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“I find myself torn,” he said. “See, a part of me would like to make you suck it. Make you get it all wet and warm so I can use it on the rest of you. Make you remember that I own this mouth so completely I can do whatever I want to it. But I’m not sure I’d like seeing another cock—real or not—in your mouth.”
If he thought that was supposed to make me nervous or something, he was wrong. Hell, I’d once put a live maggot from Dodger’s fishing bait between my lips on a dare; I could handle having a vibrator in my mouth.
“You know what, baby? I’ve decided I will make you suck it. Open up.”
I flicked out my tongue to lash the silicone head, smiling to myself when his eyes flared.
“Open wider.” He pushed the vibrator into my mouth, held it there a moment, and then withdrew it. “Hmm. I like it. Yet I don’t.”
His eyes remained absolutely riveted on my mouth as he thrust the toy in and out over and over. And I knew he wasn’t getting off on me doing it, he was getting off on the fact that he could make me do it. It was about ownership.
“Enough.” He bobbed it in front of my face once more. “Now I get to have some fun.” He pressed the switch. And it whirred to life.
What the fuck?
My face must have betrayed my surprise, because he smirked. “You thought I wouldn’t notice there were no batteries in it? Oh no, I made a point of checking. Found the batteries at the bottom of the box.” He lightly trailed the tip of the vibrator down my neck, and it hummed against my skin. “Remember to keep your hands where they are.”
An hour later—or maybe it was longer, I really couldn’t be sure—I was writhing on the bed, thighs tremoring, while he rubbed the purring head of the vibrator back and forth over my clit.
The bastard had delivered a devastating assault to my senses, softly dragging the toy along the skin of my neck, breasts, stomach, and thighs. All the while, his mouth had licked, nipped, and sucked; his free hand had stroked, shaped, and squeezed.
Four times he’d brought me to the edge, only to back off. And I knew he’d do it a fifth time before finally letting me come, since I’d once again made the mistake of moving my hands not so long ago.
I gasped as his mouth suddenly latched on my nipple and he began sweeping the head of the vibrator from my core to my clit over and over; feather-light motions that made me buck my hips and arch my back. And then I felt it happening. My pussy fluttered and my body shook with feverish tremors as the tension inside me built to an unbearable level and—
He stopped.
Close to tears, I wanted to curse him. Curse him, slap him, threaten to never suck his cock ever again in my life. But I wasn’t eager to experience a sixth hit-and-miss—I needed to come.
“There, all done,” he soothed. “You took it like a good girl. Now you get treated like one.”
I almost groaned in relief as he lodged the head of the vibrator into my pussy. I lifted my hips, hinting for more. He rocked it into me in short, shallow movements that felt heavenly yet torturous. Then he mercilessly shoved it deep. My back bowed and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Come when you’re ready, baby.” He fucked me with the purring toy, dragging it against my G-spot each time he withdrew it. Every now and then, he’d twist it just right and then slam it deep. And I had no chance of lasting. None. The orgasm washed over me as I came long and hard, head thrown back.
He switched off the vibrator and pulled it out. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you come.” He flipped me onto my stomach. “On your knees, Kensey. Good girl. I’m going to take you right here like this, but first …” His hand came down sharply on my ass.
I hissed at the sting, even though it quickly became a warmth that flooded my pussy. I tried to rear up, but his hand gripped my nape and kept me pinned to the mattress. Then he slapped my ass again. And again. And again. Until the skin burned and throbbed. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the pain, gripped my ass, and spanked me again.
“My good little girl, kneeling here with a pretty red ass. Shall we find out how wet you are?” He shoved two fingers inside me. “Dripping wet. And so damn hot and tight. Hmm, I can feel you rippling around my fingers. You need to come badly, don’t you?”
Yes, I damn well did. The earlier orgasm had only taken the edge off. When I felt the head of his cock bump my folds, I seriously almost cried with happiness.
“I’m going to fuck this pussy like I own it. Why would I do that, Kensey?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“That’s right. Your body was made to be fucked by me.” He gave my nape a little squeeze. “Keep your head down.” He slammed into me. Hard. So deep it knocked the breath right out of me.
A long, ‘oh, thank God’ groan slipped out of me, and my pussy clutched him greedily.
He swore. “Fuck, baby.” Then he was hammering into me at a frantic pace, leaning into me just enough to keep me pinned to the mattress. I gripped the bedsheets, moaning for more—harder, faster, deeper. He gave me what I wanted, needed, craved. Powered into me so roughly I knew I’d be sore.
I tensed a little as he started working his wet finger into my ass, even though he’d done it what felt like a thousand times before. He slid his finger all the way to the knuckle and started pounding my pussy harder. The double assault was too much, and I felt my release barreling toward me.
“Come, Kensey.” He slapped my ass hard, and the sting threw me over. White-hot pleasure fired through me like molten lava, swelling inside me until I imploded; distantly aware that Blake had bit out a harsh expletive as he shot jet after jet of come inside me. Then I was limp. Weightless. Drifting like a balloon that had had its tie snipped.
Blake curled over me and kissed my neck. “You did it again.”
“What?” I slurred.
“Screamed for me.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
He just laughed.
Our seven-day trial run went by without incident. If Blake had any trouble sharing his space, dealing with my weirdness, or if he at all missed his cleaner, he didn’t show it. For such an intense and domineering person, he was surprisingly easy to live with.
He was a damn good cook too. I was no slouch in the kitchen either, so we alternated with the cooking. It worked out well.
I never found myself bored or lonely in the huge apartment without him, because I’d often spend that time proofing the final draft of my book—a long-ass, tedious process that I didn’t enjoy. During my short breaks, I’d take time to search the websites that featured royalty-free images, since I designed and created my own covers with the wonder that was Adobe Photoshop. I planned to do a cover reveal on my social media sites soon, so I needed to have the cover done and dusted. As such, there were times when I worked longer and later than Blake did. I’d get so caught up in my work that I’d be shocked to look up from the amazingly comfortable sofa to see him standing there, waiting with an amused smile for me to notice him.
Like before I moved in, we spent some of our evenings at the basement and others at his apartment, relaxing in front of the T.V.—and the skyline view—on his sofa. It was one of the latter evenings when Emma showed up with her husband and son.
The little boy from the photographs Smith sent to me rushed inside. “Uncle Bla—” He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted me, and little red dots stained his cheeks.
