The Dare Collection October 2018. Nicola Marsh

the more you do that, the more inviting I find it,” he told her, and Margot couldn’t tell if he was teasing her.

      Or why it made that tight thing inside her seem to flex.

      Then hum.

      She was no blushing virgin. And yet that was what she felt like with him. Silly, somehow. As if she didn’t know herself at all. As if the person who had walked through the doors into this hotel earlier this evening was a complete stranger to this naked creature who was literally panting for a man she’d just met. She wasn’t sure she had the slightest idea what to do about that—

      But right now she didn’t care. She couldn’t let herself care.

      Margot kept her eyes on Thor’s as she crawled toward him. She stopped when she was kneeling beside him, and she wanted—desperately—to conceal the fact that she was breathing so heavily. She could feel her rib cage expand and contract, and worse, she could feel the way her breasts swayed.

      But there was no hiding such a thing. She didn’t try, and she told herself that accepting it felt a little bit like power.

      When really, the most powerful thing about her at the moment was that molten greediness between her legs. She felt like she was her own furnace.

      “Is it your turn to beg?” she asked.

      “If you want me to beg, all you need to do is ask me for it.” His mouth curved, but it was more a challenge than a smile. “Like anything else on the menu.”

      Margot didn’t have words for the thing she wanted.

      Because she wanted everything.

      She settled for putting her hands on the waistband of his trousers, still looking at him as she did.

      “Are you waiting for me to stop you?” Thor looked almost offensively relaxed for a man who was as hard as he was. Margot could feel the heavy length of his arousal under her hands, leaving her in no doubt that the man was built...proportionally. But he only grinned at her and then folded his arms beneath his head as if he was on a beach somewhere. “Or to give you permission?”

      Everything about this—about him—made her bristle.

      But it also made her wet.

      Wetter.

      Margot decided to run with the latter and started to undo his fly. It was slow going because he was so damned hard his cock was pushing up against the fabric, distending the front of his trousers. She expected him to wince, or hiss out a breath or two, but not Thor. He stayed where he was, stretched out beneath her like some kind of boneless cat, watching her with those electric blue eyes of his at half-mast.

      And then she didn’t care what he was doing because she pulled the great, thick length of him free. Her mouth actually watered, when she would have called herself no more interested in performing oral sex than she was in receiving it. Both could be pleasant, but she believed they got in the way of the good stuff that she knew how to ride straight to her orgasm.

      And yet Margot wanted to lean forward and suck the thick head of him into her mouth. She wanted to lick him like a Popsicle until he melted, too. She hardly knew who the hell she was, practically drooling over the man’s cock like this.

      But she was a reasonable, rational adult woman who owned her own sexuality and knew better than to expect Cirque du Soleil in bed, no matter how gloriously sexual and uninhibited Thor had claimed he was. And she wanted him inside her more than she wanted to taste him.

      Margot told herself that it was giving in to damaging fantasies to imagine that she shouldn’t have to choose between the two when she knew that biology was biology and masculinity wasn’t made of Viagra.

      Thor had tossed the condom down beside him when he’d stretched out on the bed, and she reached over to swipe it up then. She was aware of him watching her, but he didn’t move. He didn’t lift a finger. He didn’t even shift his hips when she tugged his trousers down another inch or so to the middle of his thighs.

      And somehow that made everything hotter. He let out a breath when she rolled the condom down over his cock, likely because it took a minute to make the edges roll down smoothly over something that big.

      “What do you want?” he asked again when the condom was finally in place. And when, to her shame, Margot discovered she was breathing heavily all over again.

      “You,” she whispered.

      “I think you can do better than that.”

      Later, she promised herself, she would unpack why it was she wanted to do better simply because he told her she should. Why she wanted to please him. Because all the strange, new things that were tight inside her, winding around and around and making her so shivery, were tied in to that wanting. To her hot, melting pussy, her aching clit and that empty space she wanted him to fill so badly it made her nipples hurt.

      “I want...” Her tongue still stung, reminding her that she’d bitten it. And that reminded her that this was research. Fieldwork. An experiment. This wasn’t her, really. This wasn’t who she was or had ever been, and that was probably for the best. “I want to fuck you, Thor.”

      That wasn’t the sort of thing Margot had ever said in bed before, because she’d never been much for talking, much less using dirty, potentially offensive words. She wondered why that was when Thor’s blue eyes blazed. His hard mouth curled in one corner and his face seemed to tighten as she watched.

      She didn’t need him to tell her it was the same greed that throbbed in her, too. She knew.

      “Do your worst,” he told her, his voice low, dark and with a kick of wildness that seemed connected directly to her—deep inside her.

      It felt like the storm outside, battering the windows. Battering her from the inside out.

      Margot felt clumsy again, but that didn’t stop her. She crawled over him, basking in the heat of him, the clean male scent. She threw her leg over his hips, propped herself up with one hand in the center of his chest, then reached between them to wrap her fingers around the thick head of his cock.

      She didn’t know what she expected when he shifted beneath her. Directions, maybe. Commentary, almost certainly.

      But all Thor did was wrap his hands around her hips, his grip loose and his thumbs resting in the creases of her thighs.

      And then did absolutely nothing as slowly, so slowly, Margot began to lower herself onto him.

      It was as if everything slowed down with her. As if they were the storm hurling itself against his windows—and somehow every single speck of snow and ice as well.

      Margot could feel everything. Everything. The way she filled herself with him, inch by thick inch, though she had to pause every other breath to let her body accommodate his size. She could feel the rough fabric of his trousers against her widespread thighs, and the hair that roughened his legs. She was too conscious of her own breath, loud and harsh, but she didn’t let it stop her.

      She was trembling when she finally took all of him and was flush against him, and she knew he could feel it.

      For a moment she could do nothing but sit there, with Thor so deep inside her all she could do was melt and quiver around him. She braced her hands against his abdomen to keep herself upright, but still. It was as if she was caught in that gaze of his. As if she was burning alive.

      “This is my favorite handshake,” Thor murmured, a kind of inky, addictive darkness in his voice. “This is how you take the measure of a man, is it not?”

      “I already know you talk too much.”

      He smiled at that, but there was something entirely too knowing in his gaze. “Whereas you only talk to hide. But there is no hiding here, Professor.”

      Margot wanted to object to that. She wanted to defend herself, somehow. Or make him take that back before it lodged inside her the way she could already feel it doing. She wanted to explain herself