Modern Romance - The Best of the Year. Miranda Lee

his rough entreaties, until finally she felt the heat of his climax gush into her mouth and throat, felt his hips jerking.

      Sam kept her mouth on him for a long moment and then finally pulled back. She couldn’t help a smile when she saw Rafaele’s dazed-looking expression. Slowly that expression cleared and his eyes narrowed on her. She felt a shiver of trepidation mixed with anticipation go through her and recognised that he wasn’t happy with the way she’d made him lose it like that. She felt more powerful in that moment than she’d ever felt...

      Rafaele bent down and loomed over her on his hands, forcing her to move back onto the bed. She collapsed onto it.

      ‘I think I’m going to have to restrain you...’

      Sam looked at Rafaele blankly for a second, and then watched him stand up and go to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out two long slivers of silk and she realised they were ties. Something deep inside her quivered—but it wasn’t with fear, it was excitement. She didn’t know what he intended but secretly wanted to find out...

      He took each hand and quietly wound a tie around each wrist, knotting it. Sam looked at him and bit her lip. Then Rafaele stretched her hands over her head, and Sam only realised what he’d done when she couldn’t bring her hands down again...he’d tied them to one of the bed’s four posts.

      ‘Rafaele... What...?’

      He came back down and over her. Not touching her, but letting her feel his body heat. ‘I want you to know what it feels like to lose control...’

      Sam could have laughed. She lost control every time she looked at this man! And there was something that felt so wickedly decadent about being restrained it overshadowed the sliver of discomfort. She trusted Rafaele above anything else, and that deep-seated knowledge shook her now. She hadn’t realised just how much she trusted him till this moment.

      He bent his head then, and his mouth was a hot brand on hers, opening her up to him, demanding a response which she gave unerringly. Already she felt the frustration of being bound. She wanted to touch him but couldn’t. She moaned softly with it, and could have sworn she heard Rafaele chuckle darkly.

      His mouth moved down, trailing over her jaw and neck. His hands were smoothing over her body, touching her but staying away from erogenous zones, making her grit her jaw to stop herself from begging. Her hands pulled ineffectually at the silken ties.

      And then Rafaele’s mouth was on her breast and her back arched. Yes. He lavished both taut peaks with attention until they were tingling and stinging. His hand had moved down to her belly and, like a wanton, Sam felt her legs part in mute appeal. Rafaele reared back for a moment and looked at her body. Sam gazed down to see his arousal already hard again, still glistening wetly from her mouth and tongue. She ached inside.

      Rafaele’s hand went to the juncture at her legs and then he was moving down, his mouth leaving little trails of fire as he pressed kisses under her breasts, to her abdomen and down. Sam’s breath stopped when she felt him pull her legs wide apart. Her hands pulled at the ties. She’d never been so bared or so vulnerable.

      Rafaele’s mouth settled there, between her legs, and Sam’s breath came back, choppy. She felt too hot, too tight, too...sensitive.

      ‘Rafaele...’

      But his tongue was on her now, exploring her sex, finding where she was so wet for him, opening her up, stabbing deep, making her moan uncontrollably, making her hips twitch. And then his tongue was replaced by his fingers, thrusting deep, and his other hand had found her breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching a nipple.

      A broken scream emerged from Sam’s mouth—a feral sound. Her hips were lifting off the bed, begging Rafaele for more, for him to drink from her as she came...as she’d done to him. And then the pleasure was peaking and spiralling out of all control, wresting her sane mind from her brain and leaving behind nothing but heat and deep, boneless satisfaction, with his mouth on her right to the end.

      Rafaele slowly came up and over her body. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and Sam could taste the essence of her desire on him. Could he taste himself on her? The thought ignited new fires deep down, diminishing her need to curl up and cling onto the boneless feeling. Sam was barely aware of being restrained now. She didn’t think she could have lifted her arms even if she’d wanted to.

      And then Rafaele was sliding into her...deeply. Sam sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide. He looked down at her and all she could see was green. And heat. And broad shoulders damp with sweat. He moved back out...slowly. One arm came around her back, arching her into him, making one breast pout up towards him, so he bent his head and took it into his mouth, suckling fiercely as he thrust, going a little deeper, harder.

      Sam gasped. It was too much. And now she did feel the restraints and she pulled against them. She needed to anchor herself to something. She felt as if Rafaele was going to drive her over the edge completely and she’d have nothing at all to hang onto.

      But she couldn’t articulate any words. Rafaele’s chest against her breasts was delicious torture. The ruthless rhythm of his body in and out of hers drove her higher and higher. She could only look deep into his eyes, as if that alone could hold her to this earth.

      Just at that moment something pierced her—anger at Rafaele, for reducing her to this mindless wanton, gasping and mute being. His powerful body was going so hard and deep now that Sam had to close her eyes, feeling as if a very secret part of herself was being bared to him in a way that she wasn’t ready for.

      Rafaele’s voice was guttural. ‘Sam, look at me.’

      But she couldn’t. He’d see it if she did. She’d never been laid so bare, made so vulnerable, and if she looked at him now he’d see how much she loved him—because she’d never stopped loving him. Even after all that had happened and the million reasons he’d given her for not loving him.

      ‘No,’ she said, equally guttural.

      Sam heard his rough shout as he made his frustration clear, but both their bodies were locked in a primal dance now and they were equally unable to stop. They could only go on, until the tight grip of tension was shattered and they orgasmed moments after each other, Sam’s body convulsing around Rafaele’s thick length so hard that she could feel it. She was milking him, taking his very essence into her, and the feeling was so intense and powerful on top of this awful, excoriating vulnerability that tears pricked her eyes.

      She turned her head away. Rafaele’s body was still within her, pulsing, slowly diminishing. She felt a tear slip down one cheek and finally managed to find the words she hadn’t been able to till now.

      ‘Untie me Rafaele.’

      She was trembling from an overload of pleasure and the revelation of just how deep her feelings for him were, still.

      ‘Sam...’

      ‘Just untie me.’ Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears.

      His hands reached up. She felt his arms and chest brush her body and she shivered convulsively against him. Even now. Deftly he undid the knots and Sam’s arms were free again, her wrists sore after pulling against the restriction. Terrified that Rafaele would see her emotions bared, Sam scooted out from under him and off the bed. She grabbed the nearest covering she could find, which was his shirt, and pulled it on and walked to the door.

      She heard Rafaele curse behind her and say, ‘Sam, wait... Where are you—?’

      But she was gone, walking blindly, on very wobbly legs, going anywhere that was away from his presence and his ability to reduce her to a melting mass of sensations and turbulent emotions. He’d wanted to dominate her and show her who was in control and he had done that beyond doubt. The eroticism of what she’d just been through felt tawdry now, as she imagined Rafaele coolly and clinically deciding how he would best show her who was boss. She had to get a grip before she faced him again.

      * * *

      Rafaele felt poleaxed. Self-recrimination rose upwards like bile. He would have an image burnt onto his retina for ever