Wicked Pleasures (17 page)

He smiled. “Karma sure is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Stick your karma where it doesn’t shine.” She
checked her nose for bleeding. It hurt but at least it wasn’t
broken. “Do you wear a bullet proof vest under your shirt?”

He stuck out his hand for her and she accepted it.
He lifted her onto her feet. “I don’t need a bullet proof
vest.”

“Coming from a man who was injured recently.”

“Touche.”

He didn’t let go of her hand immediately. It was a
perfect fit. Warm tingles spread through her body and she was
hypnotized under his magnetic spell. She wanted more of him. But it
didn’t happen. He let her go and turned away. She swiped her hands
together as she brushed past him in a fast walking pace.

“Need some help?” he asked.

Looking at him over her shoulder, she frowned. His
roguish smirk struck a chord in her. “What are you talking
about?”

He stepped closer, so close she thought he may kiss
her, and she hoped with all her might that he would. Instead, she
felt his hand at her backside and a tug on her dress as he pulled
the hem down. Embarrassed, she realized she’d just shown her ass.
“By the way, red looks good on you.” He laughed as he marched past
her.

Bronte stayed behind for a few seconds. It never
failed. She was the target of his humor. Could he laugh when he
became the aim of embarrassment?

They rounded the corner of a barn and bales of hay
were stacked up high. A 3-D target map was hanging from one. The
“odd” man was waiting for them with a bow in one hand a bag of
arrows in the other. Roark relinquished him of the items and Caleb
disappeared, head lowered as if his thoughts consumed him.

“Doesn’t that poor guy have any friends? Family?
Anyone he’d rather hang out with than doing your bidding all day?”
Bronte asked.

“He’s not here often. And if you haven’t noticed,
there aren’t many of “us” around here.” Roark pulled on the string
of the bow, as if he were testing its strength.

“Why am I out here? If you wanted to play archery,
did I have to be with you?”

“It’s not me who’ll be practicing. It’s you, city
girl.” One brow cocked.

“Me? No…I don’t like weapons. I’ll watch.” She
started for a seat on the fence when he caught her waist and pulled
her back.

“One thing I‘ve noticed is your lack of hand eye
coordination. You’d miss an ant with a bazooka. You need training.
Every woman needs to know how to protect herself.”

“I don’t need schooling in archery. My father put me
through enough self-defense classes. And my coordination is just
fine. If I really wanted to hit you I could have.” She lied. She’d
meant to hit him, but she wasn’t much of a shooter.

“
Some
classes. If you’d been trained
correctly my men wouldn’t have been able to take you against your
will,” he said.

“Do you realize how bizarre that is? I should have
been able to “protect” myself against the men
you
sent to
abduct me.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly.” His eyes
widened. “No name calling. I did it with good intentions.”

“Can we have at least one conversation where you’re
not reading my mind? Like normal people converse?” she asked.

“We’re not normal. And you’re not a good shot. We
can change that,” he said.

She almost choked on her saliva. “We could change it
if I wanted to. But I don’t.”

“I’m not asking.” His tone turned gruffer.

“And I’m not your child.”

He lowered the bow and sighed. “I can think of
something else we can do with our time. Red thong and a bed are
involved.”

Hidden nerve endings sparked alive. It wasn’t fair.
Her womanly needs didn’t have prejudice. Did he really believe
holding sex over her head would change her mind? “You could again?
This soon?” she asked.

“Yes. Do you want me again this soon?”

Her palms turned clammy. She couldn’t fib because
he’d see straight through her. “Yes.”

“Then practice for a bit and I’ll make all of your
fantasies come true.” His eyes sparkled.

And she was a goner.

“Give me this damn thing.” She took the bow from
him, along with an arrow. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Easy as pie,” he said.

She’d seen it done a hundred times, the archer
loading his bow against the string. As she attempted to do just
that, she found it to be impossible. She knew he watched her and he
probably waited for her to ask for help. She wasn’t about to
request anything but the more she tried, the more painfully aware
it became that she needed his assistance. Also, the longer she
attempted, the more determined she was to learn. Lowering her
pride, she finally asked, “Can you show me?”

“Certainly I can. I’d love to.” He took the bow and
arrow from her. “It’s important to hold the bow according to
preference of eye. Your right eye is dominant so you should hold it
in your left hand and draw the string with your right.”

“How do you know that my right eye is dominant?”

“Obvious by the way you throw. You must also stand
the right way. I’ll show you.” He came to her side. “Your body
needs to be perpendicular to the target and the line of shooting.”
He used one hand to move her, and control her, to where she needed
to stand. “Spread your legs wide.”

“What?” She snapped her chin up to look at him. He
was serious. She suddenly felt sex-starved because all she could
think about was his body between her inner thighs.

“Mind on track, sweetheart. Your feet should be
shoulder length apart.” She did as he asked. “You take the bow and
arrow. I’ll show you how to load it.”

She liked the way the bow felt in her hands. He
pressed his body against hers and she jumped. “And here I thought I
was the only turned on, but the arrow isn’t the only thing
stiff.”

“Relax, Bronte,” he whispered next to her ear.

Swallowing the constriction in her throat, she
attempted to concentrate. How did he expect her to learn anything
with him standing so close and his sex poking her backside? She
could feel the strong lines of his body through the thin material
of her dress and his warmth oozed into her bones. Her heart beat
faster and she didn’t doubt for a second that he realized her
turmoil.

“Keep the bow pointed toward the ground, tipped ever
so slightly. Next we must nock the arrow.”

“Cock the arrow?” She murmured. His large hands held
hers; she could smell his masculinity and it made her intoxicated
with need.

“Are you paying attention?” he asked.

“I’m trying,” she answered. She moistened her lips
and made a good effort to listen.

“The string and arrow should be held with three
fingers. You may have to play with it, and try different approaches
until you find the one that works for you. I hold it like this.” He
demonstrated by showing her how he placed his fingers.

Did he say “play?” She wasn’t sure if it’d been her
imagination. It conjured up many naughty thoughts that didn’t
include a bow and arrow. She focused on his long fingers. “Like
this?” She mimicked the position of his hands.

“Just like that.” His breath slipped into her ear.
She sighed. “You’re doing well. Good. Now I want you to lift the
bow and arrow, slowly.” His whispered words were hypnotic. She
lifted her arm until he touched her elbow in a silent request for
her to stop. “Draw the arrow toward your face, smooth and
sinuously. Use your back muscles and not your arms.” He rubbed his
hand down her shoulder. She almost whimpered from the touch,
clouded with a heavenly feeling. “Keep pulling until you hear the
click.”

Bronte jumped when she heard the sound. It wasn’t
loud, but she had been sheathed in his words, waiting for his next
demand. “Okay.” The word slipped off her tongue.

“It’s important to keep this arm still and
stiff.”

He pressed his zipper against her ass. She smiled.
The verbal foreplay made her juices flow.

“Tsk, tsk, sweetheart,” he said in a hoarse
tone.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She
concentrated on the bow and the target. “What now?”

“Become one with the bow.” He pushed closer. “Feel
it so much that you can almost taste it. It’s hard in your hands,
yet wielding to your gentle touch.”

Leaning into him, she blinked at the magnetism. His
scent was rich and exciting to her senses. His solid body made a
soundless promise that he could take her to new levels of pleasure.
“Keep going.”

“Rely on the subconscious mind,” he continued. “We
have instincts within us. Follow yours. See the target and make it
yours.”

His words flowed like a lazy river. She filtered
each one and its meaning. She should rely on her instinct. She
should own what was hers. And as easily as merely relaxing, Bronte
let go of the arrow. The sharp tool struck the target, almost dead
center. She squealed in delight. “Look at that, Roark. I did it!”
She jumped up and down and found herself landing against him and
into his secure arms.

“Yes, you did,” he said with a proud smile.

Looking up at him, she didn’t allow fear to keep her
from her next victory. She lifted herself on tiptoes, met him
halfway as their lips collided in a passionate kiss. His hands were
on her and they were tugging at each other. They were animals as
they met in feral need, yearning for release like it was their next
breath.

He stepped back and practically tore his shirt from
his body, followed by his pants. She held her breath as she stared
at his beauty. He was a fine specimen of male. From dark hair,
broad chest, flat stomach, lean legs, and long steely length.
Toned, hard and immense. Her panties turned moist as she
anticipated him inside her body.

He came to her. In one swift move, he split her
dress from top to bottom. She stood before him in bra and panty,
enjoying the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in
the world who could satisfy him.

“Undress the rest, sweetheart.” His voice urged in a
spellbinding tone. She undid the front clasp of her bra and it fell
to her feet. The brisk breeze swept across her breasts and she felt
her nipples tighten. She slid her panties off her hips, down her
legs and gave them a toss with her big toe. “You’re beautiful,” he
said.

“Will we be safe here from prying eyes?” she
asked.

“Caleb is gone and no one else ventures out
here.”

She moved to him, wanting to touch his body, and
placed her hands on his chest. Slowly sliding her palms along his
skin, she rolled her fingertips around his nipples. A soft moan
escaped his throat.
She could do better than that.
She
lowered her mouth to one erect bud and licked the salty tip. He
brought his hands up to her shoulders and squeezed gently. Wanting
to taste all of him, she slid further down him until she came to
his cock. She glided her mouth over the smooth, hard muscle and
swirled her tongue along the thick head. Pleasure filled groans
erupted from his chest and vibrated his body. In faultless rhythm,
she sucked as she pumped him.

“Bronte! I can’t wait any longer,” he roared the
words as he reached down and lifted her upward.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, he held her back
supported with his hands. Roark was a strong man and had no
difficulty holding her weight and guiding her where he wanted her.
The tip of him entered her and she circled around him. The
beginning of pleasure spiraled through her core, loosening her
muscles with her natural juices. She rolled her hips, taking him
in, inch-by-inch, deeper and deeper. He slid his hands to her
buttocks and thrust himself within her as far as she could take
him. She couldn’t imagine any other man being her perfect match. It
was as flawless as a key made for a lock.

Bronte dug her fingers into his shoulders as he
steered her up and down his shaft. Sweat beaded between them,
slickening their bodies. The moisture and scent was an aphrodisiac.
Their moans grew, entwining and becoming one like howls at the
moon. His thrusts grew faster and more urgent and his breathing
ragged “You are mine,” he said against her skin.

She wanted nothing more to become his. Her only
desire was to give in to the burning need that licked at her
insides.

He buried his face into her breasts, suckling her
nipples, licking between them, and sliding his tongue along her
collarbone. Her release grew closer. She wanted it to last forever,
but she couldn’t slow the tingling sensation bursting within her.
“I’m so close,” she said breathlessly.

“Come for me, baby.” He supported her with one hand
while he brought the other around to her clit, circling the bead
with gentle pressure. “I want that tight pussy to throb. I can
smell your scent. I can taste you.”

His words were the catalyst that drove her over the
edge. Fire burnt her insides with sweet flames of release. “Roark.
Roark. Roark.” His name fell from her tingling lips as she bent her
head onto one shoulder and had a strong desire to scream. His pumps
became short and she knew he was on the border of his own
precipice. “Yes, Roark. I want you to leave your seed in me.”

With one last
plunge, he stiffened and his body shook.

Chapter 11

ROARK AWOKE FROM a sound sleep. Night had fallen and
darkness filled his room. He felt warmth in the crook of his arm
and heard the sound of soft breathing.
He remembered
.
Bronte! They’d made love outdoors, then they’d come inside and
joined in his bed. They’d eventually slept and it’d been the best
sleep he’d gotten in years.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs. He peered down
at her and could barely make out her delicate features. The
turnaround of emotions was much like a jackhammer pounding his
stomach. What would come of them now?

Moving his arm out from underneath her, she moaned
and rolled onto her other side. He felt guilty for leaving her, but
he had no choice. He had an important meeting to attend.