Sunday Snog #199: A brand new kiss from Incognito

I’ve been revising and expanding my second novel Incognito for re-release next year. The new edition will include a brand new chapter which (surprise!) has turned out to have a BDSM flavor. Normally I don’t share unedited work, but I wrote this today, and I do think it’s quite a thrilling bit. Plus it contains a lovely kiss.

Enjoy!

Of course, as usual you’ll find lots more sexy snogs over at Victoria’s place. Tell them Lisabet sent you!

****

“Waiter! Another round for the lady, please. Glenfiddich for me, straight up.” He leaned closer, close enough that his unfamiliar scent made her dizzy. “Good thing I came along. It would be a great shame to waste this delightful evening...”

Miranda couldn’t understand why she was so flustered. Certainly he was aggressive, but she was an expert at fending off unwanted masculine attention. “My husband—“ she began.

“Is a very lucky man,” he concluded. “Though he’s crazy to let you out of his sight. His loss is my gain, however.”

Something shifted. Something in his voice or his manner triggered sudden recognition. Mark? She almost blurted it out loud, but the stranger’s eyes—Mark’s eyes—held her spellbound. He let his mask slip for an instant. Play with me, he broadcast in that silent gaze. Play out the scene.

Their beverages arrived. Raising the glass to his lips, he let the amber liquid slide down his throat, clearly savouring every drop. “Wonderful,” he commented. She took a tentative sip of her wine. “That’s right. Drink up, sweetheart. Then we’ll go to my room.”

The confidence—no, arrogance—she heard in his voice lit a fire in her belly. He was, quite simply, amazing. He’d turned himself into someone else, so effectively she had to keep reminding herself that the man leaning over and murmuring smutty suggestions in her ear was actually her husband.

She pretended to fight her rising arousal. “Really? What makes you think I’ll go with you?”

“I can read it in your body. I can see it in your eyes. You’re a randy slut who’s dying to be shagged.”

His words kindled delicious shame, electric heat. Liquid gushed into her panties. “No, no. I’m married. I’m here on my honeymoon...”

“Then where’s your bridegroom?”

“Detained, I’m sure. Probably caught in traffic. He could arrive any minute...”

“We’d better be going then. Come along, sweetheart.” He tossed a twenty pound note onto the table, then grabbed her by the elbow to pull her toward the lifts.

“Wait—no...” The elevator doors had barely closed before he had her backed against the wall, pinned by his weight. His breath was hot in her ear.

“Can you honestly say you don’t want me, woman? That you don’t want this?” He ground the hard ridge of his erection into her abdomen.

“No—I—please...”

His mouth silenced her half-hearted objections. Miranda melted. He might look different, smell different, but she knew these ripe lips, this bold tongue. Throwing her arms around his neck, she poured herself into the delirious kiss.

Without relinquishing her mouth, he clawed at her suit jacket, then slipped a hand inside so he could thumb one taut nipple. She moaned into his throat and squirmed in his arms, arching against him. He abandoned her breast, leaving it swollen and aching, to slide his palm up under her skirt. He found the bare skin above her thigh-high stocking. She shuddered as he wormed his fingers into her soaked panties to stroke her pubic fur. Sharp pleasure sparked through her limbs and spiralled into her core.

“You’re drenched, sweetheart,” he murmured, finally breaking the kiss to smear her own moisture across her lips. “Protest all you like. Your body doesn’t lie. You love the idea of a hard, fast, anonymous fuck.”

Miranda was silent, tasting the ocean-and-salt of her undeniable lust. The lift slid open. Her companion seized her by the wrists, dragging her along the carpeted hallway to one of a dozen identical doors. This wasn’t their floor, or their room. She knew that as soon as she saw the ropes encircling the bedposts.

Liquid coated the insides of her thighs. Her nipples throbbed in time with her pulse. She searched Mark’s face for some sign of his intentions. “Um—I—M...“

He pressed a finger to her sticky lips. “No names. That would spoil it. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded, mute with desire.

“You can call me ‘Sir’. And I shall call you ‘Slut’. That’s what you are, after all. You want my cock, in whatever hole I might choose. I’m right, am I not?”

Some part of Miranda wanted to sink through the floor. It was so difficult to expose herself this way. Some part of her, though, was proud.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And the bonds—you want those, too?”

Of course she did. She wanted it all.