She walked in front of him and slapped his left thigh near where his briefs were stretched tight, leaving a red mark. “You touched my breasts. Are you sorry?”
“I did, and I’m not sorry.” He grinned wickedly.
“You should be.” She trailed the spoon directly across his hard-on and probed it gently. “Do you like that?”
He kept his mouth shut.
She jabbed him harder with the spoon. “I said, ‘do you like that?’”
“Yes,” he hissed, his unnatural purple eyes slits.
“Do you want me naked?”
“Yes.”
“Good boy.” She grabbed the edge of her slip.
“No,” he said.
“No?” Judging by the hunger on his face, that wasn't exactly what he meant.
“Let me do it. You don't have to do anything.”
“I don't?” she tossed the spoon toward the kitchen, put one arm around him, and stroked his member through his underwear. “There's nothing you want me to do?”
“I want to free you.” He reached inside her slip and unclasped her bra. Her breasts tumbled out, overfilling her slip. “I want you to hit me, pinch me, spank me… do whatever you need to do to get everything out. If I'm a very good boy, your whipping boy, I'll make you come so hard you don't remember your name.”
“Oh fuck,” Lily moaned because he was teasing her nipples now, pinching them, treating them roughly. She let him pull down her top and expose both tips. He carried her to her couch, draped her back over it, and began to suckle on them.
She arched back, reveling in his voice and dirty whispers between sucks. “Let me make you feel good. Let it all out.”
“Oh my God.” His fingers found their way inside her panties, playing with the wetness that had been forming since the moment they met. She thrust against his hand and braced herself on his shoulders. That only encouraged him to suck harder. She dug her sensible fingernails into his shoulders and felt her clit throb like it was ready to burst. He must have known it too because he started to tease the nub harder and harder with his every stroke.
Right before she came, he suddenly drew back, smirking.
Bereft of his touch, she was flabbergasted, “Finish me!”
“No. Not yet.” He sat on his heels.
“Cabrón,” she called him an asshole in Spanish. This meant war. “Kitchen, now.”
Chapter4
She picked up her cup and stomped past him to her meager supply of wine and spirits. She took out her oldest, rankest tequila and poured two shot glasses. Limes hadn’t been on her shopping list this week, so they’d have to make do.
He stood waiting quietly, erection still flying proudly, wearing nothing but his mask and briefs. She bent down to retrieve the spoon where it lay temporarily forgotten and gasped. This must have been part of why he’d left the slip on—he’d worked to make her nipples so sensitive, the tiny movement of her breasts against the material was delicious torture.
It confirmed his asshole status because he’d done this deliberately.
“How may I please you?”
“I need your name.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I'm not calling you the Man in Black. If you're being bad, I need to call you something.”
“You can call me whatever you want.” He put his hands on his cock and stroked himself with each word. “Boy, slave?”
