Текст книги "Sweet Temptation"

Автор книги: Maya Banks

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Sweet Temptation
Sweet – 4
by
Maya Banks

PROLOGUE

Angelina Moyano watched from a distance as Micah Hudson stood over the two headstones in the small graveyard. She studied him from behind a large oak tree, her small hands gripping the rough bark. It was always like this. At dawn he’d come to honor their memories. Just as he did every year.

The sun’s rays were barely peeking over the horizon, but the Florida humidity was already thick and heavy, each breath a struggle in the cloying heat. She chanced a look over her shoulder, damning her paranoia that she’d been followed, but she couldn’t afford to take chances. Seeing nothing, she turned her attention back to Micah.

He knelt at Hannah’s grave and carefully laid a single yellow rose, her favorite, just below the marble slab that marked her death. He kissed his thumb and the ridge of his forefinger then laid his hand over the flat ground.

Angelina sucked in her breath. It was different this year. Before he’d always stood there looking so haunted, his eyes filled with grief and regret. This year ... this year he seemed to be saying good-bye.

Her eyes filled with tears when he turned to David’s grave and drew a simple rosary from his pocket. He kissed the beads and then laid them at her brother’s headstone.

Sadness knotted her throat. She missed them too. She missed Micah, but he was as lost to her as David and Hannah. Maybe now he was ready. Ready to let go. He had grieved long enough. She had grieved long enough.

He rose, shoving his hands into his pockets. For a long moment he simply stood there as the early morning light grew a little brighter.

Warmth flooded the place where Micah stood, and Angelina took it as a sign that it was time.

“I love you,” she whispered, letting the wind carry her words away.

When he finally turned and walked back toward his truck, she waited only long enough that she wouldn’t be seen, before she darted back to her car. She would have to hurry if she was going to get to Twilight before he did.

It was where he always went after he paid his homage to his former wife and David, his best friend. Only Angelina understood the need that drove him. Only she understood his pain, knew his private demons. She would help him because she could do nothing else. She’d loved him far too long. Maybe now he could finally love her in return.

She took the shortest route to the club and whipped into the back parking lot ten minutes later. Though it operated twenty-four hours a day, at this time of the morning it was usually empty, and she knew that was one of the reasons Micah always chose this time to come.

Grabbing her bag, she hurried inside the employee entrance and checked with Rose, who manned the front door.

“I’m here, Rose. Just give me a minute to change. If he gets here, put him in room one.”

“Hey, baby. I see him walking up now, so scoot on back so he doesn’t see you.”

“Thanks, Mama Rose.” She blew a kiss to the older woman and ran for the dressing room.

She didn’t go for garish dress-up. No leather, no high-heeled boots. No, save for the mask that protected her identity, she went with black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her long, dark hair was drawn into a braid and tucked down her shirt. She was as nondescript as they came.

The last item was the leather mask that covered her from the neck up. Only her eyes were visible, and they blended with the dark leather, dark, almost black.

David would have killed her if he were alive. He and Hannah would both be horrified that David’s little sister was for all practical purposes a surrogate daughter to a woman who owned one of Miami’s most successful bondage clubs.

Micah would look at her with those dark eyes and ask her what the hell a little girl like her was doing in a place like this.

And it was all because of him.

A soft knock at her door had her whirling around as Mama Rose stuck her head in.

“He’s ready for you.”

Angelina nodded and walked out the door and down the hall to one of the flogging rooms. When she entered, she sucked in her breath so hard her chest hurt.

Her reaction to him never dimmed. The sight of such a powerful, proud man standing in the middle of the room, bared to the waist, his hands high above him, tied to a spreader. He was utterly magnificent.

On another man, his pose might seem submissive. Weak. Only she knew better. Underneath the seemingly calm surface was a man who seethed with emotion. Dark and boiling. And she would call it to the surface.

His head rose when he heard her footsteps. There was a vulnerability to his eyes she hadn’t seen in the past. As if the emotion bubbled that much closer to the surface. Before he’d buried it, only releasing it with his pain.

Not everyone would understand his needs. But she did. Oh, how she did. She would set him free. She would give him what he needed.

“I need ... Don’t go easy,” he said in a low voice.

She nodded her acceptance of his request. She alone understood his need for this kind of pain. They were more alike than he would ever know.

She uncoiled the whip and let the end fall to the floor as she circled behind him. Such beauty. His back was broad, his waist lean and narrow. The muscles tensed and bunched between his shoulder blades as he readied himself for her strike.

How long she had practiced, relentlessly perfecting her method, so she would never disappoint him. He was safe in her hands.

The first lash landed against his skin with a deafening crack. He jerked but quickly righted himself and went still, awaiting the next. She flicked her wrist again, exerting just the right amount of force, and placed an identical stripe across from the first.

She forced herself to relax, to not allow the welling emotion to bubble up. Calmly and methodically she kissed his back with the lash, watching as he jumped and bowed under the whip.

Sweat glistened on his back, dampened his hair until it fell in limp curls past his neck. Still she continued, sensing he needed more. She striped one side then the other, working a path down to his waist.

As she worked her way back up, blood beaded and shone in the low light. Finally. Release. Lightly, like a lover’s kiss, she whispered the whip across his shoulders until they were slick with blood.

It was like making a cut in a festering wound. The relief was profound, as pressure—and pain—escaped the seething cauldron. His hands clenched in their bonds, his wrists flexing as he raised his head, looking upward as if he was seeking redemption.

With every stroke, she lavished him with her love. It would have seemed bizarre to someone who didn’t understand. An unacceptable outlet for many. But this was his way. She accepted it, as she did him.

A heavy sigh escaped him, the only sound he made the entire time. His shoulders drooped, and she knew it was enough. She let the whip fall and walked around to face him.

His eyes were closed, but his cheeks were streaked with tears. Her own eyes clouded with moisture. He’d never cried for them. Not at the funeral. Not at the graves. Not afterward when he’d driven her home. And then he’d simply disappeared, dealing with his grief as he did everything else. Alone.

She ached to hold him, to tell him it was all right, that Hannah and David loved him too. That she loved him. That he didn’t have to be alone any longer.

Instead she stepped forward and cupped his face lovingly in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered in a husky voice he’d never recognize, “Vaya en paz.”

Go in peace.

As she stepped away, he looked up at her with glazed, unfocused eyes. Another tear slipped down his cheek, marking a raw trail on his face.

“Thank you,” he said in a husky voice.

She simply nodded, knowing that even if she dared, she wouldn’t have been able to speak around the knot in her throat. She kissed the shaft of the whip and laid it carefully at his feet.

She left the room on shaky legs, knowing Mama Rose waited to free Micah and to attend him in whatever way necessary. She also knew he’d refuse the older woman’s attentions and would be gone within minutes.

She shed her mask, for the last time. It was all she could do not to run back down the hall and throw her arms around him, beg him to take her with him. Letting him go instilled in her a fierce ache. Because this time he wouldn’t be back. With that realization, she knew that it was now or never for her. She’d given Micah the time he needed to heal. Now it was up to her to go to him. Show him it was okay to love again.

He might not be coming back to Miami, but there was nothing to stop her from going to Houston. She had to go. She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe, and Micah was all she had to run to.

CHAPTER 1

HOUSTON, TEXAS

He didn’t see her right away. His view of her was obscured by the typical eclectic mix of sexcapades. Business as usual on a Saturday night at The House. The common room where people met to play and act on their fantasies was alive with the sounds and smells of sex.

Micah Hudson sauntered farther into the room, his gaze scanning the erotic mix of flesh. It struck him—as he paused to stare at a beautiful woman being pleasured by an equally beautiful woman—that he was bored. Restless. Cagey even.

His concentration left the pair when he heard the unmistakable slap of leather against skin and a breathless sound of pleasure that rose and quivered around his ears. Beckoning him. Where?

And then he saw her. Small, curvy and striking. Her nude body glowed in the soft lighting, her skin a light creamy brown, hinting at Hispanic heritage. Her hair slid like a waterfall over her shoulders, parted down her spine by the slither of a whip as it met her flesh again.

He couldn’t see her face, and suddenly he wanted to very much. Were her eyes closed in ecstasy, her face soft and warm with pleasure?

Her rounded buttocks shook slightly as her body swayed in the grip of the whip. Her feet moved, arched and then replanted as she braced herself. It was much like a dance, her rhythm intoxicating and erotic.

High above her head, her hands flexed and tightened against the rope that held her wrists captive. Her skin rippled over her shoulder blades as they dipped and caused a slight hollow. Then she relaxed again, and her low moan drifted to him once again.

Beautiful. She was fucking beautiful.

Desire whispered through his veins, gathering momentum, moving faster, surging through his groin. His dick tightened painfully, and he shifted to alleviate the uncomfortable tension.

No longer able to stand watching from afar, he moved forward, working his way through the crowd. Around the people watching the flogging. He circled so that he could see her profile.

Disappointment settled into his chest when he saw the half mask covering her eyes.

His gaze traveled over her luscious, plump lips that were perfectly bowed and untarnished by lipstick. They parted again as another sensuous gasp escaped from her throat.

He could no longer hear the slap of leather or the conversation around him. The sounds of the other occupants fell away, and all he could hear was her.

Her breasts, high and firm, smaller than he usually liked, jiggled when she endured another blow. The nipples, brown, darker than her skin, erect and puckered, soft looking ... What would they taste like? How would they feel in his mouth? Between his fingers?

His fingers curled. He could feel the slight weight of the globes in his palms as surely as if he were standing in front of her, measuring their size with his hands.

She was a perfect hourglass, her hips slightly wider than her waist, her belly flat and drawing attention to the soft curls between her thighs. They were dark like the fall of hair spilling over her shoulders, and they shielded her femininity, revealing nothing of what lay beneath.

But he could imagine. Oh yes, he could feel her damp heat as he parted the tender folds and delved beyond the silky curls. He’d stroke a finger over her clit and then trail lower to her center, stroking inward, feeling the clasp of her pussy sucking him deeper.

Jesus. Sweat beaded his brow, and his cock swelled and strained against his fly.

What about her did it for him? It wasn’t as if he didn’t see women like this in The House all the time. Was it the mystery? Was it her arresting beauty? Or maybe it was the way she arched and bowed her body, seeking the kiss of the whip even as she flinched away.

She was into it in a big way. Deep. Her eyes were closed, but he was sure they were dark like the rest of her. Those sumptuous lips puckered and parted, opened and closed. She made the most delicious, arousing noises, and he wasn’t the only one affected.

Other men watched, as transfixed by the sight as Micah was. Lust blazed in their eyes. They wanted her, but so did he.

Oh yeah, so did he.

He started forward again, his entire concentration on her, on the man making her writhe beneath the whip.

Cole looked up as Micah neared, and he paused, whip held high in the air. And then as if sensing his approach, the woman turned her head and opened her eyes.

Liquid heat exploded through his body. Her eyes were so expressive, so bright with passion, and she didn’t look away once their gazes collided. He could drown in those dark pools.

Her lips trembled, and for a moment he sensed deep vulnerability, a fact that made him suddenly fiercely possessive.

No, he couldn’t look away any more than she could, and he waited for what he wanted. Acceptance.

Her small, pink tongue flicked out, licking over her lips in a sudden, almost nervous motion, and then she nodded, need firing in her eyes.

Cole reached out to touch her shoulder, and it was all Micah could do not to react violently. He didn’t want Cole—or anyone else—touching her. She was his for this moment.

“Are you sure?” Cole said in a low voice only she and Micah could hear.

Her gaze flickered, and she turned briefly to look at Cole. Again she nodded, and her eyes flashed as she refocused her attention on Micah.

Those lips. God, those lips. He was dying to taste them, and suddenly he knew he had to. Even as he took the whip Cole extended and stepped forward, his movements were jerky and urgent.

He cupped her jaw in one hand, slid his fingers over the softness of her cheek, then slanted his lips over hers and took them hungrily.

He swallowed her gasp. Her taste exploded onto his tongue as he swept it over her mouth, inward, stroking deep. Sweet. Warm. Soft like a woman should taste.

Her tongue met his, boldly tasting him in return. Hot and wet, they dueled, neither backing down. An electric current raced up his spine, ricocheted off the base of his skull and sizzled over his nerve endings like a bolt of lightning.

Starved for air, he yanked himself away, his breaths coming in quick, jerky pants. She stared at him in wonder and swayed against the bonds holding her hands.

He took one step back and slowly circled until he stared at the slim column of her spine.

“Dance for me.”

The whip uncoiled and then came alive, arcing and then landing with a sharp crack. A glow rose on her skin, and her erotic moan hovered, sweet and arousing.

The room quieted, and her soft cries grew louder, more frequent. Moans. Sighs. A woman on the verge of climax.

She captivated him. Mesmerized by the sight of her reacting to his whip, his touch, his command, she excited him on a primitive level. She touched him in places that hadn’t felt warmth in a long time.

He didn’t understand it, but he latched on to it like a man starving.

The whip coiled and snapped, hissing and then landing, the welt rising on her skin. She rose up on tiptoe, her body straining even as she arched her back, waiting, wanting another lash.

The muscles in her slender arms rippled, and her fingers splayed out, stretching and then curling into her fists again. Faster, she moved in time with the lashes, dancing an erotic rhythm that held the room in her thrall. Race to release. Micah watched in fascination as he worked her into a heated frenzy.

The last lash fell just as a cry of sweet ecstasy burst from deep inside her. The sound was primal and beautiful, and it instilled an ache in his gut that extended to his balls. He was painfully erect, his cock bulging against the zipper of his jeans. He wanted nothing more than to shove his pants down and bury his cock between her ass cheeks. He wanted her ass, her pussy, her mouth. He wanted this woman.

No longer able to keep from touching her, he ran his fingers over the thin welts crisscrossing her back. She moaned softly, leaning into his caress. He smoothed his palms up her back and then under her arms and down her sides.

Wanting to look into her eyes, to see her again, he walked around her, letting his hand trail over her skin until his fingers rested on her belly and he stood over her.

“Look at me,” he said huskily.

He lifted his hand to her chin, tilted it up so her gaze met his.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips curved upward in a tremulous smile, and he traced the fullness of her bottom lip with his thumb.

He dropped his head to hers, their mouths touching. He paused, taking it slower this time, wanting to savor her sweetness.

“I want you. I want you so much it’s killing me.”

His voice was hoarse and needy, but he didn’t care. He only knew if he didn’t have this woman, he’d go crazy.

He reached up to untie her hands, and when they were free, she faltered, her knees buckling. He caught her to him, her body melting into his. She felt so damn good, and his zipper was trying to brand a permanent tattoo on his dick.

Wanting to feel the silk of her hair, he dragged his hand through it, enjoying the sensation of it sliding through his fingers.

“Will you come home with me?” he murmured.

His lips were just centimeters from hers. Her breath blew over his face, and he inhaled.

She stared back at him, desire warming her eyes.

He tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear, and his thumb snagged on the mask. He wanted to see her, wanted to know more about this woman he was determined to possess tonight.

She uttered a sharp protest and raised her hands to grip his, all the while shaking her head in mute denial. She tried to turn away, but the mask slipped and caught in her hair.

A strangled sound erupted from her throat and she hastily backed away, but not before he saw her features.

Shock hit him square in the balls.

He was going to be sick.

Angel. David’s sister.

Dear God, what had he done?

She stared back at him, frozen, her eyes wide and almost frightened. The beautiful naked woman standing in front of him was quickly replaced by images of Angelina at sixteen. Innocent, with a dazzling, flirtatious smile, the kind that a kid wore when she thought the world was hers on a silver platter. He couldn’t conjure an image of her older. She was stuck as that sixteen-year-old kid. How old was she now anyway?

David’s sister. Goddamn it.

Fury quickly replaced his utter disbelief. “Angelina, what the fuck?”

CHAPTER 2

Micah grabbed Angelina’s shoulders and pulled her close to him to shield her from view, but that was damn near impossible with a room full of people and her bare-assed naked.

He yanked his head around, looking for something—anything—to cover her with.

“Where are your goddamn clothes?”

“Micah, stop,” she protested.

The shock of hearing her speak momentarily halted him. The slightly accented speech reminded him so damn much of David. Her voice was huskier than it was when she was younger. Sexier. Fuck!

He shook his head and resumed his search, his gaze lighting on a discarded sheet from one of the beds. It would do.

Dragging her with him, he strode over to snatch the sheet from the floor. He draped it over her shoulders and then wrapped it completely around her, holding the ends as he looked for an escape route.

“Micah, stop! What are you doing?”

There was a spark of anger in her brown eyes, but he ignored that. She could be pissed all she wanted, but he was getting her the hell out of here.

Now that she was at least covered, he herded her along the edge of the room toward the door. They entered the hallway that led to the stairs, and he all but dragged her down the staircase and into the hall leading to the front entrance.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

There was trust in her tone, and it pissed him off more than finding her here. He’d just flogged her, seen her naked, lusted over ... touched her. For God’s sake. This never should have happened. He hated himself, but he was angrier with her. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t even know places like this existed.

“Out of here,” he said gruffly. “Not another word until I get you home. I swear, Angelina, I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, but it ends right here, right now.”

One of Damon’s burly security men stepped in front of the door and folded his beefy arms over his chest as he stared belligerently at Micah.

“Goddamn it, Mav, get out of the way,” Micah swore.

“Micah, what the fuck are you doing?”

Micah turned around to see his good friend and the owner of The House, Damon Roche, striding down the hall from his office. He sighed, irritated with the interruption. He kept a firm grip on Angelina’s arm while he waited for Damon to say his piece.

“Well?” Damon asked when he stopped a few feet away. His eyes were narrowed, the classic Damon annoyed expression, but he didn’t say anything further. He merely pinned Micah with an expectant stare and waited.

“Well fucking what?”

Damon made a move toward Angelina, and Micah pulled her back. The sheet slid down over her shoulders, but she held the ends tightly around her breasts. Her hair was pulled around and hung down one side, and Micah could see the marks—his marks—on her back, and the knot grew bigger in his gut.

He yanked the sheet back up, covering the bare expanse of her skin as if that would somehow erase what had happened just minutes before.

“You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?” Damon demanded. “Jesus Christ, Micah, have you lost your mind? Let her go. Now.”

Micah scowled at the challenge in Damon’s voice. Mav took a step forward and reached for Angelina. It didn’t matter that Damon and Mav were obviously trying to protect Angelina.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

May looked to Damon for guidance, and Damon held his hand up to stay his security man.

“You can’t come in here, grab one of my club members—hell, you can’t pull this shit here with anyone, member or not—and drag her out of here against her will. What’s come over you, Micah?”

Micah glanced at Angelina and wondered why the hell she was being so quiet. She hadn’t said much more than a few words. He couldn’t even conjure guilt over the notion that she was unwilling. She sure as hell hadn’t been unwilling when she’d given him that sultry invitation with those deep brown eyes. Christ, she’d had him whip her. He wanted to puke.

“This is a private matter between me and Angelina,” Micah said.

“I’m not letting you leave here with her,” Damon said calmly.

Angelina put her hand on Damon’s arm. It looked small and dainty in comparison, and all Micah could think was that those hands had been tied together while he marked her naked body.

“It’s all right, Damon,” she said in a low voice.

She trembled in Micah’s grip, and he loosened his hold. His gaze dropped over her arm to make sure there were no marks from his fingers. He’d done enough damage for one night. Now he just wanted to get her out of this place as fast as humanly possible.

“Do you know Micah, Angelina?” Damon asked, his expression skeptical. “You don’t have to go with him, friend of mine or not. My first responsibility is to my members here. I wouldn’t allow any woman to be manhandled as Micah has done you.”

“Member?” Micah bit out. “Are you telling me Angelina is a goddamn member?”

He looked to her for confirmation, but she wouldn’t look at him. She was staring at Damon, her expression calm.

“I know him,” she said simply. “He won’t hurt me. He’s angry because he doesn’t understand.”

“Understand?” His head was going to explode. “I understand that I’m getting you the hell out of this place, and under no circumstances are you to ever set foot in here again.” He glared at Damon as he said the last. “And I expect you to see to it.”

“What’s going on here?” Damon demanded. “This isn’t like you, Micah. I won’t let you walk out of here until one of you provides me with an acceptable explanation.”

“She’s David’s sister!”

Damon’s eyes flickered as understanding dawned. “I see.”

Micah made a sound of disgust. “No, you don’t see. Christ, Damon, you’re letting teenagers in here now?”

Angelina turned to him, one finely arched eyebrow creeping upward. “I’m twenty-three years old, Micah. Hardly a teenager. Certainly not in need of a babysitter, though you seem keen to sign up for the job.”

He stared back at her in disbelief. Confusion jacked through his mind like a buzz saw. Twenty-three? How had she gotten from a sixteen-year-old to a woman of twenty-three? Had it really been so long? How could he have lost so many years?

“At least let her dress,” Damon said quietly. “There’s no need to take her out like this. I’ll send Maverick up for her clothing.” Then he glanced at Angelina. “Do you want to leave with him, Angelina? I’ll be more than happy to provide a ride home for you. I can arrange for one of my men to take your car home.”

“She’s leaving with me,” Micah growled. “Now, if we can dispense with the chitchat, I’d like us to be on our way.”

Damon motioned for Maverick to go upstairs to retrieve her clothes, and then he reached for Angelina’s hand.

“You can change in there,” he said, pointing to one of the rooms a few feet away.

She looked expectantly toward Micah and then dropped her gaze pointedly to his hand on her arm. Grudgingly he let it fall away.

As Damon opened the door, Maverick appeared holding Angelina’s clothes. Clutching the sheet tightly around her with one hand, she took the jeans, shirt and shoes and disappeared into the room.

Damon immediately rounded on Micah. “I don’t care what your problems are in the future, don’t ever let something like this happen again.”

Micah ground his lips together and tried to hold his temper in check.

“I’m going to assume you had no idea who Angelina was when you gave her membership.”

Damon’s eyebrow went up. “There are a few things you need to remember, Micah. This is my club. You don’t vet my members. You don’t make the decisions. And you sure as hell don’t take advantage of your membership here. Angelina is an adult. She was reviewed just like any other person applying for membership here.”

“Did. You. Know. Who. She. Was?”

Damon sighed. “Of course not, Micah. How the hell would I? You’ve only told me cursory details of your friendship with David and the unique relationship you and David both shared with Hannah. I’m not even sure you ever told me what David’s last name was, so how on earth would I associate a beautiful young woman named Angelina Moyano with your past?”

Micah sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, man.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief. He was still reeling from the shock of the whole fucking night.

Damon looked skeptically at him. “Can I trust you to see her home or do I need to take care of it?”

Micah scowled. “When the hell have I ever been a threat to a woman? She’s coming with me because she and I have a hell of a lot to discuss. Namely what she’s doing here in Houston, why she didn’t come to me before now, and what the fuck she’s doing here allowing men to see her naked, to touch her and mark her.”

He shook his head again, too furious to continue.

“Goddamn it, Damon. I was the one who flogged her. I lusted over her from the time I walked into that room. I kissed her, I touched her and then I marked her. I asked her to come home with me because I wanted to fuck her. And then the damn mask came off and I’m staring at David’s kid sister. David would roll over in his grave if he had any idea what I did.”

Damon’s mouth twisted in sympathy. “Try to remember she’s not the teenager you have set in your mind. She’s a woman now. A stunning woman who’s obviously in charge of her sexuality.”

Micah made a strangled sound that got stuck in his throat. It was all he could do not to childishly cover his ears and eyes.

“Fuck me.”

Damon laughed then clapped a hand on Micah’s shoulder.

The door opened and Angelina stepped into the hallway, her eyes hooded and wary as she stared back at Micah. As beautiful as she was naked, she looked just as gorgeous fully clothed. Her jeans rode low on her hips, hugging every curve all the way down. She wore a simple sleeveless tank that showed a hint of the outline of her nipples and fit her slim waist like a glove.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked.

The question was asked innocently enough, but there was still enough reserve in her expression that he knew she was uneasy.

He worked to remove his scowl, but he finally gave up. She needed to know just how stupid she’d been for coming in here, and he wasn’t in the mood to soothe any feathers he may have ruffled.

He grabbed her hand, irritated with the way her slight fingers curled trustingly around his.

“Where I’m taking you is home. My place. You and I are going to have a long talk.”