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His colleagues are looking at him, their unanswered questions about just who I might be plain on their faces. Some even look at me with some sort of recognition. It’s odd, but I try to just smile and welcome them, to do what he told me and behave myself. He’s acting perfectly normal, but every now and then he touches me in some intimate way that just stokes the fire inside me to a blaze. He strokes the inside of my palm when nobody’s looking, or he teases the back of my neck with his finger, sending shivers down my spine. I wonder if anyone can see what’s happening to me, to my body, when he touches me. Inside, it feels like everything is on fire.
I pick at my food. After stuffing myself in front of him, the last thing I want to do is look like a ravenous beast, even though he seemed to enjoy my natural self. I also don’t want to be stuck with a mouthful of food when one of his colleagues speaks to me. He’s suave, sophisticated, mature. People look up to him, and I’m sure they’re curious about me but only in relation to him.
He fills my wine glass, touches me under the table, and smiles at me secretively. Every time he does so I feel like we are the only people in the world, and for me we might as well be. But for him, I have to keep pulling myself back into reality. Business event. Business event.
When the dinner is finally finished, the people charmed and the deals made, we wait in the street for a moment for his car to arrive. R puts his arm around me and that woody scent fills my nostrils again. He holds me close until I lean against him. His body is warm, his muscles under his suit beautifully chiseled, the picture of perfection. I breathe him in, his scent mixing with the chilled air. With one of his hands on my waist and the other in my hair, I draw the smell of him into my nostrils again, and he tilts my chin up with his hand. His mouth takes mine, gently kissing me, his tongue snaking between my lips, pressing them open. His tongue is insistent. There is nothing in me to resist.
When we get into the car, his hands start to slither over my body, pushing off a shoulder strap, sliding under my skirt. He has my panties off, falling down into a tangle on the limousine floor. The light of Paris through the mottled windows shines on my bare skin.
I can’t help but respond to him, and my feelings of fear, of grief, all fall away as the wetness drips through my panties in response to his sheer insistence on touching me. Before long I’m on my knees in the small space, fully naked, in view of the city, with his—with my father’s friend’s—hard cock in my mouth. I’m completely ready to succumb to whatever he wants. I have no choice, since he’s the one who can take my pain away... at least for a while.
He tangles his hands in my hair as he presses my face into him. I open my throat wide as his cock enters. I grip him, trying to swallow his massive cock in one go, each thrust a challenge as the limo bumps along ancient cobblestone Parisian streets. His taut buttocks clench against my hands as he thrusts into my face, his fingers grasping. I choke a little but push myself harder, wanting to consume him—to submit to him.
To own him.
To be owned.
“Take it all,” he mutters, gasping. He throws his head back. “Take it all in, Jordan!”
I moan, vibrations hitting his cock as I pull him deeper, my fingernails buried in the supple flesh of his ass. He’s quivering now, close to coming. I need to have his cum inside me, and I swirl my tongue around his cockhead until the hot streams hit the back of my throat, almost filling my nostrils. I want it, and I gulp it steadily as he roars out my name, his back arched, legs shuddering with the quake of his orgasm. Briefly a sense of embarrassment that the chauffeur can probably hear us flickers through my mind before I decide I don’t care.
Finally I feel the near-relentless hardness of him slowly subside, his cock easing in my mouth, and I lick up the last droplets of pearlescence.
Our breathing is loud in the small space, and the air feels steamy, naughty, clean. Pure and primal.
He stares at me a moment before sliding his pants back up and buckling his belt.
Wiping my mouth, I slide up next to him on the seat. R grabs me and presses a kiss against my lips.
“Come to my room,” he says. Surely we can’t fuck any more today. Does he want to fall asleep with me? To sleep beside me? I stare at him. That’s a level of intimacy I didn’t expect to get to. Especially so soon.
I hope my desire isn’t too obvious on my face. I look up at him, and he smiles.
“Come on,” he says and grabs my hand as the door opens. The chauffeur lets us out and we stumble-walk-run into his hotel.
As soon as we make it through the door, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me deeply.
“Little Girl,” he says, grabbing my ass.
“King,” I answer softly.
“I thought you were going to call me R,” he says, gathering my ass cheek in his large hand and squeezing it hard.
“I like King better,” I answer.
“So do I,” he growls, and looking around, pulls me by the hand into the elevator.
“Are you always this insatiable?” I ask.
“No,” he says into my hair. His hand pulls my dress up again, playing with my thong, which is getting wetter and wetter. “Why, don’t you like it?”
“I love it,” I answer honestly.
“You’re a bad girl,” he observes. I blush. “If only your daddy knew.”
“You won’t tell him, will you?” I ask. A feeling of panic rises in my chest, and I shudder involuntarily.
“Not as long as you do what I say,” he answers. The panic doesn’t quite go away, but it morphs into something else. And the something else moves down to my between my legs, like a electrical bolt to my core.
