She gasped, reaching for him, and he pinned her arms over her head, holding her delicate wrists in one of his hands. Blinking up at him, her lovely lips parted, and his gaze locked on hers.

Jesus.

Simply looking at her was almost too much.

Control.

He sucked in a breath, arched into her once more. And again she gasped.

He pulled back, thrust hard.

“Ah! Jamie . . .”

He bent and kissed her mouth, ran his tongue across her pink lips. But when her tongue darted out he had to raise himself up again, watching her watching him.

Jesus.

Pleasure shivered through him, rattling him to the core. He bit it back.

Control, damn it.

Once more he pressed into her.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

He shook his head, knowing it would send him over the edge.

“Kiss me, Jamie,” she pleaded again.

Instead he pressed a thumb between her parted lips, and she took it and sucked it into her luscious mouth, swirling her tongue over the tip as if it were his cock. And suddenly sensation wrapped around his cock as if her wet mouth were there. The storm raged through his body, pleasure a roar that rendered him deaf to anything but his own cries. His body shook with the force of his orgasm. Coming was painful, it was so intense. Painful and fucking amazing, and like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Ah! Ah, Jesus. Jesus, baby . . . So good.”

“Jamie.”

“Come again for me, my sugar girl.”

He ground into her, his cock still hard, still coming a little, maybe. And in moments he felt that hot clench of her sleek little pussy. Pleasure shafted into his belly, into his balls, and as she came, her cries rending the air, it was almost as if he was coming again, too.

Then he did kiss her—he had to. He took her mouth, pushing his tongue inside, meeting her panting breath with his own. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough. Couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Couldn’t get enough of her. It was the most incredible feeling. And even as the last of the storm passed through her, and through him, he knew that this girl could either be his heaven, or his undoing.

Rolling off her, he disposed of the condom, then reached for her, pulling her close while he tried to catch his breath. She snuggled right into that pocket at the juncture of his shoulder and his chest as if she belonged there.

She does belong. She belongs to me.

Wishful thinking, maybe? He didn’t want to overload her. He wasn’t sure what she was ready for. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. And then there was the whole death magnet thing hanging over his head, the black cloud he carried with him everywhere he went. It had been with him his entire life. First Ian. Then Brandon. His parents’ marriage. Then what had happened with Traci. And the one thing he’d never spoken to another person about. Not Mick. Not Allie. And it sure as hell wasn’t something he could tell Summer Grace. Was it?

Don’t fucking think about it.

With a practiced mind, he turned away from the shadowed thoughts plaguing him. Pulling Summer Grace closer into his side, he sought comfort in the warmth of her body. She was so trusting, and it was some weird kind of turn-on—or maybe not so weird for a Dominant. Wasn’t that part of the package? With great power came great responsibility. It was something he craved. He turned to kiss her forehead and found her long, thick lashes resting on her high, flushed cheekbones. So damn lovely, this woman.

“You sleepy?” he asked her.

“Mmm, yes. Sleepy. Needy. Wanting more. Why can’t I ever get enough of you?”

His body immediately responded—so damn sexy. Her husky tone. The words that echoed what he felt whenever he was with her. She squirmed, shifting, and he felt every sinuous curve of her petite, feminine form: soft hips and delicate legs, the flawless curve of her breasts, her hardening nipples pressing against his ribs.

“Jamie? More, please . . . ? I mean, if you’re not done with me.”

He narrowed his gaze in the dim lighting and focused on the black-painted steel crossbars in the canopy overhead—and remembered that all the canopy beds at The Bastille had a built-in suspension system. His imagination kicked into high gear—into hot, screaming overdrive.

“Oh, sugar, the night is far from over.”

“I’m ready. For whatever you want to do to me.”

He slipped his hand down her thigh, over her baby-soft skin, his fingertips reading the welts from the caning like Braille—and it all spoke the language of desire. Of pleasure derived from pain. “Can you come again?”

“I can do whatever you want,” she purred.

He grinned as he sat up and got on his knees on the firm mattress, pulling her up with him by the leather cuffs still attached to her wrists. He got her on her knees and held her arms over her head by the carabiners still attached to the cuffs, and clipped them to the rings on the overhead bars.

“Jamie . . . what . . . ?”

He put a hand over her mouth, which he knew she loved. “Shh, now. You’re going to like this. Or I’m going to like this. Mmm . . . both. All you have to do is get comfortable in the cuffs and straddle my face, pretty girl.”

She blinked, smiled, batted her long lashes. “Ohhh.”

“Cuffs feel okay?”

She flexed her fingers. Good girl. “Yes.”

He smoothed his palms over her thighs as he lay on the bed and slid down, positioning himself until her plump, wet pussy was right over his face. So beautiful. He licked his lips, simply looking at her for several long moments. Then he pulled a pillow under his head so he could reach her. And dove in.

He licked her first, one long, slow slide of his tongue up her slit to the tight nub of her clitoris, then down again. She sighed quietly. He licked again, went a little deeper into her slit this time, the tip of his tongue delving inside her, and she ground her hips against his mouth. He pulled back.

“Ah, ah,” he warned. “Bad girl, Summer Grace.”

He held on to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, but she only moaned in pleasure. He knew she was too far gone to really control herself, and decided to do it for her, as much for his sake as for hers. Grasping her hips harder, he moved them back and forth as he lapped at her, pausing to suck on her clit, then back to lapping at her sweet juices. Soon they were working together, her hips following his lead, undulating, a seductive, sinuous motion. She was so wet he couldn’t believe it. So wet he had to let her hips go to sink his fingers into her—two, then three. Had to. He pumped into her and she groaned, murmuring his name. He pulled back an inch to watch her, eager to see her desire. Her pussy was like a ripe fruit, so pink and swollen, so sensitive. And she was so lost in the moment. Lost in abandon. Wanton. It was an old-fashioned word, but it fit. And she was so thoroughly trusting, which was a turn-on in itself, something he was discovering with her might be a new fetish for him.

He smiled, his fingers sliding in her wetness, slipping back until one fingertip was pressing on that tightest of holes. She gasped, then let out a whispered, “Yes please, Jamie.”

He pressed his wet finger against her, then slipped the tiniest bit of the tip into her ass. She pulled in a breath, and as she exhaled, he slid in a little further.

“Oh God, yes.

He took her clit in his mouth again, sucking, flicking the tip with his tongue, letting his finger rest in her beautiful ass, loving how she felt like an impossibly tight velvet glove there. But soon she was grinding onto his finger, and he slid it in and out slowly as he worked her clit with his tongue.

She panted harder, her hips arching into his mouth, then back onto his probing finger. Her panting was loud and hard, and in moments her entire body clenched. She shook all over for several long moments before she really started to come. Then it was a savage clenching of her ass and her pussy, her thighs. And she called his name, then screamed it.