TangledBound (8 page)

She froze. “Wait—”

“Push against me, Melly. It’ll be easier.” He worked against
her pucker, wetting the tight entrance and coaxing her to let him in. Finally
she took his meaning and with a short, ragged breath, she opened enough that
his fingertip slid inside.

Her low moan snapped another thin line of resolve. Unable to
look at her still-red ass and maintain control, he closed his eyes. A powerful
flood of sensation washed over him and he knew he was screwed. He could drown
in her scent, which was bright and sunny and brought her playful eyes to mind.

The mental image acted like a pitcher of ice water down his
pants. Shocked back to sanity, Sam jerked away from her before he succumbed to
weakness and tasted her. Melanie rolled to her side and reached for him.

He shook his head and looked away. “No. This has to stop
now.”

Shocked silence answered him.

Fully aware of how badly he’d fucked up, he gathered her in
his arms and stood. Not even permitting himself a glance at the bed he’d been
sleeping in, he carried her into the bathroom, kicked the toilet seat cover
down and sat on the lid. She clutched fistfuls of his shirt while he got the
water going. The bathroom quickly filled with steam.

“Sam,” she whispered. “Why?”

“Because we’re not lovers and that wasn’t supposed to be
foreplay,” he bit out.

More silence and she started to shake. The water level in
the tub rose with excruciating slowness.

Sam manhandled his head into a responsible place, separating
the part of his brain that desperately wanted her—couldn’t have her—from the
part that knew he had an obligation to repairing her mental and emotional
states. He stroked her hair and thigh until she stopped trembling and he had
enough self-control that he could look at her without imagining her spread wide
beneath him.

He pushed her hair off her forehead and tilted her face
toward him. The glassy sheen of need in her eyes made him forget what he was
going to say. His search for words came up nearly empty but he did manage to
ask, “All right?”

She swallowed hard. “I…sure. Fine.”

He nodded. “The water’s hot. It’ll help.”

A small frown furrowed her brow. She looked away from him
and blinked at the bath. Once he was satisfied she’d oriented with her
surroundings, Sam carefully lowered her into the deep water. The big spa-style
tub nearly overwhelmed her petite frame. He kept his arm behind her shoulders
to prevent her from sinking under the water and guided her hand to one of the
safety rails. “Hold on to this for me. I’m going to wash your hair.”

She nodded and wrapped her fingers around the rail but
didn’t say anything or make eye contact. Sam grabbed a plastic cup off the sink
and used it to wet her hair. Melanie sat quietly while he shampooed and rinsed.
By the time he finished, she sat upright on her own, knees drawn to her chest
and arms around her legs.

He reached for a hand towel to dry her hair.

She shook her head and shifted away. “I can do it.”

The small quality of her voice chilled the back of his neck.
He held the towel another minute. “I know you can but you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Could you, um…will you wait in the other room?”
She cleared her throat. “I’d like you to wait in the other room.”

Sam left a bath towel on the toilet lid and gave her
privacy. When would he learn that real, three-dimensional women weren’t for
him? Not for years, now.

He should stick with trained subs when his resolve weakened
to this point. One of the thrill seekers who frequented the club. They didn’t
want him for who he was, but at least he wouldn’t break any of them. Or he
wouldn’t give a damn if he did.

Chapter Seven

Melanie lingered in the bath until the water grew cold and
cleared her head. Doing her best to ignore the physical craving that raged
through her, she tried to solve the puzzle of the day’s events.

Sam wanted her. She knew he did, no matter what he claimed.
His body responded to hers, his eyes were hot when he looked at her, and that
line about foreplay was a big fat load of bullshit that he probably didn’t even
believe himself. He
wanted
her. So why wouldn’t he accept what she
offered?

Maybe she was better off being turned away. The intensity of
his way…her whole body heated and her pussy softened all over again. Closing
her eyes, she leaned back against the tub wall and slid her hands between her
legs.

Recalling the sensation of Sam holding her down and
demanding she divulge details of her sexual past made her blood pound in her
ears. She circled her clit, afraid to get too close to the hypersensitive spot,
afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle physical contact after lingering so long
in this overly aroused state. Just as she worked up the courage to touch that
tender place, a knock on the hotel room door stayed her hand.

Melanie suppressed a frustrated growl and gave up. While Sam
answered the door, she climbed from the bath and wrapped herself in the fluffy
white robe provided by the hotel…which was a horrible mistake. The robe smelled
like Sam’s aftershave. Her core clenched and the fire of need drove her out
into the hotel room just as Sam closed the door on the visitor. When he turned,
their eyes locked.

For a brief moment, she could read his unguarded expression.
Sexual hunger etched harsh lines at either side of his lips. He dropped his
gaze to a spot below her chin and his nostrils flared, the uncontrolled
response so feral that her inner muscles contracted hard enough to push cream
from her pussy. Her response to him was so powerful, she took a step back.

Sam countered the move, and before she knew quite how it
happened, she stood with her back flat against the wall. Barely daring to
breathe, she balled her hands into fists and waited.

He fingered the edges of her robe for a minute before
abruptly yanking them together across her chest. As if the action liberated him
from some invisible chain, he finally looked up from her chest and met her
eyes. His gaze bored into her, pinning her to the wall, and he said, “You have
to put that look away.”

Melanie frowned. Not what she expected him to say. “What
look?”

His focus dropped to her mouth. “The one that says you still
want me to fuck you.”

She licked her suddenly dry lips and whispered, “I do still
want you.”

Sam shuddered visibly. Still holding the edges of her robe,
his fist at the base of her throat, he planted his other hand on the wall
beside her head and leaned in close. His breath warmed her cheek and he spoke
directly into her ear. “What do I have to do to get you to stop?”

This close, she didn’t need the trace of aftershave
lingering in his bathrobe. Sam’s masculine scent drowned her senses. Her head sagged
against the wall, too heavy for her neck. When his lips grazed her jaw, she
feared her legs would give out.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think past her body’s
maddening demand for his touch. Tried to come up with something clever and
blithe, but the only words she found were, “You want me. Why won’t you take
me?”

He raised his head and released her robe. Melanie swallowed,
both relieved and disappointed at once. His proximity overwhelmed her but some
part of her loved the residual helplessness. She released a slow breath…and
choked on the next one as she felt Sam’s warm hand engulf her bare breast. Her
nipple responded instantly, hard before she could make her lungs work again.

“You’re too young,” he muttered. Anger fueled his words and
guided his fingers on the sensitive peak. “Too eager. Too responsive. Too damn
innocent. Untrained. Breakable.”

She opened her eyes and started to counter his complaints
but Sam chose that moment to shove her robe aside, plump her breast high and
lean down to suck her nipple into his mouth. Her argument fled, replaced by a
wordless gasp. She reached for him but Sam caught her before she made more than
fleeting contact. Bracketing her wrists with his free hand, he pinned her hands
against the wall above her head. His teeth scored her flesh, a painful
sharpness that made her whimper and jerk, but she had nowhere to go.

Sam raked his blunt fingernails down her side, turning her
whimper into a low cry of surprise. She tried to squirm away but he trapped her
hips by jamming his thigh between her legs. His cock bulged against her
hipbone, hard and prominent, and if she had any doubt about his physical
response to her, his thick length divested her of it.

He let go of her nipple, leaving a stinging ache in the wake
of his brutal kiss. “I don’t want you.”

But he untied the belt of her robe and shifted away far
enough to push his hand between her legs. He cupped her pussy, separated the
folds as if they were no stronger a barrier than tissue paper, and held her
like that—spread open, naked to his view. And he was looking. Melanie couldn’t
tear her gaze from his face. Hunger carved grooves at the corners of his eyes,
left the outline of his lips white. She knew the moment his restraint buckled,
had only a heartbeat to prepare before he gave her clit a savage little twist.

White hot, release pierced to her core. She stopped
breathing as her muscles convulsed and her inner walls clamped down hard,
searching for something to ground her. Sam pressed the pad of his thumb against
her abused nub, forcing another wave of pleasure-pain, and worked a single
finger into her desperately grasping pussy. Her body acted against her, the
fast, hard contractions coming counter-time to Sam’s deep, slow thrusts. What
he did to her—

“Beg me to stop,” Sam rasped, his voice thick and deep.

What he did to her bypassed every one of her personal
control centers. She tried to command her body to calm but he demanded more of
her, dragged more from her.

She closed her eyes and let her knees go limp, trying to
break his hold by force of gravity. He couldn’t hold her weight with his
fingers between her legs and his hand at her wrists. He’d have to release her.

Except he didn’t. Sam followed her to the floor, straddling
one of her thighs and pinning the other. With her hands free, she should have
lashed out, tried to force him away, and she did reach for him—she did—but
instead of pushing, she pulled. Her fingernails bit into his forearm and she
pulled him harder against her wet, swollen flesh.

He got down close, his lips against hers, and said it again.
“Beg me.”

Melanie lifted her head, reaching for his mouth. “Please.
Please!”

“
Beg
.” He evaded her attempt to kiss him and spoke
against her jaw. “Beg, Melanie. Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Tell me
to stop.”

Between his actions, his words and her body’s response to
his relentless touch, she hit a breaking point. Pleasure became something
terrifying and she started to cry, heaving sobs that shook her body and burned
her throat. Sam kissed her then. He changed in an instant, gently holding the
back of her head and cradling the flesh between her legs. He caught her
trembling lips in a slow, deep kiss, invading with his tongue and swallowing
her broken gasps.

Too late. She didn’t want him to kiss her anymore. She
wanted him to let her go. As soon as she found an opening, she turned her face
away. Sam stayed close, crouched above her and caging her with his bigger body.
The heat that had earlier lured her now made her feel like she was suffocating.

“Need to go,” she managed to whisper, squirming until she
could roll onto her hands and knees.

Sam’s weight pressed against her back and she froze, an
image of him mounting her sliding unbidden through her mind. Her traitorous
pussy clenched, physically responding without her conscious permission.

“I do want you.” His tone was calm, such a contrast to her
frantic emotions. “I do want you, but I won’t take you. You’ll break and even
if you do rebound, I’ll want to break you again. Find a nice boy. You deserve a
nice boy.”

A riot of conflicting emotions drove her into action.
Humiliation, fear, regret—want, because she still wanted him,
still
, and
that desire terrified her—fueled her as she scrambled from beneath him and
lunged for the clothes he’d thrown on the spare bed. Shaking, taking pains to
keep as much skin covered as possible, she dressed with lightning speed.

She could hear Sam moving behind her—running water in the
bathroom, exhaling a loud breath that she didn’t even try to interpret. Her
skin tingled painfully where his clothes touched her, which was in all the
worst places for her sanity. He still had the water running when she finished
dressing. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her leaving if she crept quietly
toward the door and closed it gently—

“Wait,” Sam said, interrupting her attempt at a stealthy
exit. He emerged from the bathroom.

Melanie’s stomach dropped. She did wait—couldn’t seem to
stop herself from obeying him—but she didn’t look up from her white-knuckled
grip on the doorknob.

“I added a second room to my account. This is the key. You
should stay there instead of roaming the halls by yourself at this time of
night. Visit the concierge in the morning when you’ll encounter more families
and fewer drunk gamblers.” He pushed an envelope at her. “Both keys are there.
I won’t have access to the room.”

In the interest of getting out of his room as soon as
possible, she accepted the envelope. Sam didn’t stop her as she opened the door
and slipped into the hall. With the door between them, she dropped the envelope
in front of his door before heading for the elevator. After that experience,
she’d take her chances with intoxicated hotel guests. She needed her own
clothes, her phone, her credit card and an immediate flight home.

Nearly twelve hours later, Melanie dragged her exhausted
body through a crowd of New York businessmen to retrieve her luggage from the
baggage claims area. While she waited for the carousel to bring her suitcase
around, she powered on her phone.

Between texts and voicemail, she had a dozen messages. David
and Jovanna had both tried to get in touch while she was in the air. She sent a
quick response to David letting him know she was back in New York, and deleted
everything else. There were messages from an unfamiliar New York number that she
couldn’t bring herself to read, deep down knowing they were from Sam.

During her flight, she’d decided she wouldn’t ask for
anything else for the rest of her entire life if God would just make sure she
didn’t have to see Sam Fletcher ever again.