“Same deal.”

“A knife wound from a bar fight.”

The bar had been in France and the fight had been started by a perp trying to cover a deal gone bad.

And so it went. She asked about a mark and he told her the story. Some were from assignments. Some were from mishaps when he was doing his extreme sports. Some were from growing up on a ranch. She kissed each one after his explanation, sometimes spending a long time on the area around it. He muttered her name and a curse in a guttural voice more than once.

She even undid the restraints on one ankle so he could turn on his side and she could reach his back. He wasn’t exactly riddled with scars, but he had a sexy mole, right on his left flank and she made him tell her it was a birthmark before kissing it, too. He let her put the restraints on him again when she was done and they were both shaking with arousal and need by the time she’d pointed to a small scar near his groin.

“I got that falling off a horse.” His voice was low-pitched and filled with tension.

She brushed the almost faded scar. “I thought you could ride anything.”

“I was ten at the time.”

She leaned over until her hair brushed his thighs and balls. He hissed and bucked, causing the silky strands to caress his erection, too. She turned her head back and forth, to do it some more.

“You’re torturing me, woman.”

“That’s the idea,” she whispered against his groin.

He laughed, having heard her. “You’re damn good at it.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Her lips closed over the old scar and her tongue darted out to taste. She sucked, giving him a love bite right there.

His hips flexed upward. “Damn it, baby. Put your mouth on me.”

“My mouth is on you.” And he tasted so good, musky, male and hot.

“I need your mouth on my cock. Now, Beth.”

She sat up, straddling one of his strong legs, her feminine flesh clenching at the sensation of his hairy thigh against the smooth skin of her inner thighs. His muscles flexed against her. He had incredible definition and control. No wonder he was so good at his extreme sports. She shuddered from the intense pleasure of the subtle caress and couldn’t help rubbing herself against him, just a little.

A harsh sound came from his throat. “You are killing me.”

“You’ve said that before, but you’re still alive.”

“Edging toward insanity.”

She cupped his sac very gently. “I’m not trying to drive you crazy.”

“Then Heaven help me if you ever did.”

She laughed, her whole body awash with sensation, but her humor triggered by his obvious sexual frustration. She squeezed oh so carefully and caressed his length with her other hand. “You are so soft here.”

“That’s not the word I would use to describe it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said gutturally.

She moved her hand up and down the entire length of his shaft. Once. Twice. Three times. He bowed beneath her again, making his thigh grind against her tender flesh. She couldn’t stand the restriction of her panties anymore and scrambled out of them before resuming her position.

“The bra, too,” he demanded in a voice that made her insides quiver with sensual delight.

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Do it anyway.”

He was tied to the bed, at her mercy, and yet she felt an overwhelming urge to do as he said. Maybe because her breasts were aching and swollen and she wanted the sensation of his scorching gaze on them as much as he wanted to look. Or maybe because a primal part of her wanted to submit. Regardless of why, she undid her bra and peeled it from her body slowly while he watched in hungry fascination.

“You have a gorgeous rack, Beth.”

Despite the level of her arousal, laughter burst out of her. “Rack?”

“Would you rather I said tits?” he asked, one corner of his mouth tipped in a sexy smile, but his voice was strained.

She thought about it. “Uh…no.”

“Boobs? Hooters? Cans? Boobies? Melons? Gozangas?”

She shook her head, giggling. “They’re my breasts.”

“They’re a work of art.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“That’s a mild word for my reaction to seeing them.”

Looking at the way his penis bobbed in angry arousal, she had to agree.

“Touch your nipples…like you did when we were on the phone last night. I want to see you do it.”

“You’re getting awfully demanding. First you wanted me to go down on you, then take off my bra…and now you’re demanding I touch myself.” She hadn’t taken him in her mouth, but she had taken off her bra.

“Do it.”

Her inner walls spasmed at the command in his voice. “Choose.”

“What?”

“Either I touch myself or I take you in my mouth.”

“You’ll do whichever one I want…to my specifications?”

That wasn’t what she’d said, but it made her get wetter to think about, so she nodded.

“Touch yourself.”

She jolted. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked her for the blow job. Maybe she wasn’t affecting him as much as she thought. Only his hard flesh looked ready to explode, pre-cum glistening on his tip in enticing wetness. Could he really want to see her touch herself more than he wanted to be touched? Or was he trying to wrest control from her despite his bonds?

If that was the case, she was just going to have to make watching her as exciting as experiencing her mouth.

She cupped her breasts, lifting them and moaning softly as she did so. “Like this?”

“Yes. Knead that pretty flesh.”

She kneaded, excitement spearing straight from her aching nipples to her throbbing clitoris. “Do you want me to touch my nipples?”

“Yes.”

She did, playing with them like she had the night before, rolling them between her fingertips and pulling on them as she rode his thigh with increasingly urgent movements. He helped her, pressing upward and moving his leg side to side. She was losing the momentum of her seduction, but she couldn’t make herself care.

“Now touch your clit, but don’t stop playing with your breast with the other hand.”

“I didn’t say I would touch myself there,” she panted.

“You didn’t specify where-only that you would do it to my specifications and I just specified.”

How could she not have noticed such a glaring omission? She shook her head, trying to clear it, but Ethan misunderstood and frowned.

“You a welsher, baby?”

“No.”

“Then touch yourself.”

She wanted to, so why deny him?

So, she did, sliding her hand into the nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs until one fingertip encountered her sweet spot. Pleasure pulsed at the touch.

“That looks so hot, baby…just like I pictured it last night on the phone.”

And suddenly she needed the same thing. She didn’t know why he wanted to see her as she’d been last night, but she needed to see him touch himself to complete what they’d done. To make it real and not just another fantasy that he’d cooperated with creating. The need was a driving compulsion she didn’t even attempt to stem.

She leaned up and unlatched one of the wrist cuffs. “Show me, too.”

He required no second urging, but wrapped his long fingers around his shaft and stroked himself. “You’re going to make me come this way.”

“Like you said earlier, we have all night for other stuff.” But she really didn’t want their first climax to be this way…she just wanted to drive them both closer to the edge.

His hand came up and she saw that he was going to brush it over his head and she didn’t want him to wipe away the moisture there. She wanted to taste it.

She swept down and took his head into her mouth without any warning.

He shouted while she swirled her tongue over his essence, reveling in the flavor that was unique to him alone. His hand clamped in her hair and he thrust upward. She let him press himself farther into her mouth, not caring when he hit the back of her throat. But he felt it and pulled back, muttering a desperate apology while his hand fell away to fist against the comforter.