Page 20 of Season of Seduction

He’d said elegant, so she put on the best dress she’d brought—a flirty black number with a fluttering skirt excellent for dancing. She gelled her hair into spiraling curls and added dangling gold earrings. Black eye

liner, much thicker than she usually went for, and a deep red lipstick she’d bought on impulse and never worn. She looked surprisingly good, considering the extended crying jag. But she felt light and unburdened, leaving a happiness behind that shone through in her bright eyes and tanned skin.

No one from home would recognize her and the idea oddly pleased her.

* * *

Miguel greeted her with a glass of champagne, his keen gaze assessing her. “You look spectacular. Still up for more?”

She tossed back the wine with a grin. “You haven’t scared me off yet. You look most handsome yourself.”

He wore a black suit this time, cut in lean lines, with a gleaming ebony tie against a matching matte silk shirt. An expensive-looking belt circled his hips, wicked leather with a dark inlaid buckle. Seeing her notice it, he stroked his fingers along the braided surface and smiled suggestively. “For the final spanking. So you can be prepared this time.”

She wished she hadn’t guzzled the champagne, because she could really use another sip. Desire rushed through her, clean and hot. “Maybe we should just stay in.”

He took the glass from her and set it on the counter. “Turn around.”

Was he going to do it now? Her heart stuttered, but she did as he said, closing her eyes when he drew down the back zipper of her dress and let it slip down her body to pool on the floor.

“No underwear,” he instructed and set the jewelry and vibrator boxes on the counter, then poured them both more champagne. Taking his, he sat on the couch, crossing his long legs. “Strip, give me your bra and panties, then put your jewelry on.”

Feeling a bit like the floor show, she stood naked but for her heels and applied the nipple rings and clit clamp to herself for the first time. It wasn’t as easy as it looked and she would have been a little embarrassed by her fumbling if he hadn’t watched her with such avid hunger in his face, idly toying with his belt buckle. Instead of abating his intensity, their escalating games only seemed to be bringing out the wolf in Miguel. He hardly resembled the worn and slightly frazzled lawyer she’d met on the plane.

As soon as she inserted the bullet, he slipped a hand in his pocket and clicked it on to a low level. Then he tossed back the rest of his glass and stood. “What are you waiting for?” He grinned at her. All the better to eat you with. “Put your dress back on. We can hardly go dancing with you naked, tempting as the image might be.”

Flustered, having forgotten entirely about dancing, she pulled the dress on and waited, almost shyly, for him to zip it up. In the elevator, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her temple. With the other hand, he cupped her breast through the silk, compressing the ring around her nipple so that she squirmed against him, his warm chuckle huffing against her skin.

“You delight me, Roo. Have I told you that? An unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m feeling rather delighted myself,” she answered, pleased and flattered. Odd how the nature of their fling allowed them to be honest with each other in a way she rarely found in relationships. No expectations or tests for future longevity. Eight more days of pleasuring each other and they’d move on. It allowed for a kind of openness she could rarely afford.

The evening passed in an erotic haze. Miguel kept the bullet at least on low, sometimes kicking it up during a slow dance, supporting her while she concentrated on not coming—something made infinitely more difficult by the way he whispered wicked suggestions in her ear, while nipping her lobe with sharp teeth.

They ate, drank and danced under the stars, Miguel treating her with a casual sexual ferocity and extravagant romance that combined into a heady mix that overcame her as much as the titillation of the clamps and bullet. He held her close, running casual hands over her hips, reminding her what they both knew, that she was naked but for an easily removed dress and that it was because he wanted her that way.

Sometime long after midnight—technically breaking the rules, but she wasn’t going to point that out—they rode up in the elevator and Miguel slipped his fingers around her wrist, tightening there.

The doors opened into the quiet penthouse and he led her into it, then pressed her to her knees without a word. Something about his unspoken commands affected her more deeply than anything else. As if what went between them was beyond words.

Her arousal screaming up to another level entirely, she knelt and watched him unbuckle the belt, looping the soft leather around his hand.

Now she knew what it would be like and already part of her craved the high. She wanted this, even though her already sore bottom burned at the thought of still more punishment. He tapped the end of the belt thoughtfully against one palm, his anticipation barely restrained. Then, flicking a finger at her, indicated she should remove the dress.

It wasn’t easy, without his help with the zipper, but he seemed to enjoy watching her movements. When she was naked, dress tossed aside, he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his expensive leather shoes. Obligingly she spread her thighs, unable to tear her gaze from the tapping leather. He guided her hands behind her neck and stroked her back so she arched it, thrusting out her breasts, gilded by the tight gold rings. The room was so silent she thought she could hear the gentle surf, stroking the shore.

After an interminable time during which she posed for him, he urged her onto her hands and knees and, with a startling crack of the leather on her upturned ass, sent her crawling to the bedroom. The belt licked at her as she crawled, her nipples and clit unbearably swollen against the clamps, and she thought she might never get there, trying to race ahead of the whipping belt that drove her, mindlessly, to his bed.

She crawled onto it, panting, but not in tears like before. Instead, this time, each crack of the leather on her skin seemed like gasoline on fire. Lying face-down, she writhed on the cool sheets, almost welcoming the sting, keening along with it, anticipating the pleasure to follow.

“Kneel up,” he growled and she became aware that he’d stopped. Scrambling up, she knelt on the bed facing him. He held the belt in front of her face and, without knowing why, she kissed it. Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the leather around her neck, loosely threading the belt through the buckle so it dangled between her aching breasts.

Slowly, he stripped out of the suit, and she watched with famished patience. Naked, he rolled a condom onto his erection, laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her inexorably back, so that, with her knees still bent under her, her back arched. Holding her like that, he plucked the rings from her nipples with his teeth, keeping her still while she writhed and whimpered. His hand delved between her legs, pulled out the bullet and snapped away the clit clamp in one nearly brutal move.

He plunged into her while she was still recovering, pulling her trapped feet from under her and thrusting her knees high as he pounded into her. She clung to his shoulders, transfixed by the feral light in his eyes, letting herself be taken.

“Sing, little bird. Come for me and sing your sweet song.”

Giving into the orgasm like she gave into him, she gave voice to the raw intensity of her pleasure.

---