Full Exposure(17)
Author: Tracy Wolff

“No!” She struggled against his restraining fingers as swells of need rushed through her. She was going to die, to spontaneously combust at any second.

“I don’t care. I—” Her voice broke and desire swamped her—shook her—until Kevin was all that was solid and steady around her.

“Bebe—” His hands moved soothingly along her back, but she was too far gone to be calmed by a soft touch.

“Kevin—” she whimpered, her h*ps moving frantically against him. “I need—” Her voice broke again.

“I know, cher—” And then he was lifting her, ignoring her cries of protest, until she was poised above him. Her knees on either side of his head. Her p**sy directly above his mouth.

He whispered something low and guttural and obscene, his breath hot and welcome against her. And then he thrust his tongue deep inside of her.

She came with a scream, her body spiraling completely out of her control until she shattered—completely and irrevocably. She felt—actually felt—herself break into myriad pieces, her mind fragmenting until she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Serena spun outside of herself to a place where only feeling existed, sensation after sensation flooding her, swamping her, frightening her with its intensity. She struggled against the tidal wave for long moments, terrified of losing herself in the never-ending pleasure. She bucked against his mouth but he held her still, his incredible strength allowing her no surcease from the emotions all but ripping her apart.

“Kevin, stop. I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice was lower, harsher than she’d ever heard it and when she glanced into his eyes she was trapped by the flames flickering there, building to a towering inferno that threatened to consume every part of her.

His tongue—his wicked, wonderful tongue—went from deep thrusts to long, luxurious licks that had ecstasy trembling along nerve endings that hadn’t yet recovered from his first embrace. His teeth found her cl*t and closed gently over it even as his eyes stared deeply into hers—claiming her, branding her, demanding a response she wasn’t sure she could give.

She made a high keening sound, her h*ps moving against him as he thrust first one finger and then another inside of her. He stroked her G-spot—once, twice—then pulled out to spread the hot liquid of her response over and around her anus. He circled the tight bud again and again and she nearly screamed, pleasure rocketing through her.

Finally—finally—he thrust his finger inside at the same time his tongue swept over and around her clit. Another orgasm slammed through her—fast and hard and never-ending—and this time she did scream before she could stop herself.

Kevin grinned against her even as he pulled her cl*t into his mouth and began to suck. His hands held her h*ps still, poised above him for perfect access. He continued to torment her—sucking, licking, spearing his tongue deep inside of her—until one orgasm blended into another. And another. The more sensitive she grew, the more he continued. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe and still he persisted. She bucked wildly against him, twisting and pulling in an effort to get away from his ravenous mouth. But he refused to relent.

“Kevin, no,” she finally gasped. He had to stop. He had to. She couldn’t survive another—

His tongue speared deep and hurtled her into another cli**x. She’d lost count of how many times she’d come, lost track of everything but the ecstasy ravaging her body with each movement of Kevin’s mouth. He was devouring her, pushing her beyond any and all limits until she couldn’t recognize the tormented, pleading woman she was fast becoming.

“Yes,” he growled as his tongue fluttered from her cl*t to her anus and back again. “You’ll come for me over and over and over again. I’ll never get enough of you, Serena. I’ll never get enough of this.”

Once again he pulled her cl*t between his teeth and began to suck and once again she came, stars exploding in front of her dazed eyes as she trembled and sobbed and pleaded with him to take her.

Finally—finally—when she was on the brink of insanity and control was a word she could no longer comprehend, he pulled her away and rolled so that she was suddenly beneath him, her body shaking as yet another orgasm ripped through her.

She grabbed on to his shoulder, her nails digging deep without her knowledge or consent as she pleaded, “I’m dying, Kevin. I’m dying. You have to f**k me. You have to—”

Serena’s breathy pleas ran through him like a live electric current and he felt his control snap. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself balls-deep within her. She was slick and wet and so f**king hot that for a moment he was afraid he’d come before he could bring her to orgasm again.

Then she whimpered—her hands pulling at his hair, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, her cunt pulling at his cock—and he knew he wasn’t ready for it to end yet.

He rode her hard, his hands braced beneath her h*ps to lift her higher, open her wider, for his penetration. Over and over he thrust into her velvet heat until he was on fire, flames of ecstasy burning through his brain, down his spine, over his cock. And still he slammed into her, determined to make the pleasure last. Determined to bury himself so deeply inside of her that she could never get him out.

Sweat beaded on his chest, rolled down his back and still he continued thrusting, over and over again—as hard and as deep as he could go. His arms trembled, his c*ck screamed for relief and still he pushed himself inside of Serena.

She was sobbing, screaming, her muscles clutching more tightly at him with every thrust. Her nails were digging into his back, drawing blood with every push of his body. Her back was arching, her legs shaking as he drove into her—over and over—with all the power and strength that he had.

He was buried deep when he felt the cli**x rip through her, a deep, dark tsunami so powerful that it swamped him, buried him, dragged him under before he could fight it. He felt his own orgasm tear through him, the never-ending pulses of her body sending him so far over the edge that he feared he’d never recover.

It started at the base of his spine and spread outward—through his cock, his stomach, up his back, around to his chest. Pleasure, pain, passion roaring through him, flowing from him to her and back again as he emptied himself inside of her in a series of powerful, all-encompassing waves.

When it was over, when he’d given her everything that he had, he rolled so that she rested above him. And wondered, grimly, if it was enough.

Chapter Nine

That bitch! He’d trusted her, taken care of her, loved her for years and she would dare throw it in his face like this? Bad enough that she stayed out in that bayou with him taking pictures for that absurd book. Worse still, that she’d come to San Diego with him. But to cancel her room—to decide to stay in his suite with him. Had she no shame?

He imagined that filthy laborer’s hands all over her and he wanted to scream in denial. Serena was his. His. How dare this man think to touch her? How dare she let him?

The fury was back—so hot and uncontrolled that it spewed out of him before he could stop it.

“Bitch! Whore!” He wasn’t aware of throwing his scotch until the glass shattered against the mirror lining one wall of the luxurious hotel suite he’d checked into only hours before. The mirror cracked and he walked toward it, fascinated. Amber liquid dripped from it, catching in the cracks and sliding slowly onto the plush carpet. The closer he got, the more of himself he could see in the mirror. But he was distorted, in pieces, his features randomly placed on his face.

“No!” He screamed in agonized denial. Not here, not now—when he was so close to having her as his own. “It’s just the mirror,” he muttered to himself. “Just the broken mirror.” He was whole, normal, perfect. It was just the mirror that—

His hand—a tightly curled fist—lashed out and struck the broken glass. Agony ripped through him as the skin over his knuckles shredded. But a few pieces of the cursed mirror had fallen and the pain was worth it. With a hoarse cry he hit the mirror again, this time slicing a deep gash into the side of his hand as more of the mirror crumbled away.

He watched, fascinated, as blood slowly dripped from his hand onto the carpet—decorating the long shards of glass lying facedown on the plush thickness. He grinned—he couldn’t help himself. It was such a beautiful sight.

His hand hurt and the bleeding continued, but he made no move toward the bathroom. Blood dripped, pooled in front of him, around him, and still he didn’t go for a towel. Instead he watched the crimson pile grow, watched a little bit of himself slowly leak into oblivion.

The headache was back, creeping up from the back of his neck to the top of his head—until the pain from his hand was but a small annoyance compared to the growing agony behind his eyes.

They were getting worse, coming more often, until he’d almost been unable to work last week. But control was everything, and he refused—refused—to let the pain take over his life. He’d have her soon and then everything would be okay again.

When the bleeding slowed to a trickle, he walked to the bathroom and absently wrapped a towel around his wounds. Such a shame to cover up all that beautiful blood, but he had an appointment tonight he didn’t want to miss. It wouldn’t do for him to show up a bloody mess. It wouldn’t do at all.

He crossed to the bar, poured himself another scotch. Wondered what Serena was doing right now. Pondered whether or not she’d found his surprise—or better yet, if that bayou rat had found it.

It hadn’t been easy getting that close to her things without being seen, but he was more than pleased with the result of the extra effort. Hurting her wasn’t his intention—at least not yet—but still, there were rules. She had to pay for her duplicity. Pay for letting that animal, that laborer, lay his filthy hands on her.

Tonight was just a warning, but if things continued this way—the punishments would be much worse. For both of them.

Serena was his and he would have her. And once he did, no one would ever take her from him again. He’d kill anyone who tried.

* * *

Serena studied herself critically in the hotel mirror. She looked good. Really good, if she did say so herself. She had been a little leery when the boutique manager had proclaimed it perfect for her, but with her makeup and hair done, she could see that the woman had been right. Though the raspberry silk was a little low-cut for her taste. She tugged at the halter bodice for the third time in as many minutes.

What had possessed her to buy a new dress? Two new dresses. Especially since she had two perfectly good ones still packed in her suitcase. When she’d packed for the trip to San Diego, she’d had every intention of wearing her old cocktail standbys. But when she’d gone to unpack last night suddenly they hadn’t seemed right.

She snorted before she could help herself. Meaning they weren’t beautiful enough—sexy enough—for Kevin. She wanted to wow him, to make his mouth drop open and his c*ck get hard at his first glimpse of her.

She couldn’t stop herself from contemplating her reflection for a few long seconds. Who was this woman who had invaded her body and when was the real Serena Macafee planning on making an appearance? This was so unlike the real her—dressing up for a man, planning to seduce him. The real Serena didn’t have incredible sex with the subject of her assignment. She didn’t wear red lipstick or red dresses. And she certainly didn’t leave her hotel room without a stitch of underwear on. Unless a red garter belt counted?

With a sigh, she spritzed cologne at the hollow of her neck, at her wrists, and after a moment of debate, between her thighs. Who was she trying to fool anyway? The best part of wearing this dress was imagining Kevin peeling it off her in a few hours.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. “Serena, are you ready?” Kevin asked.

“One more minute,” she called, reaching for her jewelry bag. She heard Kevin prowling the sitting room of the suite, and she couldn’t blame him. She was the one who had insisted they leave early. Really early. He thought she was crazy, but she had plans for the extra ninety minutes. Big plans.

She slipped the pearl necklace her mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday around her neck, grateful that it suited the dress. Her earrings hadn’t and the saleswoman had talked her into spending a lot more than she had planned to on a pair of ruby and pearl chandelier earrings that were totally wrong for her.

But they didn’t look wrong, she admitted, taking one final glance in the mirror. They made her look sexy and just a little bit wild. Of course, that could also be attributed to the raspberry Jimmy Choos she hadn’t needed to be conned into buying. The second she’d laid eyes on the five-inch sequined stilettos it had been love at first sight. Her feet would be dying by the end of the night, but it would be worth it. No pain was too great for these shoes.