AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Julian turned from the light of the cityscape to look at Skylar. Her honey eyes were bright as she watched him. She stepped to the drink cart, hesitated when she saw that he’d poured her a drink, then picked up her glass of whiskey and raised it to her lips. She took a sip, and when she lowered the glass, a drop of whiskey glistened on her lower lip as if begging him to lick it off.
He smiled to himself, wondering if she knew she was a natural submissive.
She fought it. Sometimes even tried to disguise her surrender as an act of control.
Like how she’d let him fondle her breast at the bar.
Like how she just drank the drink she said she didn’t want.
He led. She followed. Even if, in her own mind, she thought it was her that was leading him.
So he waited. Waited for her to come to him, this time in curiosity.
“So. How does this work?” she finally asked.
Julian watched as she swirled her finger around the lip of her whiskey glass. He found his gaze following her red nail, so deeply red it was almost black. A frisson of excitement jolted through him as he imagined those fingers digging into the flesh of his chest as she rode his cock. He could see him sucking those fingers into his mouth and biting just hard enough that she cried out in pain . . . and ecstasy. He imagined her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock as she gagged on his length. Automatically, he lowered his hand and cupped his aching cock.
“Should I take off my clothes, then?” she asked, returning her whiskey glass to the bar cart, her gaze on his hand between his legs.
He leisurely stroked himself once, then let his hand fall.
“Should I strip myself naked for you and lay down on your couch?”
“I certainly won’t stop you.” The words came out so quietly he doubted she could hear. But she sensed something because she moved slowly toward him. A dangerous light glinted in her eyes.
“Should I touch myself to make myself wet for you?” she continued as she drew nearer and nearer still. “Should I spread my legs and dig my heels into the leather cushions and grip the backrest to make it easier for you to fuck me?”
Jesus. Hadn’t he just been thinking that Skylar was submissive? Granted, it was possible to be both to varying degrees. A submissive could still want to be dominant at times, just like a dom might want to engage in the occasional act of surrendering. But had he read Skylar wrong? Did she get off on a man totally seceding power to her?
Then he saw it. The nervous tension in her eyes. The way she wouldn’t hold his gaze with hers. No. She was simply pretending. And yet he found that intriguing—that she’d play at being in control. He couldn’t see Asshole Rex, the ex-fiancé, as a man who’d willingly allow a woman to be dominant in bed. Was Skylar acting out a fantasy?
She stopped in front of him, and before he could stop her, she reached forward between his legs and squeezed his balls. “Or should I just bend over right here for you?” Her silk skirt rustled against his legs as she spun around and ground her ass against his crotch.
But he could see her hands shake.
“Stop,” he demanded, his voice thick in his throat.
She didn’t, though. Instead, she pushed back against his erect cock even harder, rolling her hips, reaching back with her hands to fumble with his belt buckle.
“Come on then,” she said, attempting to lower her voice in a growl but failing. “I know this is what you want. I can feel it.”
His cock strained against the swell of her ass from the friction of his pants, but he gritted his teeth and again commanded, “Stop.”
Skylar ignored him, and his belt buckle came loose. Then she yanked at the button of his pants.
Enough. He’d had enough of Skylar pretending she knew what she wanted. She was putting up walls, barriers. He didn’t know why, but he did know it was some way to protect herself. From what, though? From the sex? Or from feeling?
That wasn’t going to fly. Not with him. If they were going to fuck, then he was going to fuck the real Skylar. Not the Skylar who was trying to fuck an escort. A male prostitute. A man whore. If she was going to fuck him, she was going to fuck the man he was, not the image she had of him in her mind.
“I’m not your escort,” he said firmly. “I was that first night. I’m not now. I never will be again. So stop this,” he gritted out.
Ignoring him, she yanked at his pants, and the button flew loose. His zipper ripped down, and her hand pulled his hard cock free. He held back a groan as she hitched her skirt up to her hips and bent over. God, damn. She wasn’t even wearing so much as a thong.
“Just fuck me already!” she all but shouted. “Fuck me and get this over with!”
Wrong. Fucking. Thing. To. Say.
He stepped back. “Pull your skirt back down.”
