Lori Wilde - My Secret Life

Once his chest was exposed, she buried her face there and inhaled deeply. His chest hairs tickled her nose and she held the hem of his shirt, still clutched in the fist of her hand.

He growled.

A tiger.

She was in the dark with a tiger.

A sweet fear washed over her. A sugary terror clogging her arteries and making her gasp for more. Her entire body tingled with fear and joy and hungry, secret longing.

Her knees wobbled. Sensing her weakness, he pressed her back flat against the wall of the closet, holding her in place with his hip.

She was on fire for him. She had never wanted any man this badly.

He didn’t speak.

Golden silence.

This was very good. Dark and anonymous and quiet. Nothing but heavy, excited breathing. Not hearing his voice made her feel as if he were pure fantasy and it escalated her excitement beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.

She felt raunchy and rash and ready. This was exactly what she needed to bypass all her troubles.

Wildly, she pressed the tip of her tongue to his broad chest and licked a long path up to the hollow of his throat. He tasted like a seafaring man. Gloriously rich and salty.

She heard her own pulse thrumming through her ears and it sounded like a river rushing downstream.

His movements were measured, controlled, but at the same time relaxed and easy. His fingers were now trailing circles around her nipples, teasing them into taut peaks.

In the inkiness, in the masquerade, he was a creature of the night. Sleek and primal, sexual in a way that quickened her breath and slicked her palms, along with other, more feminine parts of her anatomy.

The stagnant air in the closet was heavy with the sound of their rough, synchronized breathing. It smelled of the musk from their throbbing bodies. It tasted twisted and taboo.

Who —she found herself thinking in the short gaps between utter delight— are you?

She told herself it was Richard. It had to be Richard. Who else could it be?

Her mind thrilled to the possibilities. Why did she find the idea of a masked stranger so compelling? Why did she suddenly want him not to be Richard?

Was she losing her mind? Had she lost it already? Slipping over the edge of reason in a smoking-hot French-maid uniform?

He kissed her again, the glide of his tongue smooth and perfect.

Her blood moved recklessly through her. There was that thrill again, rolling like an electrical storm. Searing and stark and scary.

The pirate growled again, low and guttural. The sound vibrated through her, set her nerve endings flaming, causing her hips to twitch involuntarily and the deep folds of her moist sex to burn for him.

He unzipped her costume and slipped it off her shoulders in the darkness. Then he unhooked her bra, exposing her bare breasts. The pirate lowered his head and began to sweetly suckle one of her aching nipples while lightly pinching the other between his thumb and index finger.

The synthetic material of his fake beard tickled her skin.

Something inside of her slipped, a ship freed from its moorings, set adrift at sea. She reached up to plane his face with her hand, feeling the solid jut of his cheekbone against her palm.

His mouth was skillful. Gentle when she needed him to be, firm when she needed that, too. This pirate was taking his time.

While Katie appreciated his unanticipated leisure, at the same time it added to her anxiety. The longer this took, the more likely they were to be caught.

And that sent a fresh set of brand-new thrills and chills chasing up her spine.

His arms were strong, comforting. Oddly, in spite of the unconventional circumstances, she felt safe. She wished it wasn’t so dark, wished she could see his face.

What, and spoil the fantasy?

He reached down and, grabbing one of her legs, lifted it up and cocked her heel against his hip. Katie felt her stocking being stripped away. He peeled off her stiletto. Let it clatter to the floor. Carefully, he let her leg drop, then repeated the process with her other leg.

She’d intended this encounter to be a clothes-on quickie, but it wasn’t turning out that way. He wasn’t playing his part how she’d imagined.

His breath on her bare skin was deep and rich—black velvet. Nimbly, his fingers worked, tickling her skin. She giggled against the lightness of his touch, the freedom it unwound in her.

Soon, she was standing with her back against the wall wearing nothing but black silk panties.

“You don’t have to get undressed,” she said, taking care to keep her voice disguised, to keep the fantasy going. “We should make this fast. In case someone comes looking for us. We don’t want to get caught doing the nasty at the Ladies League ball.”

“Why not?” he said rough and low. “It’s the perfect high-society sacrilege.”

She frowned. What did he mean by that? She wished she could see his face.

The room was ebony. Only the light from underneath the crack in the door penetrated the darkness.

He said nothing, but she heard the quiet whisper of his zipper sliding down.

She sucked in her breath.

Wet heat gushed through her body. The muscles deep within her pelvis tightened. Her heart beat faster and she surprised herself by how quickly she grew slick.

His hand was a hot pressure as he reached out to trail it across the soft silk between her legs. He stroked her gently, his fingertips executing a slow, deliberate circle.

Whimpering softly against the erotic sensation, she grasped his arm for support.

He kissed her tenderly while his fingers kept exploring. A warm, soft kiss of satisfaction.

Lust swamped her. She had to have him. Had to have him or she would surely die. She ran her tongue around his lips and he made a masculine noise of enjoyment.

He slipped her panties down then, edging them over her hips, below her thighs. When her panties fell to her ankles, she kicked them off and curled against him.

He sank slowly to his knees.

Uh-oh. What now?

She felt the touch of his lips against her upper thigh and pulled in a hissing breath as his mouth inched toward the place Katie most wanted him to touch with that quicksilver tongue.

Wanted it, but was she ready for it? Few had ever gone there. She put a hand to the back of his neck. “Wait, I…”

He lifted his head. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered, and then made a promise. “I won’t hurt you.”

His strong outer lips rested against her soft inner lips. Instant heat. Boiling, building. She was a teapot—hot and ready to let off steam. She had no idea she was capable of feeling such physical intensity.

He made a sound of hearty appreciation and clasped her tightly in his muscled arms, pressing her hips firmly against the wall. Pinning her. His prize.

Her hands were frantic, raking through his hair. She was desperate. Raw. Hungry need personified. Taking lust, turning it into trust.

Foolish, perhaps, but here she was.

She accepted what he gave her. She didn’t ask for more. There was no reason. She did not require it. He conferred upon her everything she desired.

No one had ever touched her in the way Richard was touching her. Inside. Deep inside. He found all her secrets, exploited them to full advantage.

It felt so good it almost hurt. This free-falling pleasure and pain.

Lost. She was afloat in the sweep of his tongue, the moist heat of his mouth. The tension was impossible. His tongue teased and pleased. Taunted and tamed.

She wanted to cup his head in the back of her hands, drop to her knees and face him in the darkness.

But she was afraid. Afraid to learn too much. Afraid to ruin the fantasy. Afraid of being caught in a whirlwind of chaos from which she might never recover.