As she did, she kept her gaze lowered, though she got another good view of that engorged cock. He picked up his wineglass, tasted. “Good choice.”
The simple praise made her glow, silly as that sounded. But then her attention snapped elsewhere as he unhooked the slacks, opened them. She knew she was supposed to keep her eyes down, but she couldn’t help peeking through her lashes as he adjusted the slacks and the briefs beneath to bring his thick cock into view, the end glistening as she’d imagined when she’d plucked that honeydew blossom. Only there was far more collected at the tip than a tiny drop.
“Come here and put your mouth on me. Go down as far as you can and then stop.”
As she leaned forward, her hands knotting behind her back, she inhaled his scent, the primitive, animal odor of an aroused male. When she put her mouth on him, she thought about that lipstick leaving wet red marks. The way it had on Dana’s mouth, on Max’s. Her body was wrung out from the climax of a moment ago, limbs still unsteady, yet she didn’t care. She wanted more of him. She literally wanted to be f*cked to death by him, however he wanted her. His touch, his cock inside her mouth, her p-ssy…everywhere. She was his, and she wanted him to use her hard, thoroughly, until every ounce of his lust was sated, three times over.
She slid down, down. Halfway there, he was at the back of her throat, stretching her lips with his size and length. She relaxed her muscles, took him deeper, felt his broad head test her gag reflex, but she was determined to hold him there.
He’d taken another sip of the wine, but then he put it down and used both hands to gather up her hair. He transferred the thick mass of it to one hand, held it in a twisted grip as he began to push her down even farther.
“Center your mind, Rachel. Mind over matter. I know you know how to do it.”
If he hadn’t given her that release, she couldn’t have done it. But every part of her was compliant now. Not just her mind, but her relaxed muscles as well, nothing holding her back or harboring reservations. So her throat softened, and he slid deeper, until she was holding him to the root, her breath coming through her nose in shallow draughts.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured. “My beautiful slave. We go at my pace.”
She followed his hold on her hair, the pressure of his knuckles against her nape. Sliding up his length, she drew in her cheeks to create suction and used her tongue to trace that vein pulsing under the flare of the head. His hand tightened, a convulsive jerk. The power of giving him pleasure surged through her. As he pushed her back down, she pleased herself, exploring the breadth of him with the tip of her tongue, stroking him further with the flat of it. Up again, down again. He had control of her pace, but she seduced him with her mouth until she could tell he was setting the pace his body dictated. She was making involuntary little animal noises that vibrated against his head when he shoved himself into her throat. God, he was beautiful, so hard and thick, virile as she’d expected him to be.
As erect as he was, she anticipated him being closer to release, but she underestimated his stamina. He made her work for it, give him everything her mouth could offer, making those pleading noises. He was breathing hard as well, and he hadn’t reached for the wine again, all his attention on her. The pumping rhythm in her mouth was the rhythm of sex, and she wanted him pounding inside her, thrusting into her so hard he’d ram her bed against the wall, drive her into the mattress. Make her earth move.
Unexpectedly, he pulled her off him, and fisted his cock, hard, holding the base. She could see that vein throbbing beneath, knew how close he was. “No,” she whispered. “Please…”
“Ask properly.” His jaw was set with rigid concentration. “Or I come in this napkin and you only get to watch. Don’t think, Rachel, just say it.”
“Please let me finish you, Master. Please…Master.”
It made her gasp in pain, but the look in his face was a balm against the wound the word tore open inside her. He nodded, his face set in implacable lines. “Use your hands then. I want to feel those pretty fingers against me.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. She wrapped both around his base, treasuring the feel of the velvet skin over hot steel, the heavy testicles she stroked with reverent fingertips. He made an ominous rumble in his throat, a warning to get down to business.
She set her mouth back over him, not thinking of anything. Not what she’d unwisely said in the heat of the moment, not tomorrow or how impossible this all was. She just focused on sucking her Master to climax.
He exploded in her mouth, his hand clamped on the back of her neck, digging in as she moaned her pleasure and encouragement and took him all in, swallowing him down. He rammed up into her mouth, and she had the titillating impression of his hard thighs, partially revealed by the open slacks. His ass was flexing against the wooden seat, taut muscle obvious even under the fabric. She wished he was naked, even as she also couldn’t deny how arousing it was, to be stripped bare for him when he allowed her only short glimpses of the body under his clothes.
As the powerful climax spent itself to the last drop in her throat, he pumped a few more times, slowing his pace but keeping it going, letting her savor long drags of her mouth along his length, feeling him twitch at the increased sensitivity. His hand on her hair convulsed in tandem with the reaction of his cock. She sucked the ridge along his head, traced the slit where his semen had shot into her throat. He was still semi-erect, and she thought she could do this all night, keep servicing him with her mouth.
Her Master had other plans.
Chapter Eleven
Drawing her away from him at last, he set her on her heels as he tucked himself back in, refastened the slacks. He pulled the belt free, set it aside and then he leaned forward. Lifting her by the elbows, he drew her up into his lap, letting her curl there like a child.
She closed her eyes as he cradled her, adjusted her body so her legs draped over one chair arm. When he slid his relaxed hand between them, his knuckles pressing against her inner thigh, it reminded her of his right to touch her wherever he wished. But with that demand was this cosseting tenderness that overwhelmed her after such blinding passion. “Oh Jon. I can’t…I don’t know what to say.”
“Last time I checked, you don’t have permission to say anything. Not unless you ask first.” But there was humor in the quiet reminder. She relaxed further in his arms, noted she was still quivering. It was then she also noticed the ring on his middle finger, and remembered that vibrating sensation. It appeared to be a simple band, but on the palm side, there was a tiny, thick disk. It had to be the source of the vibration that had taken her fading climax up to a whole new level. She was beginning to realize Jon wasn’t content with a woman’s “normal” orgasm or even the typical intensity of the aftershocks. He wanted to stretch the limits of her endurance, every time. It was a daunting—and terribly thrilling—prospect.
He pressed his mouth to her forehead, dipped to kiss her lips, tease his taste from them, from her tongue. “Talk about torture. I’ll never leave you like that again. Thinking about you, knowing how hot and needy you were feeling…it’s a wonder I got anything done today. Did you come by yourself?”
The question was weighted, his hands stilling upon her. She swallowed. “Almost. Once. I was sleeping, though, and couldn’t help it. I woke up and sort of stopped it.”