She was so embarrassed she wanted to die. Right here, right now, God, you can take me. Please! What she didn’t add to her plea, although she wanted to, was, Now that I’ve experienced pleasure like this, it’s all right for me to go. At least, I know I’ve truly lived in this man’s arms.

He didn’t laugh at her lame joke about the Last Supper. Instead he leaned over and lapped at her pu**y once more. She felt all of the remaining blood from her head and the rest of her body rush between her legs, straight to her clit. If she weren’t so damn embarrassed, she would have begged him to lick her just a couple more times.

One more touch and she’d be over the edge into oblivion.

For the fourth time in the past hour.

She was Candace Whitman, for god’s sake. A girl who had gone to Catholic school with ruler-thwapping nuns. A girl who still turned bright red every time she thought about the astonishing array of dildos on display at the erotic writer’s conference.

But before she could make any more feeble protests about how ridiculous it was for him to have her splayed open and tied up like some sort of sex slave on his four-poster bed, surrounded by rose petals and a hundred candles, Charlie slid another length of silk fabric off the four-poster bed frame. Slowly, as if he knew how much his every move tortured her inflamed libido, he twisted the thin fabric into a tight cord.

Then he stood up and began to walk around the side of the bed. She wondered, somewhat wildly—hopefully too, much to her ongoing chagrin over what an utter and complete slut she was turning out to be—if he was going to whip her with the tip of the fabric. She knew it would hurt. But then, she knew Charlie would make it feel good too. And then he could kiss it all better.

Instead, he took the fabric and covered her eyes with it, lifting her head slightly so that he could tie the fabric in a knot behind her head.

Candace had never felt more powerless.

And she had never been so full of anticipation in her whole life.

Firmly tamping down on the logical part of her brain that said their lesson had gone too far, way too far, she let her senses take over. She listened to the crackling fire, the sound of Charlie’s footsteps on the wood floor and then the carpet. She smelled the potent scent of rose petals mixed with her own come and the faint scent of vanilla from the candles. She tasted her own musky desire on her lips.

Feeling silk slide around her ankles and wrists, holding her hostage, for the second time in her life, for the second time in one short, sunny afternoon, Candace gave herself up to a greater power.

The power of truly sweet lovemaking.

And wondered why she had never let herself experience it before.

Chapter Six

Charlie had watched the play of emotions work their way across Candace’s face as he’d turned her over on her back. Feelings of self-doubt and self-consciousness were the reasons why he had wanted her face down for his initial onslaught. It was so much easier for her to let herself go if she forgot anyone was watching.

From what she had already said to him, from all of the nervous signs she tried to conceal from him, he knew how badly Candace wanted to experience incredible heights of lust and passion. He knew she wanted to learn what it was to f**k and be f**ked so hard and so long that the tender, slick skin between her legs was raw from it. And to still want more, even when pain was beginning to get all mixed up in the pleasure.

Knowing she was a beginner in the sensual arts, he was going as slow as he could with her. Putting her face down. Showing her how strongly she could react to the simplest, lightest touch. Letting her hide from her embarrassment. He wondered who had taught her that sex was dirty, but knew it was a conversation they would have later, down the line, when she had accepted what her body wanted from her.

Oddly enough, while Charlie was no sexual novice—he’d had his fair share of hot one night stands and had been sandwiched between more than one woman during the past five years since his divorce—he had never wanted to make love to anyone this badly.

Ever.

Not even when he was a fourteen-year-old virgin used to beating off to Playboy, and was finally ready to sink himself into the pu**y of one his mother’s friends who had come on to him, did he feel this out of control. It was taking every ounce of restraint within him, and then some, to keep from thrusting into Candace.

At the same time, he had never wanted to give anyone as much pleasure as he wanted to give Candace. He felt like he could make her come a hundred times and then a hundred more, and though his c**k would surely be turning blue by then, he would gladly give up his own sexual release just to see her achieve hers.

Without knowing just how or when it had happened—was it the minute she walked through his door, or was it when they spoke on the phone, or maybe it was when she had accidentally tackled him at the conference—the teacher had become the student.

Charlie would have been amused by this realization were it not for how painfully she aroused him. She was innocent, she was confused, she was unknowledgeable, yet her body had the answers from all the way back to Eve.

But they weren’t done with her lessons yet and he knew the only way to keep her imprisoned in her own sexuality, the only way to show her how many ways she could feel good, was to take control away from her. So he tied her up and blindfolded her, praying all the while that he was doing the right thing. Hoping that he wasn’t pushing her too far.

As he tied the knot around the back of her head and felt her soft red hair caressing the backs of his arms, he noted with satisfaction that the tension was leaving her body, almost as if she had made the decision to give in to everything he was offering her.

He stood and picked up one of the candles from the dark-pine bedside table.

“I want you to tell me if I’m hurting you, Candy,” he said.

She swallowed once, then twice, then licked her lips, nodding her agreement.

He blew out the candle and then kneeled at the side of the bed. With infinite precision he poised the candle over one of her thighs and tilted it so that the barest amount of hot wax dripped onto her skin.

Candace hissed out a stream of air between her teeth as the wax made contact with her skin.

Immediately concerned, Charlie covered the patch of skin with his hand and said, “Did I hurt you?” If he had, he knew he would never forgive himself.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice sounded heavy. Drugged.

Charlie breathed out an enormous sigh of relief, but he couldn’t help but worry that he had crossed a dangerous line.

Instead she surprised him. “Do it again,” she whispered.