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"I like it, too. " He tugged on her hair, caressing the small of her back. "You play a hell of a tennis game, by the way. "
"You slaughtered me at the end. " Some of her worry slipped away as the tension of the moment eased, as they pull
ed back from that dangerous edge.
"Only because I took away your focus. I didn't give you any points, Marguerite. I promise. There are games I'll let you win. . . " His gaze grew more serious. "But very few. "
He shifted, came up to his knees and laid her down on her back again. Leaning over her for a moment, he stroked her hair, fanning it out on the soft grass around her. She kept her hands at his shoulders and neck, even let herself stroke a finger over his firm lips, feeling safe in the quiet moment to do so. He kissed it, took it into his mouth, nipped.
"Do you have any clue how beautiful you are?"
Tyler wondered if she knew that he meant more than the way she fixed her hair, or how she did her makeup or kept herself in shape. He meant the total appealing complexity of her. She'd played a sub's game with him at the court, though she didn't realize it. But when it came down to it, she chose honesty, trusting him to understand.
Trusting him not to push when a mere breath could have had his cock inside her. It was the first time she'd trusted him, and he'd recognized it. It had helped him overcome the roar of his own hormones and desire for Dominance to honor it as the gift it was. And now he intended to thank her in a way that would make the moment memorable.
"Marguerite. " Lying down on one hip beside her, he propped his head on his palm.
"Give me your hand. "
When she did, he guided it to her mound, molding her fingers over her clit. "I want you to finish what I had you start earlier. I want you to make yourself come while I watch. "
He kept his hand on her wrist, anticipating her attempt to withdraw. "I've told you. . . I've never done that. "
"You'll do it now. Just let your body guide you. "
"What are you going to be doing?"
"Watching you. Getting. . . or rather, staying, rock-hard while the scent of your aroused cunt fills my nose and your breathing gets even more erratic. While your body begins to squirm, your ass getting grass stains as you rub it into the ground, trying to pump your fingers like you would want my cock to move in you. "
"I don't - "
"Here. " His fingers straightened, lying between the spaces of hers. Just like the dance at The Zone, he began to guide her, making her rub her clit in slow, dragging circles while he pressed down on the digits, adding pressure. His other fingers caressed the outside of her labia, her thighs, the spaces between.
The feel of his fingers with hers made it that much more powerful in her mind. Her hips pressed down, her back arched as he had predicted. He watched her with those intent eyes as he withdrew his touch, caressed her hip. "Keep going, Marguerite. I want to see you come. And I don't mind if you go slow. " He gave her a wicked look. "Seeing you spread out here, baring yourself to pleasure at my command, there's no reason to rush. How does your pussy feel? Look at me," he reproved as she tried to look away, as she parted her lips. "You keep doing that and you'll earn yourself another punishment.
I like watching your eyes get glazed with desire as they are now. Answer the question. "
"W-wet. "
"Hmm. And what else?"
"It's warm. " She drew in a ragged breath as her fingers feathered on her clit, learning that a light, fluttery touch could make her squirm, a rubbing stroke could make her insides turn into a whirlpool of rich molasses. The two methods applied together could whip it into a thicker, turbulent froth. "The skin there is. . . soft, slick. "
"Keep going. " He dipped a hand beneath her working fingers, brought back a finger damp with her juices, tasted it. "Open up. "
She opened her mouth and he put the same finger in her mouth. She startled herself by sucking greedily, tasting herself, tasting him.
"And how do you taste?"
"It's not really describable. Like me but muskier. Thicker. "
"The scent of your sex could turn any man into a rabid dog. " He nodded. "I would start every day with my face in your cunt, eating you out, scraping that sweet clit with my teeth. "
She gasped, her hips working harder, her head coming off the ground. Her back was curving as she shamelessly, intentionally displayed the taut points of her nipples to him. Why wouldn't he touch her?
"You'll come for me before I touch you again, Marguerite," he said, as if reading her mind. "But I expect you to ask permission before you do it. A sub never comes without her Master's express permission. "
Why was she continuing to be surprised that he could do this to her? Perhaps because no man's touch ever had. She couldn't possibly ask his permission and he'd insist, but oh. . . her body was so hungry, so ravenous. She watched his face, the elegant, lean body, the gleaming muscle. The tight bulge at the crotch of his shorts, the columns of his thighs, one propped up in a vee to brace his body. When she'd been on his lap that scent of his, the heat of his embrace, had been the closest thing to safety she'd ever felt. Sanctuary had always meant a place for the mind and soul to be at rest, not to experience this wild spiraling.
