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His jaw ticks with what I would have interpreted as anger days ago.
Zale lets go of my face, and I open my mouth wide to take him in. His tip is large enough to fill my mouth—I curl my tongue around his folds, and am rewarded by a low growl.
I've taken half a dozen cocks in my mouth, and none posed the kind of challenge his does. There's no chance in hell I can fit him all in.
Titling my head back and gaping wider, I suck in what I can, and curve both of my fists around the rest, twisting his length in my grasp, slow and firm. Heat pools between my legs as he hisses. I blow. I lick. I pump, and lower my fingers to his base to seize his balls, too. I worship his massive cock in any way I can think of, taking my time exploring every inch of it.
Zale calls my name, reverently at first, then warningly, pleadingly. I ignore it all and return the delicious torture he submitted me to.
My insides clench uncomfortably with need, until I have to move one hand between my legs to quiet the yearning in my groin.
Zale catches the movement and grunts a protest. He steps back from my mouth, and I pout. "I wasn't done."
"Trust me. Nor was I."
Pushing against my chest until I lean back against my old bed, he unfolds the legs tucked under my ass and peels my trousers down my thighs, then helps me out of my tunic. I sit back, almost naked but for flimsy silk panties, and he watches, still dressed, his crotch and half of his shirt open. There's something lewd to his still wearing clothes, with his hard, glistening cock right there, but when he decides to even the scales, I certainly don't complain.
He reveals his lean, scarred, sculpted torso, opening his shirt, and then lowers his slacks along his strong legs. My folds throb with need. "Don't tease."
I shouldn't have said that. Now, all he does he tease.
He kneels on my bed and his strong hands part my knees, but he just runs his finger at the corner of my panties, barely ever grazing the heat where I need him most. His mouth kisses the length of my thigh, my stomach, and my breast.
"Please, Zale."
"You're not making yourself come. No one else is. From now on, only me."
I narrow my eyes. "In your dreams."
He's not about to dictate what I do with my own body. Touching myself in the shower is one of the only ways I relax.
"Only me," he repeats. "Every time you want to be touched, you'll come to me, any hour day or night, and I will satisfy you. I'll touch and lick and fuck you as much as you can bear. Then, more."
His tongue sets the fabric aside and travels the length of my soaked entrance.
Oh.
"Tell me," he says against my flesh. "Tell me you'll let me worship you."
If he thinks for one second—
His tongue flicks my clit, back and forth, fast and light.
"Aaah!"
Then he stops, grinning at me between my legs. "Tell me, Helyn. If you want me to make you come, that is."
"You're a monster," I whine.
He only chuckles.
"You agree to my terms? This pussy is mine, yes?"
He's infuriating, but I bob my head up and down. There isn't much I wouldn't have agreed to for more.
He finally stops torturing me, moving his skilled mouth back on me. His fingers join it, resuming their maddening ministrations. I'm panting and begging for more, rushing to the inevitable precipice again.
Zale shifts to his feet and crawls on top of me, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance. "Are you ready to come around my cock, vixen?"
