“Oh, it was the handcuffs all right.” He squeezed her hand in his, still holding the handcuffs. “Thinking about ways that you and I could use them had me sweating bullets. Which brings us back to fantasies.”
“You’ve had fantasies, about me and handcuffs?” The simmering heat inside her flamed to life. “What exactly would you like to do with those handcuffs?”
“I wouldn’t want to shock a Vermont farm girl.”
“Please…” She tugged the handcuffs from him and dangled them in front of his face. “Shock me.”
* * *
Troy had never been one to turn down a challenge.
And the challenge in Hillary’s eyes was one he very much looked forward to fulfilling. He snapped one cuff around her right wrist and the other around his left, so they were shackled while facing each other. The past five days with Hillary had been beyond incredible, and with time running out, he hoped he could cement their bond before they left.
She blinked up at him in surprise. “I thought you were going to cuff me to the bed, Viking style.”
“Then I did surprise you.” He sketched his hand along her breast, which brought her hand to herself, as well.
She slid her free hand between them to stroke him but he manacled her wrist and pinned it against the bed.
“Troy,” she said, writhing against him, the ache inside her building, “I want to touch you, too.”
“We’ll get around to that. We have all night.” And if he had his way, they would have even longer.
“Who says you get to be in control?” She pressed back, knowing there was no way she could actually win in a contest of pure muscle, but maybe she had a chance in the battle of wills. “My. Turn.”
He laughed softly against her, the puff of air along her br**sts sending fresh shivers down her spine. Then he rolled to his back, taking her with him. “Consider me at your command.”
Her smile of pure feminine power launched a fresh flood of testosterone pounding through him in answer. Her hands still linked with his, she kissed her way over his chest, lingering and laving her way down until…holy crap, her lips closed around him. His head dug back into the pillow as he lost himself in the moist and warm temptation of her mouth, the tempting sweep of her tongue. She shouldn’t be able to take him to the edge so fast, but then nothing was as he expected with Hillary.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t want this to end.
He tugged their cuffed wrists and hauled her upward, unyielding, and flipped her to her back again, the length of him pressed between her legs. The silky dampness of her let him know she was every bit as ready as he was. With his free hand, he tugged on a condom in record time and slid into her welcoming heat. He knew her body after all they’d done together, yet still he couldn’t get enough of her. Of the soaring sensation of being inside her with the scent of their mutual arousal perfuming the air.
The link between them was real, damn it. Every bit as real as the handcuffs binding them together. She had to see that, to believe it. He just needed to be patient and work past her insistence that her judgment in men was off. He needed to win her trust.
She hooked her ankles behind his back and took him deeper inside her, rolling her hips and bringing them both closer to completion. He wanted to wait—he had to wait—for her. Gritting his teeth, he held back his release, until finally, thank heaven, her breath hitched with the special sound that preceded her…cries of completion.
His own control snapped and he thrust again deeper, shouting with his own release jetting through him. Again. And again. Until he sagged on top of her, just barely managing to hold the bulk of his weight off her by levering on his elbows. He rolled to his side, their hands still locked together. He flung his other arm over his eyes, his defenses stripped back until he was unable to hide from the secret he’d been holding all day.
Salvatore had called after supper. Barry Curtis’s accomplice had been picked up trying to slip into Switzerland. Extradition was already underway.
Hillary was cleared to return to D.C.
* * *
While the morning sun climbed, Hillary rested her chin on her hands on Troy’s chest. The handcuffs rested on the pillow beside her. She would have to remember to tuck them away to play with again on another day. The whole Viking scenario held a certain appeal.
She kissed his chin. “You most definitely are not a monk.”
“Nice to know you noticed,” he said, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. “Have you checked under your pillow?”
Her hand went to her diamond necklace then over to her pillow. She tumbled underneath and her fingers closed around… Metal? She closed her fist around something square and pulled out…
“A cowbell?” Laughing, she rolled to her back, clanging the copper bell.
“Everything’s better with a little cowbell.”
“I can’t believe you got this.”
He rolled to his side, eyes on her face intensely, like he was looking for something. “You said I couldn’t buy you extravagant gifts, so I’ve been working within your system.”
“It’s sweet. Really.” She kissed him quickly. “I can honestly say I have never gotten one before.”
“What till you hear my cow jokes. What do you call a sleeping cow?”
“A bull dozer.”
“Okay, too easy.” He threw a leg over hers, the ceiling fan stirring the mosquito netting. “Mooo-ving on.”
She groaned.
“Why do milking stools only have three legs? Because the cow has the udder.”
She swatted him with a pillow, the cuffs clattering to the floor. “That’s awful.”
“I know. I went through a lot of corny jokes at school until I learned the nuances of humor.”
Something shifted inside her at those words, at the image of him “learning” to be funny, trying to fit in as he was tossed from school to school, his parents abdicating their roles in his life.
He flung his arms wide. “What? You don’t have any ammo to toss back? Roll out the computer geek jokes. Take your best shot. I’m bulletproof. More than that, I’m a bullet catcher.”
“You’re a cocky bastard.” But she sensed he hadn’t always been that way. But saying as much would take them to a serious level she wasn’t ready for, not yet. So she scrounged for a joke…. “Ethernet—something to catch the Ether Bunny.”
“Oh,” he groaned. “Talk about bad. You’re a rookie.”