Gage was in the middle of another helluva erotic dream. This time, though, the swim toward consciousness went faster and reality dawned much sooner.

It wasn’t a dream-or not entirely.

He was in bed with Jenna. Tied to a bed in her aunt’s farmhouse.

As soon as he remembered that, he came wide awake, automatically yanking at his bonds.

Shit, what was with her tonight?

She was still on top of him, he was still lodged firmly inside of her, and she’d once again managed to work him into a bit of a lather before he was even fully awake.

Tamping down on his desire, he locked his jaw. “Untie me, Jenna,” he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. “I mean it this time.”

She shook her head, determination etched in the flat line of her lips and the downward arch of her brows. “Not until I’ve gotten my fill. Come on, Gage,” she wheedled, her expression lightening a few degrees. “Be a sport. Let me have some fun.”

Fun, my ass. She’d never been interested in this kind of fun while they’d been married, and he sure as hell didn’t believe she’d developed a fondness for Bondage for Beginners since their divorce.

“Untie me and I’ll show you fun. I’ll show you all kinds of fun.”

The last round had been nice. More than nice-it had just about blown the top of his head clean off. But if she wanted a night of adventurous sex with the ex, he could show her more creative positions than just “Ride ’em, Cowgirl.”

He wanted her on her back, on her knees, bent over the dresser…

“I like things just the way they are. It makes me feel sexy.”

She gave a little swirl of her hips and he sucked in a breath, scrambling for statistics from the Rockets’ last season to keep from shooting off the bed-in more ways than one.

“Besides, I let you tie me up once, remember?”

He hadn’t until she mentioned it, but now he did, and no amount of thinking about hockey or mentally reciting game scores was going to put a halt to the throbbing of his dick.

“Of course, you didn’t really tie me to the bed, did you?” She spoke in a low, cajoling tone, leaning down to skim her lips along his chin and cheek. “You cuffed me with those cold, heavy metal handcuffs you carry around all day at work. And you know what? I liked that, too.”

As hard as he fought it, he couldn’t hold back the groan that rolled up from his solar plexus.

“Do you think about that, Gage? Do you think about what we did that night every time you pull out your cuffs? Every time you slap them around someone else’s wrists?”

His body bucked beneath her. Fuck, yes, he thought about it. Nightly, while he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep without her in bed beside him. It was often the leading fantasy that played through his head when he needed to jack off just to find a little satisfaction and rid himself of the frustrations of not having her near.

But this was better than fantasy, wasn’t it? At least for the most part.

Oh, if he had his hands free, he’d have flipped her over by now-onto her back or maybe her stomach. He’d have her legs hooked into the crooks of his elbows and be fucking her until her eyes rolled back in her head. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was damn close to getting ready to beg.

She rode him expertly, moving against his desperate motions rather than with them so that the friction between their two bodies grew and sparked like fresh-lit kindling.

“I’m going to remember tonight every time I wrap one of those boas around my neck. Every time I see them, every time I feel them brushing along my skin, I’m going to think of you, think about you filling me and driving me to orgasm over and over.”

She kissed her way across his face and upper chest, but what she was doing with her mouth was nothing compared to the words pouring out of it.

“If I’m alone, I’ll probably get so turned on that I’ll have to go to my room, get undressed, and use my hands to satisfy myself.”

The image of her doing just that, of what she’d done earlier in the evening to heighten her pleasure while she rode his cock, flashed through his brain and put every cell of his being on red alert.

“If I’m not alone, I’ll just have to hope no one notices how flushed I’m getting or suspects how damp my panties are.”

His nostrils flared and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up grinding his molars to dust.

Her tongue outlined the shell of his ear, sending tremors down his spine. Her hands followed the path of his long arms until her fingers dusted the feathery strands of the knitted yarn binding his wrists.

“And every time you see me wearing one of these, you’ll know exactly what I’m thinking about. You’ll think about it, too, and we’ll both be back here, teetering on the edge of bliss. Unless you want me to stop,” she added.

Her breath skated across the back of his neck, raising gooseflesh, while her nipples dragged sharply along his chest.

Yeah, he wanted her to stop. About as much as he wanted to contract a flesh-eating disease on his pork and beans.

“When I get out of this,” he growled, “I’m going to turn you over my knee and blister your behind.”

Pushing vertical, she stared down at him with one brow arched over a moss-green eye. “You know I’m not into the ‘spank me, Daddy’ punishment thing, but if you want to look at my ass…”

With that, she lifted off of him and swung around so that she faced the other direction. Glancing back over her shoulder, she shot him a grin and grabbed him by the root.

Air hissed through his teeth at the harsh treatment. Not that he was complaining. She wasn’t really being rough enough to hurt him, but he was already so hard and so sensitive that even the lightest brush of her fingers threatened to make him go off like a rocket.

“You used to like it this way, too,” she said before repositioning herself and driving herself back down onto his burgeoning erection.

“Christ on a cracker!”

His body bowed, driving his heels and skull into the mattress. She stiffened on him as the motion sent him thrusting deeper inside her, but ended on a sigh.

He was panting now, hanging on by a thread, not sure whether to pray she’d slow down or beg her to finish him off.

“Since when did you add torture to your repertoire?”

Her short black hair danced at her nape when she shook her head. “This isn’t torture,” she replied.

Easy for her to say. She didn’t have a hot, wet woman lodged on her cock, clasping him like a vise.

“This,” she murmured softly, “is torture.”

Her slim, smooth back blocked his vision, but a foot-thick wall of concrete couldn’t have kept him from feeling her very special brand of torment as she reached down to cup his nuts.

She palmed them, but no matter how gentle the touch, the sensation went straight to his hypothalamus, sending his nerves screaming. Screaming, thudding, bucking for release.

The side of her thumb stretched to the tight flap of skin connecting his testicles to the base of his dick and began to caress, and he knew he was a goner.

“Move, Jenna,” he bit out, the words laced with as much animal lust as he’d ever heard in his own voice. “Move now and bring yourself off, or I’m going over without you.”

He’d always been one to take care of a woman’s fulfillment-especially this woman’s-before his own, but this time he didn’t have a choice. Try as he might to fight it, he was about to come, and she was on her own.

Instead of letting go, she continued what she was doing, the nails of her other hand digging into his thigh as her hips sped up. She lifted and fell, slid forward and back, the soft globes of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. The heavy beats of her breathing filled the room, and all the while she continued to fondle him.

His balls tightened and shrank in her hand, and pressure built. He thrust as hard and fast as he could from his prone position, wanting to fill her, go deep, give her a portion of the satisfaction she was giving him.