Wicked Burn (10 page)

 

 

Vic resisted a powerful urge to touch himself when he saw the whites of Niall’s large eyes as she stared at him. He had another urge, a darker one, to straddle her chest and give her one hell of a face fucking. She looked incredibly lovely lying there—his little captive—sexy, aroused, and just a bit anxious about what was going to happen next . . .

“Niall,” he said. He waited until she stared into his face.

“Do you trust me?”

Niall looked into his piercing gray eyes. Something seemed to pass between them, something beyond a mutual message of profound, distilled lust. She nodded quickly.

The shadow of a smile pulled at Vic’s thin, well-shaped lips.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now spread your thighs nice and wide.”

His nostrils flared like a feral animal’s when she complied and he saw firsthand just how flexible Niall was. He realized he’d never had her open her shapely thighs wide for him, so he’d never known until now just how good she was at doing it. His cock throbbed greedily at the sight of her naked, spread-eagled, and tied to his bed. He couldn’t wait to get between those silky thighs.

But first . . .

He knelt over her and filled his hands with her breasts. With her hands tied over her head and her back arched slightly, they were begging Vic to pay them their due. The fleshy, milky cones and the fat red nipples really did something to him, Vic thought, distantly amused at his sharp excitement. He shifted his hips, stroking his cock along the satiny skin of her belly while he played with her breasts to his heart’s content, molding them in his palms, bouncing them, pinching the nipples.

“Damn, these are the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes leapt to her face when he heard her groan. Her cheeks were stained bright red. Her eyes shone with lust. Sweat glistened on her upper lip and forehead. She panted shallowly through parted, lush lips. He laughed shortly, thoroughly in approval of her obvious arousal, before he moved between her thighs.

He felt her eyes on him as he ran his hands down her thighs and palmed a slender calf. Her skin flowed like warm silk next to his lips when he bent and brushed them against the inside of one knee. He began to make his way up her thighs, taking his time, stroking her contours, kissing and nibbling at her honey-colored skin. He could smell her musk perfuming the air as he made his way closer to her pussy. The fact that she began to tremble and vibrate in his hands and make desperate, sexy little whimpers in her throat made him press a smile to her inner thigh.

He could easily become addicted to this woman.

He finally hovered above her pussy, shaking with desire at the anticipation of eating her again. His hands came up to cradle her restless hips, keeping her still for his attack. He flicked his tongue over her swollen labia quickly, gently. Even with such a darting caress he came away drenched with her cream.

When Vic’s brain registered that intoxicant, he lost it.

 

 

Niall felt like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. She couldn’t take the tension anymore. She couldn’t take being stretched on the rack of Vic’s singular brand of torture. She’d never been so focused on anything in her life as she was on Vic’s hands and mouth over the past several minutes. He’d taken away the possibility of fragmenting her attention from his sensual onslaught by tying her up. There was no way she could reciprocate . . . she could only take what he gave her.

Take . . . and anticipate what she would have to endure next. Take and receive.

Oh,
God
, did she receive. Her entire body had become an exquisite receptor of sensory stimuli.

Niall felt herself rise over the crest of orgasm as she watched Vic’s tongue flick ever so lightly against the sensitive folds of her outer sex. She tried to raise her hips to press herself against that elusive, teasing tongue, but he held her steady. A plea rose in her throat, but before she had a chance to release it, he abruptly plunged his stiffened tongue between her sensitive labia and licked everywhere, agitating her clit, lashing it, sucking the nerve-packed flesh without mercy.

She screamed as orgasm crashed violently into her. Her back arched off the bed. Her wrists pulled at her restraints, but she couldn’t escape Vic’s mouth. He continued to eat her, moving his jaws in a relentless rhythm, sucking her clit between his teeth, nipping, biting . . . abusing her delicate tissues.

And God, she loved it.

She writhed in an agony of pure ecstasy. The first climax that broke over her was almost too sharp to bear, but her tension level and his ruthless treatment of her hypersensitive tissues had her crashing in orgasm again almost before the spasms had waned from her previous climax.

After she’d quieted as much as she possibly could when Vic continued to slurp and suck at her, she whimpered for him to stop. She couldn’t take this anymore. Never in a million years would she have guessed that someone could make her
feel
so damn much.

 

 

Vic dimly heard her calling out to him. When he saw the desperation on Niall’s face, he forced himself to pull his tongue from between her luscious, swollen lips. He wouldn’t allow her to talk him out of plunging his tongue into her pussy several times, though, high and hard. He held her gaze while he did it. He loved how wide her eyes got as she watched his tongue fuck her almost as much as he did the flavor of her honeyed musk. She tasted so damn good that he wanted to keep it up, but his protesting cock wouldn’t let him.

He slapped her inner thigh lightly as he loomed over her.

“Spread your legs wide again,” he rasped. He grunted in appreciation when she opened her golden thighs so wide she was pretty damn near doing a split for him. Her pussy looked red and wet . . . like an invitation to his wildest fantasies. His eyes kept returning to the luscious sight while he rolled on another condom.

He knelt in front of her and lifted her up over his knees, holding her hips with one hand while the other arrowed his cock into that welcoming little tunnel. Their shouts entwined as pleasure jolted through both of them when he flexed his hips and plunged his length into her.

 

 

Vic’s gaze was on her when Niall opened her eyes after she’d absorbed the shock of his cock pushing into her body. His mouth twisted.

“Is that what you wanted, honey?” he taunted softly as he began to thrust in and out, keeping her thighs spread wide in the air. His pelvis smacked loudly and rapidly against her completely spread pussy and thighs. As exposed as she was, she felt like he stimulated every inch of her sensitive flesh . . . the defined, hard knob of his cock massaging the sweet spot deep in her body, his heavy balls slapping against moist, sensitive skin, his pelvis crashing against her tender lips and clit.

“God, yes,” she whispered breathlessly, barely able to speak as he pummeled her.

Vic’s eyes glowed with manic lust. He abruptly pushed her legs back, making her scream as he fixed her feet beneath the horizontal wrought-iron post of the bedstead.

“Keep ’em there,” he ordered before he rose over her, supporting his body on the bedstead. He pounded into her. The angle of the position that he forced her to take was as uncompromising as it was wickedly arousing. She couldn’t have maintained it for long, as hard as Vic drove into her, but Niall could tell by the fierce, wild expression on his face that his orgasm loomed.

“Fuck
yeeaaahhh!
” he grated out as he hammered into her one last time. He clenched his eyes shut and groaned in agonized pleasure.

Niall felt a genuine level of discomfort as she felt him swell inside her vagina. But by the time she felt him throb in climax within her, the angle making the sensation of him coming even more potent than ever before, her lust overcame her pain. She pressed against him tighter, tilting her hips up rhythmically to get the pressure she needed.

And she was exploding right there with him.

“Ah, baby,
that’s so good
,” he muttered. He pumped her hard throughout his orgasm. Finally, his upper body sagged against the bedstead as exhaustion overcame him.

Niall blinked her eyes open and took in the expression on his face. She released her feet. “Untie me, Vic,” she whispered. “I want to touch you.”

“Sorry,” he grunted sheepishly.

“Where are you going?” Niall asked in stunned disbelief when he suddenly got off her and stood.

“Hold your horses. I’ll be right back,” he assured her. He came back a few seconds later, carrying a large pair of scissors.

“Vic, what the hell . . . ?”

“Calm down,” he muttered with a grin. “It’s the only way I’m gonna get you loose. I tied off a tight fucker.”

She gasped when he matter-of-factly cut his belt in half, freeing her wrists and making the buckle clank loudly as it fell on the iron bed.

“Your belt is ruined,” she murmured huskily. She held out her arms for him. He tossed aside the scissors and clambered onto the bed.

“You think I care? That was a damn better use for a piece of leather than holding up my pants any time,” he said through a widening grin that he pressed repeatedly to her neck. She chuckled softly and lifted her hands to touch the smooth skin over his solid shoulder muscles. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sublimity of the sensation. A satisfied lethargy pervaded her. Because he let her indulge so infrequently in touching his beautiful body at her leisure, she appreciated doing it exponentially.

She sighed deeply.

Vic raised his head at the sound. She watched him through the narrow slit of eyelids that grew heavier by the second. She registered that he smiled . . . not wide, but enough for her to see his crooked front tooth.

And then she succumbed to a deep, profound sleep.

 

 

The sharp, staccato cracking noise of gunshots followed by a muffled cry of terror—

Niall started into hyperalertness, knowing immediately that the sound of distress had been her own. She experienced this too frequently to think otherwise. Instinct told her that she lay alone in Vic’s bed. A beam of light glowed through a crack in the bedroom door. She rose and fumbled for her shirt and panties on the floor.

She noted her perspiration-glazed face when she looked into the mirror in Vic’s bathroom. This, too, came as no surprise. The nights that she didn’t awaken with her heart pounding in fear and her body drenched in sweat were becoming less frequent.

Still, good nights were the exception, not the rule.

She wet a washcloth with cool water and used the soap at the sink to repair the aftereffects of her nightmare and several rounds of phenomenal sex.

It was nice to think of their lovemaking while her body still tried to recover from the bad dream. Her hand slowed as she washed her thighs. The slight soreness and tingling sensation at her breasts and sex strangely satisfied her instead of striking her as unpleasant.

A few moments later she padded barefoot into Vic’s living room. She paused next to the end of the couch when she saw him. She studied him while he worked, completely unaware of her presence.

He wore only a pair of black sweats tied low on his lean hips. His dark brown hair fell on his forehead as he leaned over in deep concentration. What looked like a typed manuscript lay in his lap. Other pieces of paper and tablets were scattered on the coffee table in front of him. He occasionally wrote on the pages with quick, almost angry movements of his pencil or turned a page briskly.

His glasses intrigued her. How could such a big, masculine man who looked like he would thrive in the brisk outdoors doing hard manual labor look so natural wearing glasses while he worked at his art with total focus?

A strange, unwelcome feeling overcame her. At that moment Vic Savian seemed so vast to her. She’d come to know only the tiniest part of him . . . the outer limits of the universe of his character.

Niall didn’t think that she’d moved or made a sound, but suddenly his chin shifted and his eyes pinned her. A feeling overcame her that took her a moment to recognize.

Shyness?
She laughed at herself for that. Why would that feeling overwhelm her at
this
moment and not when he’d tied her to his bed and had his way with her as he had earlier?

“I’m sorry, I saw the light. I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said in a hushed voice that paid tribute to the early morning hour.

“Come here,” Vic said after a moment of silence.

Niall came around to sit on the sofa. She’d just seen something in his usually impassive expression that amazed her.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you? About the opening of your play next week?” she asked as she sat and folded her legs beneath her.

He yanked off his glasses and pressed his fingers into his clenched eyelids. Niall could almost feel the burn he must be experiencing. Had he slept at all?

“I always get nervous, but this fucking monster is gonna flop hard enough to give me whiplash. Forget about the damage it might do to the unsuspecting public,” he muttered after a few seconds.

He glanced up sharply when Niall chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked sourly.

Niall refused to be cowed by his scowl. She’d been around artists since her undergraduate days, which meant she had plenty of exposure to the artistic temperament. “I just had this image of you madly flipping switches at a control panel behind the eyes of some kind of raging Godzilla monster. I have a feeling the citizens of Chicago will survive, Vic.”

He stared coldly at her a few seconds before he exhaled, the taut muscles of his abdomen relaxing slightly. “Not so sure I will, though.”

“You always have before.”

“That’s debatable,” he replied sullenly. His expression shifted as if he’d heard himself and hadn’t cared for the sound. He wore a small, sheepish grin by the time his gaze met hers. She returned the smile.