Page 24 of Naughty Bedtime Stories

Something raw and primal inside him mingled with something unfamiliar, something that tightened his chest, something he didn’t want to feel. Suddenly eager to bring the night into proper focus, to remind himself, and her, that tonight was about pleasure—the kind he was now quite certain she’d never experienced—Blake pulled Kim into his arms. Molded her body to his, his hand firmly sliding over her lower back and the curve of her lush backside.

“Do you know why I brought you here tonight?” he asked her, a rough edge to his voice from the pure need for this woman.

She swallowed, her hands settling on his chest, and searing him with her touch. He didn’t remember the last time a simple touch had thickened his cock and expanded his zipper, but he was thick and pulsing. He was downright urgent in his need for Kim—sweet little Kim who had no idea how sexy she was.

“Something about sensual exploration, if I remember correctly,” she replied, her voice soft, feminine,arousing.

“That’s right,” he agreed, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, his eyes brushing her invitingly parted lips. “When we travel beyond the doorway behind me, every room holds an erotic treasure, a little bit darker, a little bit more erotic.” He began to lower his head, his pulse chasing hot blood through his veins. “And we will get to know each other just a little bit more.” He brushed his lips over hers, forcing himself to hold back, to take things slowly. “Discover each other a little more intimately.” He slanted his mouth over hers, tasting her deeply, his tongue caressing hers in a long sensual glide. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the delicate, erotic sound, deepening the kiss even further, and then nipping her bottom lip.

“We only go as far as you want to go, Kimberly. At any time, all you have to do is say you want to stop, you want to go back. That includes now. Say the word, and we’ll join the public event, and leave the exploration for someone else.”

Chapter Three

Kim didn’t want to leave the exploration for someone else. She didn’t want to leave Blake for someone else. Kissing him had stirred a deep need in her, a need that superseded nerves, though she still had an abundance of those, for sure. She blinked up at Blake, stared into his heated gaze, and though she wasn’t quite sure what to expect in the next room, or even the next, she had to know. She had to be bigger than her inhibitions.

“I’ve never been one to run from a good treasure hunt,” she said finally. Her hand rested on Blake’s chest, and she could feel his heart charge into action at her words, telling her he liked what she’d said, telling her he wasn’t as composed and cool as he appeared. It expanded her confidence, and she added, “Lead the way.”

A slow smile slid onto his lips, and something rawly sexual flickered across his face before he drew her hand to his mouth. The touch of his lips sent a shiver down her spine, then a tingle up her legs to the V of her body. She was wet from a simple kiss, a touch, a promise of more—needy like she’d never been needy before, and the man had barely touched her. Maybe it was years of repressed sexuality, maybe it was simply that Blake was the man who stirred the woman in her. She didn’t care which it was. She didn’t want to think enough to care. Because thinking came with consequences, with reasons not to do this, and she wished to have no part of either, not tonight, not with Blake.

He led her toward the doorway, her heart thundering in her chest, and suddenly her thinking kicked in. What if she’d misjudged him? What if there were whips and chains, and leather awaited and… He opened the door and backed inside, tugging her with him, then surprised her by pulling her close before she could fully see the room. A low rumble of male laughter filled her ears, his strong hand running down her bare back.

“Relax,” he urged, his fingers playing with one of her many curls. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” He leaned in and kissed her neck, nibbling near her ear and then slowly turned her to face the room. “We’re alone. Just you, me and the art.” His hard body framed hers, his hand on her stomach. “This is a private showing where you and I are the only spectators.”

Somehow, Kim blinked the room into view, a room filled with erotic sculptures and paintings—all of Egyptian heritage. There were no chains or leather, and really it had been silly to think there would be. This man was most definitely a tie-you-down-with-silk-and-seduction kind of guy, if she judged him correctly.

“Calmer now?” he queried softly.

Calmer? She didn’t think so. Not unless you called the growing ache between her legs and the tightness in her nipples calm, which she didn’t. But he was talking about her nerves. “A little.”

He chuckled deep and low, sexy. “At least you’re honest.” He moved to face her again, his hands on her waist. “I don’t bite, I promise.” His lips curved with mischief. “Not hard.” He motioned her forward. “Let me tell you about the art. Or you tell me about it. You seem to have quite a knack for history.”

She nodded, recognizing and appreciating his efforts to ease her nerves and take things slow. He led her to the first statue of a naked woman feeding a man grapes. A series of similar sculptures followed. He touched her often as they toured two similar rooms—held her hand, stroked her arm, settled his hand on her waist—sending warm sensations through her body. Even more so, because somehow she knew he was getting her used to him touching her, somehow turning the areas of her body that she wouldn’t think of as sexual—like her elbow, her wrist, the small of her back—into highly sexual places. All the while he chatted about the art, the way it had been brought to the museum, the role he’d played.

The fourth room surprised her, set her heart pounding. It was a small room, not bigger than a hotel check-in booth, with a huge glass window displaying a room with a red, silk-covered bed. A woman was on top—a live, flesh-and-blood woman, who was completely naked. Her hair was blond, her lips bright red to match the sheets. She lay with her back arched, her breasts thrust forward, her legs parted. She was touching herself, and to Kim’s shock, she could see a roomful of people in stadiumlike seating on the opposite side of the glass room, watching the woman.

Blake led her to the window and stepped behind her. “Self-pleasure is an art of its own.” His hands covered hers and pressed them to her ribcage, right above her stomach, then slid them upward, over her breasts—her hands, his hands. “Don’t you agree?”

Kim bit back a moan, aroused, but worried the group of people or another group might be watching her…them. “Blake. I—” He stroked her nipples with a combination of her fingers and his.

Her womb clenched, her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “Wait, we…I don’t want them—”

“They can’t see us,” he said near her ear, and then trailed his lips down her shoulder. “Only the woman can see us.” His used his teeth to slide her strap off her shoulder.

“This isn’t like any art gallery I’ve ever visited,” she whispered.

His fingers slid her second strap down her arm, his teeth nipped the delicate skin where it had been. “This one is owned by a private, members-only club called the Society. None of the invitation-only guests enter the private showing rooms like this one unless they’re with a Master in the Society.”

She swallowed hard, realization washing over her—he was telling her he was a Master, and she knew just enough to envision leather and whips again. She should be running. Why was she barely containing the urge to lean back and press herself against him? “You’re a Master.”

“That’s right,” he agreed.

“And that means?” She sounded breathless even to her own ears.

“It means,” he said, his voice low, etched with a gravelly quality, “I’ll see to your pleasure and mine, but you have to be willing to give yourself to the experience, and to me.” He turned her to face him, pressed her back against the window. Framed her legs with his, and pressed his hands to the side of her head on the window. He wasn’t touching her. She wanted him to touch her, wanted it in a desperate way. She could barely breathe. The man was pure male power and sexuality, and she wanted him.

His hands went to the window above her, his body pressed away from hers. “Or you can tell me to stop, and I’ll take you home. So…stay or go?”

Her heart skipped a beat. This would be so much easier if he’d just kissed her and seduced her into agreement. He was making her do what she’d never done before—claim her pleasure, her sexuality, her experience. Yet, he was also offering her the chance to let him take control, to let him guide her. Remarkably, she’d never felt as sexy, as sensual, as she did in that moment. This incredible man not only wanted her, he was giving her the perfect combination of give and take, exactly everything she wanted and needed.

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