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Benson wanted to flip the flogger around, fuck her with the handle, then climb between those thighs and pound her pussy with his hips as he drove his cock as deep inside her as he could go.
He couldn’t…well, wouldn’t…do that.
But he could be inside her in a different way.
“Where are you? What color?” He knew his voice was a growl. Knew she liked it when he sounded like this. She’d told him so more than once.
“Green, Master.” Her voice was floaty, distant.
And she’d called him “Master.”
Fuck.
“Mal.” He pinched the outside of her thigh.
She yelped, eyes popping open.
“What color?” he demanded. “Think before you answer.”
An expression he couldn’t read flickered across her face before she spoke. “Green… Sir. Master Benson.”
“Then spread them wide. As wide as you can.”
Already spread, she forced her legs open a little more. He was treated to a lovely sight—a well-whipped pussy, the slick interior framed by pinked flesh that knew the kiss of pain.
Benson raised the flogger and brought it down in a hard blow, dead center on her sex.
Mal screamed, back arching, hands curled into fists. But her legs stayed spread.
The urge to strike her again, to give her more of what she so clearly needed, rode him hard.
Instead, he tossed the flogger aside. He grabbed Mal under the arms and hauled her off the platform.
Mal got her feet under her, wobbling a little. She grabbed onto him, one hand on his waist, the other curled around his forearm.
Benson put a hand on her shoulder and applied pressure, a silent command for her to get on her knees.
She obeyed, gracefully sinking down. Her hands curled around the back of his thighs as she tipped her head back and looked up.
Fuck and fuck again. She was so damn sexy like this.
It was a cliché how arousing he found making a woman kneel and suck his cock.
In silent command, he gathered her hair into his fist, then drew her face towards his crotch.
When she kissed him through the leather, her lips a firm pressure, Benson realized he was far closer to coming than he’d realized. Or maybe he rode the edge of orgasm because it was Mal kneeling at his feet. Mal, who was about to have his cock halfway down her throat.
She went to work with teeth and tongue, tugging at the lacing. He knew she could do it, but he didn’t have the patience to wait.
With a few deft motions, he had them unlaced and pulled his cock out, the air almost painfully cold. But it wasn’t enough to distract him or lessen his need. He jerked a condom out of his back pocket and rolled it on.
He saw her eyes widen with surprise—once they’d been past the point of condoms, regular partners who didn’t scene with anyone else.
With a rough jerk on her hair, he pulled her face toward his cock. Her mouth was obediently open, and the tip of his dick slid right in.
And fuck everything, because nothing ever had, or ever would, feel as good as Mal’s mouth wrapped around him.
He boxed up that thought and shoved it aside, because it wasn’t the time.
