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Chapter Twenty-One
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Iwasn’t sure I’d ever taken off my pants faster.
And was damn proud of myself for doing it without tripping over my own two feet.
Ha fucking ha; great joke to laugh at—until one had to match the will of their brain to the actions of their body, with that part of Shiraz Cimarron’s anatomy just a few feet ahead. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him, even wondering for a moment if this was all one hell of an incredible dream. If it wasn’t, I knew the sight of his elegant fingers around his stiff, proud cock were going to be actually featured in a few dreams now…
But at the moment, I was a long, lonnnggg way from thinking of sleep.
At all.
The salty breeze filtered through the grove, making the trees whisper and my skin tingle, as I stepped before him, nude and vulnerable. I shivered again as his gaze touched every inch of me, noticeably pausing at my puckered nipples…and the pussy that clenched in anticipation of his cock conquering me there.
Dear God, I hoped that was part of this punishment shit.
His lips parted, but for a long moment, he said nothing. His stare, like his penis, just got darker and thicker.
Finally, he uttered, “By the Creator, Lucina. You are…something from my dreams. Like a siren from the sea.”
His voice poured over me like a wave, weakening my knees, throbbing my pulse. “I’m not that wet…yet.” And the attempt to one-liner myself back to composure was a soggy mess on the air—until he lasered it to pieces with the intensity of his attention, the command in his stance.
“I will be the arbiter of how wet you get, girl.”
Yes, please.
“Of course,” I murmured.
“Of course…what?”
“Of course, Master.”
“How you please me.” His voice rode the wind, wrapping warmth around me then inside me. He spread his legs, bracketing his stance, continuing to taunt me with the sight of his hard-veined length, the crimson head now kissed with the milky evidence of his lust. How I wanted to fall to my knees before him and taste that cream. Take it from him, as he commanded more of my thoughts, my will, the very drops of my desire. But I didn’t dare move toward him on my own. I didn’t even want to. I wanted everything masculine in him to take—and rule—everything female in me. Use it. Transform it into his special, sexual putty…
The thoughts lent me enough mettle to look back to his face. His jaw was firm, his neck corded with tension. Nobody gave better neck porn than Shiraz Noir Cimarron.
“How can I please you even more, Master?”
He inhaled, as if my words were the perfect perfume for him, before he directed a nod toward our palm frond bed.
“Get back down there for me. On your hands and knees. I am going to take you like an animal.”
“Yes, Master.” Though I came very, very close to not complying—due to my melting blood and knees gone to mush. Dear God. Did this man actually possess the power to reach into my psyche, learning every damn hot button I had?
Hotbeing relative.
Meaning it needed an instant superlative, nearly from the second I sank to the ground once more…and he lowered directly behind me.
Raked his touch up the front of my body.
Scratched his fingernails back down my spine.
Rose up, letting his cock rest on the small of my back, as he smacked one side of my ass then the other.
Hard.
“Fuck!” I gasped—then writhed, as my intimate channel dripped and pulsed and yearned for him…
