The video captured ten minutes of her performance, focusing on the gyration of her hips, her pretty face, and most importantly, the vulnerability of her position. She wasn’t locked away in hiding. She was dancing in public for all to see.
Lydia didn’t have to voice the threat to Cole. The footage spoke for itself.
“This is where you went for five days,” he said in an eerily calm tone.
“Yes.” She’d driven seventeen hours to St. Louis to locate Cole Hartman’s heart. “Your dancer is extraordinary. Painfully beautiful. If I were into women, I would be obsessed with her, too.”
“I’m not obsessed with her.” His dark gaze snapped to hers, stony and unbreakable. “She doesn’t belong to me, Lydia. You do.”
His erection, which had lost some of its life, hardened anew. With his magnificent body laid out like an erotic buffet, rigid and vibrating, he exuded an animal magnetism that made her feel things, want things that she couldn’t freeze out.
It was impossible not to desire him. Any woman with a pulse would throw herself at his feet. So to hear him say that she belonged to him? It satisfied an ache she didn’t even know she had.
It also distracted her from the job.
He continued to stare, watching her with a brooding intensity in his eyes, the video seemingly forgotten. Why wasn’t he freaking out and asking about Danni’s safety?
Because this was Cole, always in control and one step ahead.
“She might not belong to you.” She crossed her arms, her pulse thudding. “But you belong to her.”
“My position says otherwise. You have me, Lydia.” He eased up on the rope, relaxing his limbs, unabashedly sprawled and fully erect. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”
It had to be a trap, but she was already moving toward it, kicking off her heels as she went.
The music on the video changed, increasing in crescendo. Danni’s hips would be kicking and shimmying along with the beat, but he didn’t glance at the screen, didn’t remove his eyes from Lydia.
As she reached him, she lowered to her knees and slid over his sculpted body, her hands and lips roaming everywhere, trembling and conflicted. But all the doubts in her mind couldn’t stop her from crawling up his chest and touching his beard, his rugged face, those chiseled lips.
“Closer.” Panting, he lifted his head and offered his mouth. “Give me your lips.”
As if yanked by a fist attached to her throat, she fell into him, kissing him with reckless abandon.
He growled, pushing his tongue into her mouth and taking over. Her insides turned molten as she ground down on him, rubbing her pussy against his flexing abs.
Then she broke the kiss, shocked by how wet she’d become. She was leaking all over him and rocking mindlessly, frantically, desperate to be filled.
Rope bound his arms, chest, and legs, but his hips had freedom to move, and holy sweet Jesus, did they move. He bucked beneath her, twisting and angling as if trying to reposition her, as if dead set on taking her this way.
Maybe it was a trick. Or maybe he really did want her. The video started over, blaring its music, but he never looked at it. His gaze never left her mouth.
She grabbed his face and kissed him again. He groaned, thrusting his tongue, bruising her lips, his muscles contracting and writhing beneath her.
Reaching between them, she gripped his cock and stroked him mercilessly. His entire body went rigid, his breathing choppy and urgent, as slippery strings of pre-cum coated her hand. She increased the pressure, ringing him with her thumb and forefinger until he was groaning, thrusting, panting.
“Goddamn, Lydia. Oh, fuck.” He grunted, his sinews straining and creaking the rope. “Put me inside. Right now.”
Sharp longing spilled through her, shaking, building, and hurtling her toward delirium. But it wasn’t enough.
She needed him.
Shifting backward, she clamped her thighs around his waist and brought her tender flesh against the underside of his cock. He was so fucking hard, so insanely turned on he couldn’t catch his breath.
What had sparked it? The glimpse of his dancer on the video?
With more force than was necessary, she smacked the laptop shut and shoved it away. Then she gripped his length between her legs and slammed down on him.
“Ah, God. Fuck yeah, that’s incredible.” His voice scraped, thick with desire. “Now just sit there like a good girl and let me do the fucking.”
Excitement and pleasure shimmered in her blood, heating her breasts and racing her pulse. He arched against the restraints, plowing into her, digging his cock deep, deeper, ramming into the back of her cunt.
Blissfully, maddeningly, she moaned. It felt so good it hurt, building too quickly, too viciously. He stabbed into her harder, faster, his hipbones driving into her buttocks and circling, dragging his length at new depths and angles, and shattering every nerve ending inside her.
Her fingers slid from his face to his flat nipple, her nails burying into muscle and pinning her need against his thrusts. Her other hand clung to his broad shoulder as she leaned toward his mouth, seeking.
He caught her lips, kissing her deep, then deeper with each brutal stroke of his cock. Her hands sought, and his body shook with exertion and pleasure. Somewhere in the recesses of her awareness, she knew she shouldn’t enjoy this. But his kiss generated a craving in her neglected heart. As arousing as it was terrifying, she couldn’t separate her emotions. She could not stop.
She needed more. More of his hunger. More of his kisses. More of his hot, hard maleness sliding and flexing against her.
And he gave it to her, deeper, harder, fucking her mouth as passionately as he fucked between her legs. They were sweat and spit, feral lust and smacking flesh. Together, they were explosive. Unstoppable. Dangerous as hell.
He thrust again and again, the heat so fierce, the sensations so shockingly uninhibited, she burned. Melting from the inside out, she clutched at the rigid muscles of his arms and sank into his strokes.
His aggressive kisses held their mouths together. She opened to him, her lips and thighs, welcoming the invasion, inviting him to take and touch as he wished.
She wanted his hands on her, groping and bruising. She needed his arms around her, wrenching her closer. But he was still restrained. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hold her, and she resented that.
His teeth caught her lips, biting wildly, the kiss breaking and reconnecting with the frenzy of their hunger.
“I have a weakness,” he grunted against her mouth.
“Only one?”
“Right now, it’s the only one that matters.” His hands balled into fists above his head, his eyes locked on hers. “Give me your ass.”
“You want to fuck my ass?” Her breath fled. “That’s your weakness?”
“You have no idea.” A shudder ran through him. “You’re so goddamn hot, so unbelievably slick and greedy. The tight fist of your cunt…” He snapped his hips, hammering into her. “Fuck, you make me crazy. I can’t even imagine what your little asshole would do to me.”
A gaping, throbbing sensation ignited between her legs, dripping, swelling, aching to be punished.
“Jesus.” He gasped. “I can feel you clenching. You want it. Christ, I knew you wouldn’t pass up a dick in your ass.”
“You’re so fucking kinky.” She stretched over him, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, with her hands braced on his restrained arms. “I want your dick in my ass.”