move. He wanted her mouth on him. Wanted her tongue licking along his skin. Wanted her teeth tugging at his nipple.

As if she’d read his mind, she opened her mouth and bit him as his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer. He let her torment him for minutes, let her lick and bite his nipple before stringing a line of kisses to the other, where she did the same.

All the while, he forced back the raging tide of dominance that wanted him to strip the rest of her clothes from her body and lay her out on the chaise so he could have his way with her.

He wondered what she’d do if he tried it? Would she let him? Or would she run?