Blackmailed Into His Arms. Margaret Mayo
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turned, his gaze soaking her in, slowly skimming from head to toe. From the hardening of his jaw and the steam rising behind his sea-blue eyes, she thought he must like what he saw.
A thrill rolled through her and she sat up straight, careful to act sleepy and nonchalant.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “It looks good.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, still staring intently at her. “It does.”
After a few tense seconds when she thought he might forget the food altogether and simply lunge at her, he picked up the bottle of Roederer Cristal, dried the bottom with a cloth napkin and popped the cork. He poured the champagne into both flutes, then handed one to her, followed by the bowl of strawberries.
She took a plump, bright red berry and bit into the tip before taking a sip of champagne.
“Good?” he asked, sampling a piece of fruit on his own.
“Delicious.”
Taking a long swallow of champagne, he set his glass and the bowl of strawberries aside and began shrugging out of his clothes. Suit jacket, tie, shoes … they all evaporated as though they were made of smoke.
As naked as she, he turned back to the wheeled cart, grabbed the dripping sundae and a spoon and climbed onto the wide mattress beside her.
“This is what I’m hungry for,” he said.
He lowered her gently until she fell back against the pillows. Before she’d even had a chance to get comfortable or wonder what he might do next, he dropped a dollop of whipped cream right in the center of her belly button.
She gave a little yelp and nearly came up off the bed, her first instinct to get the chilly substance off her bare skin. But the clicking of his tongue and the shimmering heat in his glance reminded her of the game they were playing.
Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her body and sank farther into the pillows and glossy sheets, ready to let him do what he wished with his sweet, sticky dessert and her naked, vulnerable body.
He grinned, flashing straight white teeth at her capitulation and digging once again into the sundae.
It took all of her control, all of her concentration not to squirm and shiver as he decorated her nipples, left dribbles of hot fudge sauce along her chest, midsection and inner thighs. Plucking the bright red maraschino cherry off the top by its stem, he placed it on top of the whipped cream on her navel.
“There,” he announced, setting the remainder of the sundae on the nightstand and sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect.”
She chuckled, a brittle, throaty sound working its way up from her diaphragm. A trickle of vanilla ice cream was melting between her tightly closed legs, heading in a direction where she wanted only warmth—preferably created by Chase. “It’s cold.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, shifting closer. “Let me see what I can do to heat things up.”
His low tone and the determined look in his eyes sent a ripple of anticipation skating down her spine, taking precedence over the goose bumps breaking out along her skin.
He leaned in, covering a smear of chocolate with his tongue, then dragging upward to the underside of her breast. The action caused her nipples to bead beneath the fluffy white clouds he’d deposited there.
She writhed beneath him, her back arching, her arms lifting automatically to reach for him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned without moving his lips from her skin. The words vibrated through her. “No touching from you. Not yet.”
His hands closed around her wrists, pushing her arms up over her head. “Lie back and enjoy.”
Easier said than done, she thought. At the moment, his idea of enjoyment bordered on torment—and he was just getting started.
He licked the whipped cream crowning one breast, tiny flickers like a cat lapping at a bowl of milk, until her nipple was bare.
Elena bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out as he switched to her other breast. This time he gave a low growl and engulfed the tip all at once. No small nibbles to draw out the agony, but that didn’t make the pleasure any less sharp.
Her hands clutched the pillow behind her head, her heels dug into the mattress. Already, her inner muscles were tightening, begging for release. “Chase, please.”
“Soon,” he whispered, kissing his way back down her stomach, picking up stray hot fudge as he went. “Very soon.”
He slurped the whipped topping from her belly button, working around the cherry, leaving it to fill the indent of her navel. Sliding down, hands skimming her hips, he parted her thighs and began to nuzzle ice cream from between them.
But he didn’t stop there. Even though she was sure the ice cream hadn’t dripped any deeper, he lifted her legs to his shoulders and began to explore. He nibbled, licked, stroked her moist folds until she couldn’t help but clutch at his hair—to pull him away or hold him close, she didn’t know.
When he concentrated his efforts on the hidden bud of her desire, her blood pressure skyrocketed and she climaxed against his mouth almost without warning. Tremors racked her body and she gasped for breath, arms falling to her sides as her bones and muscles turned the consistency of watery oatmeal.
With a feral grin, Chase raised his head and lifted himself on all fours to hover over her. He started to crawl forward, pausing only long enough to close his teeth on the stem of the cherry in her navel and carry it with him to her mouth. Her lips were already parted, her lungs still straining for oxygen.
“No. No more,” she panted, letting her eyes fall closed. “I can’t take any more.”
“Sure you can.” His words were slightly muted as he talked through his teeth, still holding the cherry by its stem. “Open.”
With a sigh that was part exhaustion, part reluctant anticipation, she opened her mouth and let him drop the cherry inside.
“Now close.”
She did, and he tugged, breaking the stem away from the plump, sweet fruit.
“Chew,” he ordered.
Maraschino cherries were one of her favorites and she gave a little moan of enjoyment as the tart juices played over her taste buds and ran down her throat.
In a much softer, huskier voice, Chase said, “Now open again.”
When she did, he meshed his mouth with hers, kissing her deeply, passionately, thoroughly. To her great surprise she found her strength coming back and her arms snaking up to wrap around his shoulders.
He pulled back slightly, his lips curled up at the corners as he hummed with pleasure. “That is the best hot fudge sundae I’ve ever tasted. I never want to eat one with just a spoon again.”
Elena gave a shuddery chuckle. She didn’t know if she could live through another session like that, but she was absolutely sure she would never see sundaes in quite the same way. She would never be able to look at one without remembering this night and the wicked things Chase Ramsey could do with a bit of whipped cream, chocolate sauce and his tongue.
Oh, that tongue!
“But we aren’t finished yet,” he said.
Scraping his teeth along her jaw and biting her earlobe, he reached into the nightstand drawer for a condom. He tore open the packet and sheathed himself, all without taking his focus from her neck and shoulder. Settling more fully into the cradle of her thighs, he found her feminine opening and sank inside in one long, sleek movement.
She was already wet and more than ready for his entry. Only moments ago, she’d thought herself ruined for ever again experiencing an ounce of pleasure. But she’d underestimated the power of Chase’s mode of persuasion.
He was ruthless, taking no prisoners. There was no slow