Page 38 of Whatever Lola Wants

“Yeah,” she panted, staring up at him. “You can get off me now.”

“Not so fast. I want my prize.”

Oh, my. “Your prize? I won’t call you Big Dick Hastings anymore. That’s what I bet, that’s what you get.”

“Uh-uh.” His eyes were fierce, brutally bright. “I want more.”

The laughter and lust and dark, dark desire all tangled together inside her in a bubbling brew. She dragged in a breath, the weight of him pinning her down and compressing her lungs. She didn’t care. “You want more?” she breathed, voice husky with lust as she bucked against him. “You can have more. But you’re going to have to take it.”

His eyes flashed a warning, but it was already too late. His mouth came down, his teeth nipped at her bottom lip so hard she yelped, and his tongue drove into her open mouth to possess.

She moaned into his mouth as his tongue speared deep, stroking and licking and making her head spin. She released his wrists, hands coming up to spear into the thick mane of his hair, but before she could grab hold, his hands were yanking hers away and pressing them down over her head.

“Keep them there,” he growled and released them.

“No,” she hissed and grabbed at his head again.

The growl that rumbled up from his chest reverberated through her—she’d swear she felt it in the pit of her belly where it mixed with the heat and the need already swimming there. He yanked her hands back, slamming them down on the floor hard enough to bruise. “Keep. Them. There.”

All she could see was his eyes, the pale gold of his irises, a thin ring around pupils dilated wide with desire. His mouth was so close, soft and wet and slightly swollen from kissing her. She lifted her head the scant inch needed to reach it and closed her teeth over his bottom lip. “Make me.”

He switched his grip to hold her wrists in one big hand and reached out with the other. When he’d taken her down, they’d landed fairly close to the edge of the rug where his pile of clothes sat, and now he snagged the belt he’d tossed aside.

She concentrated on breathing as he quickly, deftly, wrapped the canvas strap around her wrists, cuffing her as effectively with cotton webbing as he would have with steel or leather. He released her hands and she immediately lifted them, laughing when he slammed them back down.

At this rate, she’d have to wear cuff bracelets to work tomorrow to hide the bruises.

He reached out a hand again, and she heard the scrape of wood when he dragged her coffee table closer. He tied the ends of the belt around the leg of the table, then grabbed her hips and yanked her down, stretching her between the table and the press of his hips so her arms were pulled taut.

She gave an experimental yank, but the table was heavy, and she was well and truly caught.

Dark heat bloomed when he chuckled. “Now,” he said, “I’m taking my prize.”

His mouth came down on hers, kissing her so hard and deep her head went fuzzy and her hips arched, mindlessly seeking more pressure. But the barriers of her panties and his briefs kept her from the penetration she wanted, and she whined in frustration.

He laughed, his lips shifting from hers to the sensitive hollow behind her ear. “We’ll get there, baby,” he rumbled, making her shiver and yank reflexively on her hands. She got nowhere, and whined again.

His lips drifted down her neck, nibbling and licking his way to the valley between her breasts. “Sorry about this,” he muttered, reaching out to fumble with his pants, and she frowned. If he was going to be sorry, she was going to have to kick his ass.

“Sorry about what?” she asked, then looked down at the quiet slick of steel. The knife flashed, light bouncing off the blade as he slid it between her heated skin. She gasped at the chill, then gasped again when he jerked the knife up, slicing cleanly through her bra so it peeled away from her damp skin to bare her breasts.

“I hope this underwear doesn’t hold any sentimental value,” he commented, shifting the blade to the strap at her left shoulder. It fell away under the keen edge of the blade, and she held perfectly still while he moved the knife to her right shoulder, and the bra fell away to the floor.

“It might now,” she managed.

He folded the knife closed with a laugh, tossed it on the coffee table with a clatter, and dipped his head to her breast.

He didn’t tease, didn’t play. He took. He suckled hard, his hand clamping onto her breast and pushing it up, a feast for his mouth. Tiny prickles of sensation—pain and pleasure, hot and cold—seemed to radiate outward from his mouth, tingling in her arms, in the slightly bruised softness of her lips, down into her belly where tension was gathering. Into the deepest part of her, waiting, clenching and empty, for him.

He switched his attention to the other breast, his fingers plucking and tugging at the one he just left, keeping the sensation at peak. She writhed with it, twisting under his hands, under the weight of him until he growled and bit down, and the lash of pain made her cry out.

He released her breast and reared back to hook his fingers in the waistband of her panties. He yanked them down and off, then shoved her legs wide and slid down to wedge his shoulders between them. Panting, she lifted her head, and he spared her one blazing look before his hands clamped on her thighs and his mouth latched onto her clit.

Oh Jesus oh God oh Jesus. Her head dropped back, his voracious mouth shooting her need to critical level. She panted, hands tugging uselessly at her bonds, hips trying to pump up to get more, harder, faster, but he held her still, pinned and helpless.

The mind fuck of it all was almost as arousing as the feel of his tongue on her clit.

Her pussy clenched, achingly empty as the tension wound higher and higher, tighter and tighter. She felt the beginning flutters, her breath catching as he held her poised there on the edge, waiting, waiting…and he clamped down on her clit and released one thigh to shove two fingers into her eager cunt, and with a hoarse scream she exploded.

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