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"You like that, Master?" I asked, feigning surprise.
"I like it very much. Keep doing what you're doing, slave-girl. You're doing a very good job. Except you forgot about kissing all my parts. And the massage."
I rubbed against him again. "Did I?"
He grinned widely at that and then groaned again, his eyes closing when I pressed against the tip especially firmly.
Then, I took the massage oil and worked it into his chest and abs, my fingers trailing down over his pecs and stomach, tracing each hip crest, and then I worked on his thighs, aware of his delicious looking erection inches from my face.
"Sit on me now," he said, as if impatient to get to the fucking part.
"But Master…" I said, a pout on my lips. "I haven't kissed all your parts yet."
I leaned down and ran my lips over his cock from base to tip, licking the drop from the head. Then I kissed it, before sucking the head in my mouth. He groaned and closed his eyes, smiling despite his best attempts to stop.
"Now, Katherine."
I smiled to myself as I pulled off and then I rose up, back over his hips, and he held his erection out for me. I rested my hands on his chest and made a point of missing, rubbing myself against his length so that the tip brushed my clit repeatedly.
"Shameless slave-girl," Drake murmured. "Disobeying your Master's command."
"This slave apologizes, Master," I said, a bit breathless as I rubbed against him once more and he did nothing to stop me. "But she can't help herself…"
I continued to rub myself against him, my eyes closed, for it felt so good I couldn’t stop, enjoying the sensations. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Drake was watching, his eyes half-hooded as they moved from my breasts, which were hanging in front of his face, to my body where it met his cock, to my face. He really enjoyed this so-vanilla sex act.
Then, he moved himself strategically so that when I pressed down again, he entered me. I gasped from the sensation of him filling me up so completely.
"Oh, God," I cried as he brushed against my sensitive spot inside. I was so ready, I knew it wouldn't take long.
"That's what I want to hear," Drake growled and took my hips in his hands as if to help me. I rode him like that for a few moments and it didn’t take long for me to feel the familiar build up of sensation that preceded my orgasm.
"Master I — I'm going to..." I said, barely able to focus or breathe.
He leaned up and took my nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and that was enough to send me over and I closed my eyes, groaning with pleasure.
"Look at me," he said, his voice a low rasp as he took my hips in his hands and helped me thrust.
I forced myself to open my eyes and look at him as I came, watching him watching me.
I collapsed onto him and lay still, unable to keep moving. For a moment, he did nothing as I shuddered around his length. Then, before I had a chance to recover, he lifted me up and flipped me over so that I was now on my back and he was between my thighs.
He kissed me, his mouth covering mine, his tongue finding mine, sucking it into his mouth hungrily, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. His thrusts were slow and deep as he worked himself up to his own release, but he made sure to hit at an angle that brushed a spot inside me that reignited my arousal. Soon, the sensations were building once more, my thighs still around his hips, my feet digging into his thighs as I pulled him down to meet me with each thrust.
"Come again for me," he said, his breath fast, a trickle of sweat moving down his brow.
As soon as I did, he did too, almost immediately as if he'd been holding back, his thrusts fast and hard. When he was finished, he collapsed on top of me, gasping in my ear.
"God, that was good," he said, kissing my neck.
"You are good," I replied, smiling, my eyes closed. "Master."
He chuckled, and I could feel the rise of his cheek in a smile. We lay in silence, both of us recovering, the beat of his heart slow and strong in my ears.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next day Drake stayed very late at the hospital to deal with a patient who took a turn for the worse, and I was asleep when he came home.
I missed him terribly during the day, but spent my time working on a new canvas, building it from scratch using the tools Drake had packed away in one of our boxes from Manhattan. It wouldn't be quite as big as the one I had done of Drake before. Instead, it was a more intimate portrait based on a photograph I took of him leaning back in the bathtub, his arms on either side of the old claw foot, his head back, lips softly parted, his hair wet. He was so beautiful, his shoulders and arms so well-developed, his jaw square and covered with a bit of scruff. The perspective would be difficult, but once the canvas had been covered with a s
