“Don’t. You. Dare. This will be over in three seconds if you keep that up.”

The words brought a slow smile to her lips. She stroked him again. Willfully. Leisurely. “Who’s going to stop me?”

“Me and Victoria’s Secret.”

Now the cocky smile gave way to confusion. Her hand stilled. “Come again?”

“Yes. I guarantee you will.” With that he whipped her bra down her arms and twisted it around her wrists. A quick tug confirmed the restraint would hold. He drew her bound hands over her head and hooked one dangling strap around the door pull.

“Hey!” Eyes wide, she tried to slide free, but with him straddling her hips, she couldn’t get the right angle to unhook herself from the latch.

“Let me go, Rafe.” Her brown eyes remained huge, and locked on him, but no fear lurked in their depths. He saw surprise, and excitement.

“Quiet.” He leaned closer and slid his thumb into her mouth—right past those plush lips—and caressed her tongue. “We don’t want to disturb Ron, right? He might decide to lower the privacy screen and check on you, and, well, beautiful as you look right now, I’d just as soon keep the view all to myself.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he moved his thumb in a slow circle over the velvety surface of her tongue. A comparatively subtle restraint, but one she accepted with a little moan and a lowering of her eyelids.

“That’s a good girl. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to do the touching. All I want. Anywhere I want. You’re going to sit back and take it. Understand?”

Not entirely, if the way she closed her lips around his invading thumb and sucked him deeper served as any indication. Christ, she killed him. Until Chelsea had blundered into his life, he hadn’t known it was possible to want to groan with pleasure and laugh at the sheer stubbornness of a woman. He had her half naked, trussed up, totally at his mercy, and still she challenged him. Apparently for the fun of it. And it was fun, damn it. Whether shoving him into a supply closet, walking out on a very promising dinner just to teach him a lesson, or swimming with sharks, Chelsea always entertained. Knowing he would soon board a plane and put thousands of miles between them brought an uncharacteristic sense of emptiness, followed by a harsh slap of irritation. People envied him, for fuck’s sake. A few more weeks of focus and patience separated him from his most ambitious professional goal. On a personal front, he’d never lacked for amusements. His life was anything but empty. He could, and would, walk away from her. As soon as this ride ended.

He withdrew his thumb and swept it over her lips. “I’m going to abandon your wicked mouth, Miss Wayne. Please try to control your volume without my help.” He ran his hands down her calves to her ankles and flicked her shoes off.

“Mr. St. Sebastian.” She tried to sound forbidding, but he ran his hands back up her legs, separating them more, and her tone softened. “Oh, God…”

He retraced his route, palms smoothing behind her knees, under her slim black skirt, until he hooked her panties. “Quiet, please.” Her breath hitched as he swept the scrap of satin down her legs and pocketed it for safekeeping.

“Are you planning to keep me tied up the entire time?” She tugged her wrists.

“Yes.” Then he lowered his head and trailed his mouth up the same territory his hands had just traversed. When he reached the hem of her skirt, he pushed it to her waist to give his mouth and hands access to everything he wanted.

“That’s not very…fair,” she whispered. “Ohhh…”

Her complaint trailed off when he lifted her long, gorgeous legs skyward, and crouched low, one knee on the floor, the other on the seat. His breath fanned her as he spoke. “Now that’s a very pretty picture.” He placed his thumb at her threshold.

“Rafe!”

“Quiet,” he reminded her, and teased her clit with the very tip of his tongue. At the same time, he eased his thumb inside, using the pad to trace a slow circle along her inner wall in a move that mimicked what he’d done in her mouth moments ago.

She shivered around him and her moan filled the back of the limo. He would have teased her about the volume, but the need to hear her uncensored moan again enslaved him as powerfully as the craving to taste her one last time. He should have been the one in control, but she seduced him with her hands tied. Literally. All she had to do was breathe.

Need brutalized him, but he kept his touch on her gentle. Punishingly gentle. The impatient edge to her moans told him she expected—demanded—he plunge her into ecstasy as hard and fast as possible. He refused. They’d have time for hard and fast, right after he shattered her so slowly, thoroughly, and irrevocably, her lips would instinctively form his name every single time she orgasmed for the rest of her natural life.

He closed his mouth around her clit, kissing her, rewarding each delicate pulse with a light, devastating lick. He kept the sweep of his thumb teasingly shallow, even when those low, husky moans turned to pleas. Her heels dug into his shoulders. Her hips rocked in a rhythm he recognized. He allowed her three hard, purposeful pumps before he pulled away.

The sudden move wrenched a very heartfelt, “God damn you,” out of her, which coaxed a smile out of him. “I’m certain he does, Miss Wayne.”

Stormy brown eyes locked on him. He rolled the condom on as quickly as possible, because although he enjoyed toying with her, he had sympathy for the condition he’d left her in. His cheek would be sporting her palm print by now if she had use of her hands. Perverse as he was, the thought of her slapping his face and ordering him to fuck her made his already stiff cock swell to new dimensions, and turned the process of rolling the condom on into a form of torture.

With the job done, he ran his hands along the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs, and guiding them higher, until her toes touched the upholstered ceiling of the limo. “Right there. Don’t move.” He leaned in, using his body to help support hers.

“I can’t,” she said, but held the position nonetheless. Sweat slicked her skin. Her cheeks flushed from the strain of complying.

That kind of effort deserved encouragement. “You can and you will, Miss Wayne.”

He braced a hand on the ceiling, hooked the other under her ass, and hitched her up another crucial inch. The glide of his cock along her center had her groaning, and him biting back a curse, because Miss I Can’t suddenly had the strength to fidget her hips all over the damn place. Eventually, he got them lined up. He felt huge and ruthlessly hard against her soft, giving center.

“I can’t do it. I’m going to scream.”

“No,” he managed, and eased his thumb into her mouth again. She moaned as he stroked her tongue. “Nobody’s going to scream.” He nearly broke his own rule when she sealed her lips around the base of his thumb and sucked as if the motion of her lips could somehow pull him into her…fill every void.

And maybe they could, because the next thing he knew, he was thrusting deep. Over and over. Through sweat-stung eyes, he watched her arch up to meet him, felt the pinch of her teeth as she locked her jaw. The hot, tight channel cradling his cock contracted, pulling him into a sudden, almost painful climax. And all the while a single thought repeated in his mind.

More…

Dammit.

He opened his eyes, blinked down at Chelsea, and froze. She’d turned her face away, but even with her eyes closed he could see tears leaking from the corners. Heart in his throat, he quickly reached over and unhooked her wrists.

“Jesus.” He pulled her into his lap, smoothed her skirt down, and cupped her wrists. His thumbs swept over the soft, pale skin. “Did I hurt you?”

She buried her face against his throat and shook her head. Not a tremendous relief, because he could feel her hot tears on his neck.