LEAD ME ON by Julie Ortolon (find a book to read TXT) 📕

the words, along with a desire to give her any fantasy she wanted. Before they parted, she’d likely hate him, but at least he could give her this: physical pleasure to remember for a lifetime. He searched through the garments scattered across the bed, until he found what he wanted. “Put this on.”

She stared at the bra that was all straps, underwires, and very little else, her eyes going wide with shock at the idea of wearing it.

He kissed her neck, teasing her pulse with his tongue. “Trust me.” He inched up her T-shirt, running his palm over the warm flesh of her stomach. With light kisses and teasing touches, he coaxed off her shirt and reached for the back clasp of her sensible cotton bra. It gave with a satisfying snap.

“Put it on,” he said again, handing her the black bra.

She hesitated, then sat up, with her legs tucked demurely beneath her in the middle of the bed. Her breathing turned shallow as she realized she wanted to don the scandalous garment. Taking it from him, she bent forward to fasten it and felt the wires snug up under her breasts. The quarter cups ended below the nipples, lifting her breasts and putting them on display.

The sensation was wickedly thrilling as she straightened and looked down at him.

Lounging back on one elbow, he stared a moment before he dragged his gaze up to her face. “Now lie down,” he said. She stretched out beside him, not quite sure what to expect. He took her hands and raised them to the headboard. “Hold on here. Don’t let go.” His smile was slow, sexy, and just a bit dangerous. “Trust me.”

Her heart pumping, she did as he said and gripped the headboard as he stripped off her shorts and panties, then did away with his boxers. He came back to her, all dark, aroused, and potently male. His gaze dropped to her breasts, laid before him like a feast. Then, slowly, he bent and suckled each nipple until she whimpered with need. His hands moved downward, opening her thighs, teasing between them.

As his fingers slipped inside her, he spoke in husky tones about what he was doing, how her response excited him. He enthralled her body, enslaved her senses as she arched and writhed beneath him. By the time he positioned himself between her thighs, every fiber in her body sang like a tightly drawn bow string expertly plucked by a master.

Then he drove inside her with a force that made her gasp. With his lips against her ears, he told her how good she felt, as he moved steadily, driving her higher. She closed her eyes, returning his thrusts and gloried in the pleasure of the giving and taking.

Trust me, he’d said, and she did, absolutely. In that moment, she trusted him to take her anywhere. It was fate she didn’t trust.

Chapter 18

There was no going back, Scott realized as he lay staring at the ceiling with Allison’s head resting on his shoulder. Someone was going to wind up hurt; it was only a matter of when.

Stroking his hands through her hair, he enjoyed the fit of her warm body against his. “For the record, I want to state that I did try to be noble.”

“I didn’t want you to be noble.”

“Then I guess you got your wish.” He tipped his head to see her face. “Remember that, okay? No matter what happens, remember that you wanted this and I never meant to hurt you.”

“I won’t get hurt.” The trust in her smile wrenched his heart. “I know you’re not interested in anything serious or long term, and neither am I. But like you said, we can still enjoy ourselves and enjoy each other, can’t we?”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

“Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.” She kissed him lightly and snuggled closer. “Besides, I couldn’t leave you alone. I’m your muse.”

“I thought we agreed stress was my muse.”

“No, I’m your muse. I just use stress to inspire you.”

“And you do it so well.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“So, how is the book going?”

“Very well, actually.” His hand trailed lazily over her soft skin. “Although Marguerite and Jack keep trying to take over the story.”

Her eyes widened and she lowered her voice. “Do you think they really are ghosts? That they’re trying to tell their story through you?”

He started to say no, that his minor characters frequently tried to steal attention away from the main characters, but he hesitated—remembered that moment underwater, when he’d felt... something. “I don’t know. Ever since I went down to the ship, I’ve been thinking about things from Jack’s point of view. I mean, I always try to put myself in each character’s skin to understand them better, but I really do wonder about Jack. If he loved Marguerite as much as everyone claims, why did he leave her here so long? Why wasn’t he more forceful in talking her into leaving Henri? And if her marriage was as bad as you claim, why didn’t she go?”

“For her, it was lack of trust and too much fear of being hurt again. As for Jack, I agree, he should have fought harder. Although, in his defense, he didn’t know how bad her marriage was. Like a lot of battered women, she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone.”

“You’d think he’d notice the bruises if they were getting naked together.”

“They didn’t really ‘get naked’ that often.” She propped her head on her hand. “Their affair started slowly, and wasn’t physical at all for a long time. She was Catholic enough to want to keep her vows. Plus she was deathly afraid of Henri. And Jack, I think, from the way she describes him, put her on a pedestal. He worshipped her. They didn’t actually make love until they’d been in love for a long time. That was the night she gave him the necklace.”

“No wonder he went back for it.”

“Yes, I suppose