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He resisted one heart-stopping moment, eyes wild, mouth set with determination to have his way. But because he was in that zone of service and need, not because he was wanting to prove he had control.
Still, that moment of defiance would be good for another five licks of the belt, but right now she had other priorities. When he released her, she flipped around to face the head of the bed. "Hands and palms up, shoulder width," she ordered, her voice heavy with her own urgent lust.
She already had her hands out, showing him what she wanted. She loved that his eyes lighted with fierce pleasure. She could have had him scoot up the bed so she could grab the headboard, but the only support she wanted was him.
She gripped both his upraised hands and used the strength of his lifted arms to straddle his face again and control her movements against his mouth. As his face pressed deeper into her pussy, she watched his mouth work over her cunt, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks. She'd left him hurting for his own climax, but she'd take care of that in a minute. Right now his job was to take care of her. That was what they both needed.
As the climax surged up and through her, her grip slipped and his went to her wrists, an arousing and intriguing dual message of who held control, who was caring for who.
She came with low, long cries, working herself against him, the morning beard adding an almost unbearable friction as she rubbed harder, intensifying the sensation. Fuck...her brain was going to explode, her whole body overcome.
When she came down, shuddering, the lingering effect was so strong, she didn't want to stop. She moved on his mouth in a slow, rhythmic cycle, humming her pleasure as he kept his tongue available to her, stroking with long, strong sweeps along her still spasming tissues.
"You are a treasure." They were the first words she could manage, sometime later, in a voice hoarse from screaming. She found the strength to move back, touched when his grip went to her waist and hips to keep her steady as she dismounted, putting both knees on one side of his body.
She wasn't done with it yet. Not by a long shot. She brought her mouth to his chest and worked her way down, a laborious inch at a time, tasting and exploring, kissing and biting, chuckling darkly as he jumped at the sharpness of her teeth and let out a low curse. When his hand grazed her waist, her hip, she shook her head against him.
"Grip the bedding above your head. Keep your hands to yourself."
He groaned again, a protest. She knew he wanted to touch her, and Goddess, did she want to be touched. But first, she took him in her mouth again, took him deep and sucked and nipped, hollowing her cheeks. She gripped his balls, stroked her thumb over his perineum. At the height of his arousal, when she knew how close he was, she eased three moistened fingers back into his rectum, just an inch or so past the erogenous ring of muscles, and fluttered and played.
"Go," she muttered, a vibration against his flesh.
He cried out, a deep, guttural groan as the climax took him, as he came in her mouth, his hands clutching the rumpled sheets, his body bucking up to her.
She let herself feel it, the bliss of commanding his response, of him letting it happen, of the two of them coming together the way it
was supposed to work.
As all the gods and goddesses as her witness, she wanted him like she'd never wanted a sub.
It didn't have to make sense. Yes, he had a unique backstory. But his response to her wasn't unique, not if she was objective about it. God knows, she'd had others more accommodating, far less work, and just as gorgeous and hot, if not more so. But she hadn't wanted to plumb their hearts, minds and souls the way she did with him. Endlessly and forever.
This was the way it worked. She'd seen it happen between Mistresses and subs before. That click moment when a Mistress knew a sub not only was all hers, but she was meant to be his, too.
When she realized she loved him.
Damn it all, she was as sure of it as if he'd come to her with a bow tied around his energetic dick and her name stamped on his ass.
Hmm. There was an idea. New Orleans had a lot of tattoo parlors, after all...
Chapter Fourteen
Marius stood at the airport window, overlooking the area for private planes. He was in a VIP lounge where they offered sparkling water, gourmet coffees, wrapped chocolates and snacks way above economy flight peanut packet standards. A concierge stood at attention behind a desk, ready to call another someone to run and fetch whatever was needed for the small scattering of important people hanging out here, waiting for their planes to arrive or be ready for boarding.
Regina was on a work call as she sat by another window. She was canopied by a slender trio of indoor palms. Her laptop was open as she coordinated some changes to her presentation, per the client's needs. Leastwise, that was what he'd picked up from listening to this side of the call.
He should be checking out the view, watching the prep of the planes. Instead, as he leaned against the window frame, arms crossed over his chest and foot hooked over his ankle, he watched her.
Today she was in work wear, and damn, if it didn't conjure some heavy-duty fantasies. Black slacks outlined her trim figure and those long, long legs he could vividly imagine wrapped around his body in a vise grip as her cunt squeezed down on him.
She wore a silky ivory-colored blouse, open at the throat to show a necklace with a pendant of the red jasper she favored. A black blazer completed the ensemble with a small pin on the lapel. The silver and ceramic red rose was no wider or longer than her smallest finger. She wore small silver hoops in her double-pierced ears.
He recalled pressing his face into her throat below one of her adorned ear lobes earlier this morning. Her hair had brushed his face, her pulse pounding against his mouth. She was affected by him. She didn't bother to hide it.
Since the night in the hotel room, she hadn't hidden or walled off her responses to him. She was putting the attraction right out there without fear. Probably because she'd made it clear she would kick his ass sideways if he tried to mess with the gift of her vulnerability.
He couldn't help but wonder. If, by some miracle, one day she could trust him enough not to be on guard against his fucked-up-ness--if he could trust himself enough to let her--how far could they go together?
