The Dare Collection November 2019. Anne Marsh

me, sinking back on her heels until her hot sex swallows my length to the hilt. She stares down, levels me with that look—the one that reminds me she’s driven, successful, older and, outside of anal sex, perhaps more experienced. ‘I wouldn’t let you push me, but I’m not into pain.’

      I clasp her rocking hips, trying to force words out past my tight throat as pleasure grips me. ‘Me neither, but pleasure…?’

      She leans forwards, kisses me, her tongue surging against mine until I’ve not only forgotten my own question, but I’m also close to losing my mind. ‘Perhaps,’ she whispers. ‘But we’d have to start off small. There’s no way I’m ready to take this bad boy.’

      I slip my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, because all this talk about pushing sexual boundaries, the way she’s riding me, means I’m close and there’s no way I’m coming until she is.

      I don’t miss the gush of moisture bathing my dick as she gasps her pleasure against my mouth. ‘I’m happy to explore anything, but only if you’re as accommodating…’ She trails kisses across my chest as she scoots back. ‘Let’s start with the bondage.’ She smiles, the expression wicked and self-satisfied.

      I grip her hips, guiding her rhythm, but she untangles my hold and pushes my arms above my head. ‘Nuh-uh. I want to be in charge this time.’ She reaches for her discarded bra and binds my wrists with it before securing them loosely to the headboard.

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Before I can speak another word she starts the rocking again, this time cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples between her thumbs and fingers as if she’s determined to drive me insane, even more insane than the idea of testing her, taking her on an unexplored journey of pleasure, showing her that nice boys from nowhere can rock her tightly controlled world.

      But I can’t enjoy it for long. She gasps as she rides me harder, sinking so deep there’s nowhere left to go. I hold still, splayed beneath her, watching her pleasure her breasts, my eyes drawn to the way she tugs her lip under her teeth. I want to move. To suck on that sensitive lip until she begs me to take her places no one else has. To see my dick rest there before she takes me to the back of her throat. To buck up into her and take us both over the edge into mindless oblivion, where I’m just a man and she’s just a woman—no differences, no complications, no expectations beyond finding the ultimate pleasure.

      Her rounded hips undulate, finding the rhythm and angle she wants, that make her moan and start to chant my name. She looks down at me, her face rapt with pleasure and the hint of a feline smile on her lips. ‘I’m intrigued now. You have my mind thinking dirty thoughts, Cam North. You’re bad for me.’ She rocks back and forth, her head thrown back and her cries telling me I’m nothing but good for where she wants to go.

      I’m speechless at her astounding willingness to embrace this, although my mind fills with all the filthy words I could use to describe such an amazing sight as this woman riding me while she fantasises about other pleasures to which I’m going to introduce her.

      And then she fumbles with my restraints, her hands jerky in their desperation. ‘Do it. Do it now.’ She guides one of my hands to her ass, her fingers over mine slipping between her cheeks to lead the way. ‘Touch me like you did last night.’

      She resumes her rocking, her hands returning to her breasts, and I grip both cheeks, thrusting up into her with her every down-stroke while my fingers explore her rear.

      ‘Oh, Cam, yes…’

      Fuck, she’s incredible. How did I ever think she’d be too straitlaced for the kind of sex I enjoy? The kind with a woman who isn’t afraid to own her pleasure, to claim it, to heighten it any way she chooses? She’s glorious, a woman in her prime, taking her pleasure and then demanding a little more.

      Her glazed eyes open, looking down at me through heavy lids. ‘I’m going to come.’

      I grit my teeth, bucking harder underneath her and pushing the tip of my finger, which is wet from the arousal slicked between her legs, inside her rear.

      Her orgasm tears a scream from her arched throat and I come seconds later, the thought that, sexually at least, Orla Hendricks could have been made for me filling my mind.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Orla

      I DON’T RECOGNISE the hotel suite, although I’ve only been away for a morning, on the second day of meetings at my Zurich office. The bed is covered with shopping bags and parcels, the floor littered with stacks of shoeboxes, and there’s a clothing rack filled with garment bags. I shake off the fatigue I felt when I found Cam absent and open one, my curiosity burning out of control; I find a beaded ballgown the colour of peacock feathers, the iridescent hues catching the light and changing colour before my eyes.

      My first instinct, to roll my eyes at Cam’s extravagance, fades, replaced by awe. My fingers trail along the exquisite fabric. It’s exactly what I would pick out for myself, and I can’t believe his thoughtfulness. He hasn’t just mindlessly bought a year’s worth of clothes. He’s personally selected these, and I know because yesterday he told me how pretty I looked in my favourite green silk blouse.

      With jittery fingers I open one of the parcels on the bed, the delicate tissue paper parting to reveal a filmy wisp of lingerie—sexy but comfortable and the right size. With the shoes—my one weakness—I’m a little less restrained, flipping off the lids to reveal pair after pair of exquisite, barely practical heels from all the biggest fashion houses. Just how I like them.

      I catch my wide smile in the mirror, Cam’s gifts, no matter how excessive, forcing an ache to my cheeks. Cam never does anything by half measures, whether it’s making me come or reserving the best suite money can buy—the suite we’re currently occupying at the M Club, which has views of Lake Zurich with the Alps in the distance.

      My phone pings, drawing my attention from Cam’s gift, which is enough haute couture to make a supermodel weep. I scan the message and fire off a quick response to one of my assistants, my gaze returning to the outfits with longing. When will I even have the opportunity to wear most of these? We’ve been in town two days, and despite my assurances that I can play as hard as the next person I’ve had no time to explore.

      I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, my tired toes protesting. I’ve promised I’ll take tomorrow off to go skiing—Cam has planned a day on the slopes. I try to recall the last time I had an entire day off. It’s been at least a year.

      I glance at the exquisite gowns with longing. Why have I allowed my life to become so…insular? And why has it taken meeting a sexy Aussie guy to bring me out of my self-imposed shell?

      I text him my thanks and let him know I’ve arrived back at the hotel.

      Thinking of Cam, I feel my pulse pick up, delicious fingers of anticipation curling around me.

      Where is he?

      I slip off my jacket and flop back on the bed, part of me wishing I’d been with Cam on his shopping spree—I rarely have time for visiting actual stores these days, preferring to purchase from my favourite designers online, but it’s not the same. I used to adore shopping, the thrill of finding something I loved, the reverence of bringing it home in a pristine bag.

      The door clicks and in he walks, casually dressed, unlike me, in worn jeans and a black T-shirt. I sit up, hit with his delicious, freshly showered scent seconds before he leans over me on the bed, his mouth finding mine, and I’m lost in his now familiar, demanding kiss.

      ‘Good morning,’ he says, pulling away, his smile wide and warm and filling me with regret.

      I laugh while I wrestle my heart-rate back under control. ‘It’s afternoon.’ I stand and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to be closer.

      He shrugs, holding my hips to his. ‘Well, you were gone when I woke, so I missed