Come and Get Me Page 11

  “Hold on,” he told her, and then he began to lift, withdrawing exquisitely slowly, causing ripples of pleasure—rings up and down her canal, up and down the whole of her body. They were almost orgasms, but not quite—each one a distinct pulse. Eleesha clung to him, her hands gripping those strong shoulders. If he should abandon her now…

  Trust. He will see this through. He won’t leave.

  Ross pulled himself out, nearly to the tip, displaying that perfect ramrod discipline he’d spoken of. Everything about him was alert, at attention, straight and beautifully masculine. No better case could be made for why he was the one in charge here.

  I worship this man, she thought. I always have. From the first time she had seen him at football practice, in his shorts and sleeveless half T-shirt, laughing with his teammates, tossing the ball, encouraging them and kidding with them. It wasn’t just his body that had gotten to her, or his handsome face. Not just the neatly trimmed hair and rounded muscles, nor the sheen of sweat on his skin—although yes, she wanted to run to him and fawn and be pretty and hope for him to take her as a lover. It went deeper. Ross Maclean was a leader. Everyone else respected him. The team was drawn to him.

  Something inside of him spoke to things more meaningful than just winning and losing football games. Ross Maclean was the genuine article. A real hero. When she’d read of his injury—that he wouldn’t play anymore—it had hurt her as badly as anything in her own life. It was a double wound, because she felt both his physical and emotional pain. It had been the death of his dream to be in the Super Bowl, a plunge into a place of low, dark anguish. She’d felt it from the start, the agony of crashing to the field, of having his bones and muscles give way.

  She’d cried for Ross, over the newspaper, though she had never told a living soul.

  How did she reconcile all that emotion, the complex history they’d shared with what was happening now? That she was underneath him on a beach under his complete and total command.

  “Not yet,” Ross shook his head. And he invaded her again. She was on a razor’s edge. How could she not come, unless she somehow gave herself over, her very will?

  “Ross,” she whispered, pressing her aching breasts. “I’m yours.”

  She meant for now, for this, not for all time. It was a distinction, however, she was in no position to make.

  He stopped halfway, every muscle as rigid as iron. “Move,” he ordered. “Show me.”

  Her moans were deep and shattering, barely audible. What he was asking was impossible, and yet she had no choice. He wanted her to lift, to writhe, to give him pleasure, to allow him proof that she was indeed conquered.

  Drawing a stabbing breath, she impaled herself…can’t come, she grimaced. Squeezing and releasing her muscles, she gave his cock the stimulation every man enjoyed.

  “More,” Ross said.

  Eleesha pushed her breasts toward him. Propped up on her elbows, she offered them.

  He took a nipple into his mouth, slowly grinding his teeth, just hard enough to torture her with pleasure. She whimpered. How much longer could he hold her like this?

  “More,” Ross grunted.

  “There isn’t any more,” she cried in frustration. “This is everything.”

  Ross rose to his knees, depriving her of his cock. “You’re holding back, Eleesha.”

  “No, I’m not. Please, Ross, don’t do this to me.”

  He touched his finger to her belly button. “Hold still.” He traced a line, branding her with the heat of his touch.

  Just short of her mons, he stopped. “When you can come without being touched, Eleesha, you’ll be ready.”

  “No…now, now,” she squirmed, feeling like an impetuous child.

  Ross grabbed hold of his cock. To her horror she watched as he stroked himself, smoothly and efficiently. A moment later he erupted. Thick, rich fountains of his semen arced through the air and landed on Eleesha—on her belly and breasts, and even her face.

  She cried from the loss of it. She knew what this meant. Nothing for her. Not until he was ready again.

  “You selfish bastard,” she exclaimed.

  “You understand nothing, Eleesha.” He was on his feet looking down on her, his face dark and brooding. “Go in the ocean, get yourself cleaned up.”

  She scrambled to her feet, more than happy to put some distance between them. “You’ll pay for that,” she declared.

  With that she turned and ran, splashing into the waves.

  * * * * *

  Ross watched Eleesha under the moonlight. She looked a million times more fabulous than when he’d come upon her just after sending her out of the limo. Could it be that was just an hour ago? It felt like a lifetime. She was so spectacular out there, like a nymph, her wet hair fanning about her, her rounded backside caressed by the waves. She had her hands beside her in the water, which surprised him. He’d expected to see her masturbating in revenge for what he’d done to her.

  Ross was not proud of leaving his woman in that state—aroused, with his own spilt, wasted semen covering her fair form. He hadn’t planned to impose that upon her. He wasn’t sure what had made him withdraw—physically and emotionally. A fine example he was, demanding she give all when he was still picking and choosing his moments of intimacy.

  So why wasn’t she pleasuring herself? He certainly deserved to be cut off. What message was she sending, if any? Did she wish for things to simply go on? Did she want him to pursue his unorthodox seduction? She had said he would pay for that, but how? What, if anything, did she have up her nonexistent sleeve?

  This was what had always frightened him about women—the seemingly bottomless sea of their emotions. After Ross’ father had left them, his mother had given in more and more to that internal world. In all fairness, it may have had more to do with the alcohol than with her being a woman. Through drink, she could go back again and again to the place of her deepest pain, nursing the wounds with an almost sick fascination.

  Her own father’s betrayal. Her husband’s betrayal. And the endless disappointment that her football-playing son had become. She wanted a writer, a poet—a man of intellectual substance. Ross just played harder, finding his strength among his teammates, who genuinely appreciated and needed him.

  It was no wonder he had a hard time trusting women. When Eleesha had shown that vulnerability so long ago, wanting him to stay, he had loathed her for it. At the same time, he had wanted her so. It was that fear of intimacy that had led him to give up trying in his marriage.

  And it might well stop him again here, if he let that demon win. Ironically, it was Eleesha who took the lead now, by continuing to accept the terms he’d laid down and forcing him to honor them.

  At this very moment she turned back and was heading toward him. She had the look of the devil in her eyes and a fighting sway to her bare hips, but still she was coming—straight at him.

  Oh, yeah, she was up to something all right.

  “You owe me, and before we pursue your crazy marriage scheme a second further, you are going to make things right.”

  Ross put his hands on his hips, genuinely intrigued. “And how exactly do you propose I do that?”

  “By serving me.” She flipped her drenched locks back over her shoulder. “By tending to my pleasure.”

  Interesting.

  “Here, you mean? Now?”

  She angled an eyebrow. “You certainly didn’t have any problem earlier with taking your pleasure out here in the open for all the world to see.”

  “Point taken.”

  “You will make me come,” she said imperiously. “In whatever manner I choose.”

  He could take a wild guess what that entailed. “One orgasm,” he negotiated. “And then I reassume control.”

  “Two, and don’t push your luck.”

  “Two,” he agreed, hiding his thankfulness to have this second chance.

  “Good. You are to follow my every instruction. If you fail to obey me, then you will have to take me st
raight back to the airport. Understood?”

  Ross smiled wryly. “So that means once I’ve done what you’ve asked you’ll submit to me completely, all the way to the altar?”

  Her nose went up in the air. “No, I promise no such thing. Pleasuring me just gets you back where you started.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “Aren’t I worth it?”

  “Yes,” he replied in all seriousness. “For a fresh chance with you, I would give up everything I own. My very life.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There are no extra points for melodrama.”

  “No,” he suppressed a grin, “of course not. Shall we begin, then?”

  “Yes, we shall. To start with,” she said haughtily, “I should like to see you play with your nipples. Make them hard.”

  Ross touched each tiny nub. They were sensitive, and stimulating them brought out a side of him that was a bit more sexually passive than normal. Admittedly, there was something very hot about this gorgeous woman taking charge, at least for a little while.

  “That’s a good boy,” she teased. “Now I want you to play with your cock. I want it hard again. I want you frustrated and out of your mind like you made me.”

  Ross’ cock swelled in his hand. As much as anything, it was the sound of her voice, raspy and sexy, making his cock respond.

  “Your balls are still tight,” she observed. “You have a lot left in there.”

  “You bring out the testosterone in me,” he quipped.

  “Did I say you could talk…slave?”

  His breath quickened. “No.” He picked up on the game—the flip side of the one they usually played. “Mistress.”

  “You’re here to give pleasure, pretty boy, and don’t forget it. Maybe we’ll give you a little taste, too, of your own medicine, of the way you’ve treated so many women.”

  Ross continued to caress himself, because she hadn’t told him to stop. He was really wishing he were inside her now.

  “It’s time to pay honor to your Mistress, slave. Down on your hands and knees.”

  Ross lowered himself to all fours in the sand. His strong, compact muscles surged with a delicious sense of life. It was a strange, unexpected freedom to be under Eleesha’s control. For one thing, he could really be assured now of making her happy, of pleasing her. And that, more than anything in the world, is what gave him peace.

  “Kiss your Mistress’ foot, slave.”

  Yes, that was right.

  Ross pressed his lips to her soft skin. She tasted of salt. Sand crystals clung to her. It was a beautiful thing, he thought, to show his woman devotion. He felt nothing demeaning in this, no surrender of his power. If anything, this showed how strong he was. That he could be gracious and loving.

  “The other foot.”

  He felt her shivering. There was something so completely kinky and erotic about this—a powerful male subjugating himself to the smaller, weaker female.

  “Work your way up, slave. Earn your way home.”

  Home…her pussy. He liked the sound of that.

  “Lick, too,” she encouraged.

  He dabbed his tongue, cutting a swath. He was licking salt, licking skin…licking Eleesha.

  “Show me what you’ll do between my legs, slave, if I let you get that far.”

  He tended to her eagerly, switching from one leg to the other, enjoying her beautiful, unblemished skin. He sampled her calves, nibbled her knees and kissed suggestively at her thighs.

  “Mmm, that’s it,” she sighed, offering the validation he needed. “This is what I call restitution.”

  Her slim fingers grasped his head, beckoning. She was in no position to truly force him, but as she opened her legs, there wasn’t a power in the universe that could keep him from tasting, and ultimately consuming her.

  “My clit, Ross, work my clit.”

  He’d have done that anyway. He was no stranger to female anatomy, especially this female. As her crotch pressed forward and she shifted her feet, he could feel her softening. The power was already shifting back. In a few minutes, she’d have her orgasms and he would resume winning her…heart, body and soul.

  Using his tongue like a miniature cock, he probed her depths. Her sweet fluids dripped down his chin. It was like the nectar of the gods. Greedily he inhaled. This was his woman, and his woman’s sex. And soon to be her climax.

  “Ross…if you weren’t so damned sexy,” she lamented, “I might be able…to get rid of you.”

  He decided to push her over the edge for that. Grasping her ass cheeks, he secured her tight against him. There would be no mistake. No playing games. Let her see that everything sexual between them would mean something, from here on out.

  Her hands went to his shoulders for support. “I didn’t say…yet,” she cried, though it was too late.

  He pushed her over the top. Again.

  Chapter Nine

  Eleesha stood on the balcony, watching the sunrise. She had the comforter from the king-sized bed gathered about herself. She was feeling languid, decadent as hell. There was one thing Ross had been wrong about—they had slept, at least a little. About an hour ago, he’d finally slipped into unconsciousness, allowing her to do the same.

  Though he’d set a condition for her rest—her continuous possession, even during slumber.

  “They are not your personal toys,” she’d complained as he’d spooned her, his hands clutching her still tingling breasts.

  Truth be told, he made her feel safe and wanted, though she could not reveal too much. Not yet.

  “You’re half right,” he muttered into her ear, “they’re not toys. But they are mine. At least until I have to share them with our babies.”

  Eleesha had squirmed to be free. “I’m not making any babies with you, Ross Maclean. I haven’t even gotten around to liking you yet.”

  His half-erect cock had pushed against her from behind. “You’re not supposed to like your husband. Now settle down before I tan your behind.”

  “Fine, but I’m not sleeping.”

  The next thing she knew, the first rays of dawn were creeping across the Mediterranean tile of their huge bedroom. That was what had brought her to the balcony, where she was soaking it all in. Especially this new thing about babies. Eleesha had always wanted to be a mother. It was a dream since childhood, ever since her aunt had adopted her. She would play endlessly with her dollhouses, making up the names and characters of imaginary children. Ruthlessly, little Eleesha would maintain control over her world, pouring herself into it, allowing nothing to be disturbed.

  The psychologist had said it was a reaction to the grief of losing her parents. The man had told her aunt that Eleesha would find friends again, and then, when she was ready, she’d stop living in her fantasy world. Yes, she had found reality, and sometimes she wished she hadn’t. It was the curse of her richly imaginative childhood that she was always so romantic about things. Ross had come along at such a vulnerable time. She was away from home as a college freshman, she was dealing with so many emotions, and there he was, the epitome of everything she thought a dream husband and father should be.

  How ironic, after all this time and heartache that he should want the babies.

  Across the blue-green bay, the water as smooth as glass, Eleesha watched a parasailer—a beautiful young brown-skinned man, so elegantly and fearlessly taming the tide. From the beach, several long-legged, starry-eyed young women in bikinis were watching. Their version of Ross, she imagined.

  What a breathtaking place this was. And what a hotel. Fifteen stories, curved like a horseshoe, coated in pink stucco with pleasing classical features and full, rounded marble balconies. They were at the very top. In the finest suite. She was so proud when they went to the front desk and the man recognized Ross. Of course they’d been expecting him, and wouldn’t he step right this way. She just clung to his arm, not feeling inferior, just happy to let him have the limelight.

  Your bride? asked the bellhop. No, he’d said,
my fiancée. A whole other set of emotions there.

  The sun had risen now, the full orange ball having emerged, recreated from the ocean horizon. It would be another flawless day.

  “Got you,” growled a playful voice.

  She gasped as Ross’s arms slipped around her waist, pinning her arms. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she complained.

  “No. I had something else in mind.”

  Ross was hard as a rock, his erection jammed between her ass cheeks. Her pulse quickened in anticipation, despite her best efforts.

  “Well, you can put it out of your mind,” she said. “I am not in the mood this morning.”

  “So you’re refusing to come back to bed?”

  “I am,” she said, wondering if he would actually accept this for a change.

  “In that case—” his hand slipped under the comforter to grasp her bare belly. “I’ll have to take you out here.”

  Oh, god…he wouldn’t…

  “Over my dead—” she shrieked as he tore the comforter from her, spinning her out like a top. She ended up against the railing, stark naked.

  “Give that back.” She charged him.

  He held it over her head. “No, Eleesha. You can’t have it.”

  “Let me inside then.”

  He blocked her way. “Are you going straight to bed?”

  “Yes, damn you!”

  “And you will submit, completely and totally?”

  As if she was in any position to deny Ross. “Yes, Ross. I will submit. Now let me in, before someone sees me.”

  “So what? You’re a beautiful, gorgeous woman.”

  “Please, Ross. Have pity.” She was hugging her breasts and trying to keep her mound covered all at once.

  “You forgot about your ass,” he pointed out.

  “I’ll bite,” she threatened.

  He relented, laughing. “All right, Spitfire, but I expect you to be nice and tame when I get there.”

  Ross dismissed her with a humiliating slap on the ass. The fact that it made her pussy tingle gave her one more reason to not be very happy right now with her anatomy. Crawling back into bed, her sex already wet, she considered where exactly along the line she’d forfeited rights over her own person.