Page 57 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

Four windows down she stopped. Drawing in a deep breath again, she stared into the room, mesmerized by the sight of the couple.

The female half of the duo was tied to the four posts of the bed, spread-eagled and obvious in a world of her own. Between her thighs, her guy was doing some real lip action against her bare pussy. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. He licked, sucked, nibbled, and his lover's lips moved frantically as she pleaded for release.

Morganna was not a voyeur. This should not be turning her into one.

But it was. She could feel the liquid heat between her thighs as she forced herself to turn away, lower her head, and rush through the hallway. Damn, some things were just wrong. Getting turned on watching a stranger have sex was just so wrong, on so many levels.

As Morganna moved back into the main area, she kept her head down. She wasn't going to look. She didn't want to see sex. She didn't want to think about sex. She wanted to have sex.

As she moved back to Clint he caught her wrist, drawing her to his lap rather than allowing her to sit down once again. She expected to perch on his knees, but when he drew her farther back, lifting her legs over the side of his, she stared back at him in surprise.

He continued his conversation with Drage. Something about a new club Drage was considering? It was hard to keep track of the conversation when Clint's hand was stroking high on her thigh.

God, she needed a drink.

His free hand pressed her head against his shoulder while his hand stroked over the skirt to her hip.

This was so not fair. She was already so hot she was about to go up in flames. She had never had any defenses where his touch was concerned, and it was disconcerting to realize how easy it would be to lie there, to let him touch her, no matter the eyes watching them.

He was relaxed, comfortable, in this setting. And it was obvious he had done this before. Touched a woman as others watched, caressed her. Made her moan.

Morganna jerked at the sound of the soft whimper of desire that passed her lips.

"Clint, that's enough." His hand was moving beneath the edge of her skirt, his fingers caressing in small, mesmerizing circles.

At her words, he paused as his hand tightened

in her hair.

"My body," he murmured softly then. "Remember? To do as I please.

"This wasn't the agreement." No, it was the act.

She tightened as his fingers slipped beneath her skirt.

"No." Her legs tightened, her senses aware of the eyes watching.

His hand paused again.

Morganna was aware of the sudden silence of the group around them.

His hand tightened in her hair again; then his head lowered and his lips covered hers. And God, he could kiss. His lips dominated hers, his tongue ravished her mouth, and her nerve endings began to flame in need despite the eyes watching.

Morganna curled her fingers into the material of his shirt as she fought her hunger, her arousal. This wasn't the place. She was his lover, not his toy. In this arena, she would always be a toy. To him. To the men who watched her. And this arena was something Morganna would never submit to. She knew it. Clint knew it. And the enemy knew it.

She jerked back from him, scrambling from his lap as he stared up at her with a dark frown. There were too many eyes watching her. Too much lust whipping around her, inside her. Her own emotions were suddenly frightening, because she knew, to the soles of her feet, that being Clint's toy might not be so bad. And it might be all she could have, unless miracles occurred and the battle she often saw raging in his eyes stilled to acceptance.

Loving her and accepting it would be two different things with Clint. Whereas to her, they had gone hand in hand all her life.

"I said no," she repeated softly. "Not here. Not like this."

She turned on her heel and stalked across the room, back to the elevator and escape. They had discussed this. Gone through the act more than once. But as she stalked away from him, she felt the pervasive little thrill of arousal, the suspicion that perhaps she wouldn't have made a bad submissive, if Clint had been the one teaching her.

ROBERTO WATCHED THE COUPLE AS he stood in the shadows of the private hallway that led to the window rooms. He had been finishing the little bitch he had leashed several nights before when he saw her in the hallway.

Morganna Chavez. She had witnessed his men spiking the woman's drink last week and was the reason they now sat in jail, a threat to Diego Fuentes and all he worked for.

Morganna should be dead. If the bastard moving to follow her, his expression enraged, hadn't interrupted them, then she would have died beneath Roberto's knife.

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