A Hot New Excerpt From Kathleen Lawless'
" Taboo "
do believe I challenge you,” Bridge said.
“Painting you shall be quite enough of a challenge, thank you.”
“Painting me is a safe challenge. The other—--“
”There is no other,” she broke in.
“That’s where you’re mistaken. The other challenge is the real one. The unsafe one. And the one with the greater reward.” He cocked a look. “You’ve hardly touched your meal.”
“I’m not hungry. The hour grows late and you speak gibberish. I want to get an early start in the morning.”
“Perhaps you’re too excited to eat,” he suggested. “Anticipating the unfolding of the next six days?”
She rose. “Don’t drink all that wine. I want you clear-headed and well-rested in the morning.”
He rose as well. “You shall have me anyway you want me.”
She crossed the room, aware of his eyes following her, riveted on the sway of her hips and the rounded curve of her bottom beneath her skirt. She paused, one hand on the studio door, and turned. “I want always honestly between us. What you said earlier was true. All of it. I need to know the man inside, to probe below the surface of outer trappings in order to do you full justice.”
Three long strides brought him to her side. “I am an onion. To be peeled back, layer after layer. I only appear transparent. I shan’t make it easy. But I never lie.”
His closeness should have felt stifling. Instead she found herself stimulated anew, fascinated, half-afraid seven days in his company was far too long, yet would ultimately prove far too brief. Facing him, she felt alive in a way she’d never before known. Alive in far more than just the physical sense.
“No. Somehow I didn’t expect you would lie.”
“Am I confined to quarters?”
“What do you mean?”
“Times when you don’t require my services. Am I free to move about the gardens? I promise not to bolt.”
“Feel free to enjoy the gardens at your leisure, Mr. Bridgeman. They’re rather exceptional, if I do say so myself.”
“Thank you. And Mr. Bridgeman was my father. I do require you to call me Bridge as we get to know each other.”
Fallon nodded. “The settee is remarkably comfortable. I’ll have pillows and bedding sent over for you.”
His gaze stopped her from leaving, almost as if he detained her physically. “Where will you sleep?”
“In my room, as I always do.”
“Next to your husband?”
She paused for a moment, and twisted her wedding ring. “There is no longer a husband. He drowned. Is there anything further you require?”
Bridge spun her fully around so her spine pressed flush against the door, his length meeting hers at every juncture, his sheer strength anchoring her in place. “I require this.”
He tilted her head back, ripped the pins from her hair, plunged his hands through the fallen strands, fingertips urgent against her scalp as he licked her lips, readied them to receive his kiss.
“You can’t possibly paint me if you don’t know me. In all the way a woman knows a man.” His kiss was as strong and masterful as he was, possessing her, filling her completely.
Hot and hungry she felt herself being as helplessly devoured as the quail he’d picked clean earlier. Consumed. Emptied and refilled. A mastery in the way he sucked the breath from her lips, then breathed for her when she forgot how.
He captured her hands, linked his fingers with hers and pinioned her arms out straight. One knee nudged her legs apart, made contact with that burning, weeping inner core, the pressure serving to further inflame her senses.
He pressed his pelvis against hers. She went up on tip-toe in an attempt to even out their heights, to feel the length of his erection where she needed it most. She rolled her hips from side to side, freed her hands and clawed his half-open shirt out of the way in order to touch his skin. To define each individually-honed muscle. To commit him to memory. To paint him blind-folded if needs be.
As her gropings grew more frantic his touch gentled along with his kiss. Fallon melted. She trembled, weak and boneless and reliant upon him to support her, to hold her, to somehow extinguish the bonfire alight from within.
He seemed to know her better than she knew herself. Where she liked to be kissed, how she liked to be stroked. Nibbling, teasing, coaxing kisses turning needful as she kissed him back. Emptied her heart and her soul in order to make room to receive him. All of him.
“What do you want?”
“What do you want?” It was a question requiring an answer, and all the honesty she had demanded from him.
“You know. What you did before.”
“Made you come? I watched you come. A woman transformed. A woman in rapture. You want that again?”
“There are dozens of way to make a woman come. Hundreds perhaps.”
“I want to experience them all.”
He smiled a satisfied smile, a cat with tail feathers in its mouth and cream smeared across its whiskers. “I will do my best to see that you do.”
“I need to paint you as well.”
“Greedy Fallon. Hungry for it all. I suspect you’ve been half-starved your entire life.” His words echoed through her with a ring of absolute truth. She had been half-starved. Half-alive. How had he seen? How had he known?
“And you?” She stroked his hardened length through his trousers, watched him close his eyes, savoring the pleasure of her touch. She grew bold. “Will you teach me the ways to make you come? To truly know you?”
“I’m yours to command.” He swooped her in his arms, crossed the room and lay her gently upon the settee.
She watched as he proceeded to remove his shirt revealing the planes and angles which she longed to paint and yearned to touch. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t rather paint me than fuck me?”
“It’s too dark to paint.”
“Yet never too light to make love.” He had just started on his trousers when there was a knock at the door. Fallon started. “The servants. Your bedding.”
“I’ll attend to this.” He readjusted his trousers and strode across the room gloriously shirtless. She watched the taut movement of muscles in his shoulders and back, undulating ripples beneath a stretch of silken skin.
In the wink of an eye she skimmed off her underpinnings, swept them out of the way and smoothed her skirt down primly. The moist heat between her thighs prickled and throbbed in the most satisfying of ways. Impatient for his touch.
He dismissed the servants, dumped the pillows and bedding next to the settee, then knelt before her, darkly, boldly beautiful in the firelight.
“Do you always scream when you come?”
“Only the one time with you earlier.”
“Are you quite sure?”
Considering that this afternoon was the first time she’d experienced such a phenomenon, she nodded.
“No one else has ever made you scream?”
“No one else has ever made me come.”
He sounded startled by her admission. “Never?”
“I am however, more than willing to have you remind me just exactly what it is I’ve been missing.”
“My pleasure.” Deftly he grasped her stockings, unclasped them and skimmed them down her legs, his touch as light as a butterfly wing against her skin. She felt a responding tightening low in her groin.
Deliberately he placed her bare foot on his crotch. The heat and hardness of his erection blazed from the sole of her bare foot up her leg and past the forbidden entrance to her core. “Oh, my,” she said, flexing her foot slightly, rubbing the length and breadth of his swollen cock.
He captured her foot’s mate, kissed the instep followed by each toe while his hand cupped her bare calf, moving in an insinuating up and down motion that mimicked the mating act. With each stroke his hands climbed higher, past her knee, almost but not quite to the juncture of her thighs. As the pressure of his touch increased, so did the pumping of her foot against his cock.
She was streaming wet, awash with needs she’d never before known, senses heightened by the day’s shadowy growth of whiskers on his jaw and the sensual way they rasped against her bare leg as his questing lips made the journey upwards. Leisurely he nipped and licked, the rampant sensations rendering her light-headed, near delirium.
He froze upon discovery of her pantiless state, then smiled up at her, wicked approval on his face.
“Mmmmm,” he said, fingers spreading her slick outer lips, watching her pleasure at his touch. “You have a surprise or two of your own, I see.”
“Perhaps I’m just getting to know you.” She sucked in her breath as he brushed the swollen knot of her clitoris.
“You like that?”
“Mmmmmm.” Head back, eyes aflutter with ecstasy, she squirmed against his fingers, seeking release.
He pushed her legs apart, opening her wider, making her aware of the air temperature several degrees cooler than her over-heated, over-stimulated flesh. “You have a beautiful pussy,” he murmured. “Good enough to eat.”
The stroking intimate touch of his lips and his tongue sent a searing white heat through her. She panted and moaned as fresh waves of fire lapped through her.
“You’re allowed to move, you know.”
And move she did. Flexing her hips she shifted with him, against him, affording him better access to her secrets. Every last one.
“You like that, I take it?” He was clever with his moves, pushing her to the brink, then withdrawing ever so slightly, leaving her breathless and begging for more. Blessed release which he deliberately withheld.
“I find it a most exquisite form of torture,” she said.
From between her legs, he glanced up at her, his lips wet and shiny from her juices. “You taste delicious. Taste.” He pushed his hand inside her then raised it to her lips. She opened her mouth obediently, unable to break his gaze. “Suck my fingers. Enjoy your sweetness.”
Her mouth pulled greedily on his appendages, first one, then two, then three, her hot strong mouth pulling deeply as if she would suck all of him until he was inside of her.
Gently he freed his hand, rose and unfastened his trousers. His cock sprang free, huge and red and with a tiny tear of neglect weeping from its eye. She circled her lips with her tongue, mouth open, eager to taste him as he had tasted her.
“Open your blouse.”
She did as she was bade.
“Free your breasts.”
She clawed at her chemise not caring if it ripped, fumbling with laces until her breasts tumbled free, milk-white, nipples rosy and flushed and pouting from neglect. He rubbed the tip of his engorged penis across each rosy crest. They hardened instantly. Then he brought his cock to her, circled the outline of her lips, teased her with his luscious velvety tip. She tasted him, slightly salty-sweet, not unlike herself, only different. His smell from his sex was musky and masculine and mysterious. She opened her mouth wider, as if to take him all in.
“Touch your breasts,” he said. “Show me how they like to be touched.”
Her breasts overflowed her hands, soft and voluptuous. She teased the nipple with flat palms, slowly at first, then faster, feeling an instant response, a fresh outpouring of heat between her legs.
“Good,” Bridge said. “And here’s your reward.” He slid his hot, hard cock between her lips slowly, a half inch, then withdrew it. She rubbed her breasts faster. This time he eased in the entire tip, allowed her tongue to circle it once before he withdrew it. Thus he continued, a little deeper, a little faster, in and out, careful not to give her too much at once. Not to let her suck too hard or too deep.
She whimpered in frustration, her eyes on his, pleading.
“Very well, my impatient one.” He reached between her legs, separated the folds, inserted two fingers inside of her in perfect rhythm to his cock in her mouth, in out, in out.
His thumb brushed her clitoris and something burst inside of her. Fallon convulsed. She screamed and screamed and screamed.
Bridge swore and pulled his cock from her mouth. He yanked her close and wrapped his arms around her tight, holding her until the spasms subsided.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, when finally she could speak.
“What you did is nearly damage the ego of a man who prides himself on his control.”
He pulled her to her feet, skinned out of his trousers, peeled off her disarrayed garments and led her to the fire. “Now that we’re done with the foreplay, I intend to fuck you silly.”