Midnight Jewels

her head, her eyes challenging him.
    "Well? Do you want me to use you for a punching bag or a stud?"
    "For crying out loud, Mercy, this is ridiculous." He didn't know whether to laugh or shake her until she gained a semblance of normal behavior.
    "Forget I gave you a choice. I've decided I'll get more use out of you as a stud than a punching bag. Sex is what I want, not a gym workout." She grabbed the waistband of his briefs and stripped them down to where his jeans were caught just above his knees.
    He felt his stiffening manhood fall into her waiting hands.
    "Hang on a second, honey. If you want me to make love to you, just give me a minute and I'll do it right."
    "You don't have to worry about doing it right. We're not doing this your way. We're doing it the way I want it done. You don't have to say or do anything except perform on command. Close your mouth and concentrate on being useful. You might try meditation. Here, I'll give you something a little different in the way of mantras."
    Croft didn't realize what she intended until he felt her hair flowing around his thighs. Then her soft mouth found him in an overwhelmingly intimate caress. A shudder went through him.
    "Oh, Christ."
    Mercy didn't respond. She was too busy exploring him with her tongue.
    Croft realized she had never done anything like this before in her life, but that didn't seem to be slowing her down.
    She was cautious at first, tentative, but eager, and what she lacked in skill she was more than compensating for with sheer determination. She didn't seem at all interested in advice or suggestions from her victim. Her fingers cradled the heavy globes at the base of his throbbing shaft while she learned the taste of him.
    Croft felt the edge of her teeth skim lightly over the most vulnerable place on his body and he nearly exploded in her mouth.
    He had told her once that there was a fine line between pleasure and pain. Mercy had found it.
    She had claimed she was doing this for her own pleasure. It was her own release she sought; a way to relieve the nervous tension and anxiety that was driving her. But Croft found himself enthralled by the sensual assault. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.
    He had spent years learning to master himself. Self-mastery made it easy to master others. He was always the one in control, even in the rare moments of sexual climax.
    Except when he was with Mercy.
    She had already demonstrated that she could provoke him into sharing a wild, shimmering release with her. Now she was teaching him that she had the power to overwhelm him completely. She had the power to force his surrender. No woman had ever treated him like this.
    No woman had ever wanted him this much.
    Croft groaned as the tip of Mercy's tongue circled him. He was torn between grabbing her and pinning her beneath him and a surprisingly strong impulse to simply tie back and enjoy the unfamiliar excitement of surrender. It was his nature to dominate, yet with Mercy he was learning that there were other ways to find pleasure.
    Mercy had said she was going to use him to achieve her own gratification, but surely no woman could make such intoxicating love to a man unless she felt something more than lust.
    Croft closed his eyes, twining his fingers into Mercy's tousled hair. Driven by the spiraling desire that was rapidly threatening to overtake his senses, he lifted his hips, wanting more of her sweet, hot kisses. Mercy answered the silent plea for more with a final butterfly caress, and then she was pulling away from him.
    "No," Croft muttered, opening his eyes to discover her kneeling between his spread legs. "Don't stop. Not now." His momentary fascination with finding himself a victim of Mercy's assertiveness faded quickly. She had aroused him too fully. He couldn't let her quit now. Croft started to reach for her.
    "Don't you dare move," Mercy ordered. "I've got you exactly as I want you. Stay put." She grabbed the hem of her pullover and yanked it over her head, heedlessly tossing it aside.
    Croft breamed deeply when he realized she was wearing nothing underneath. Hie taut peaks of her high breasts were dark against her pale skin. He ached to take a gemlike nipple into his mourn. He lifted a hand, letting his fingers brush lightly across the tip of one soft white breast.
    But Mercy ignored him. She was too busy shimmying out of her jeans. When she shoved the denim down over her hips, she removed her panties at the same time. The tawny