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Her words embarrass me a little. I’ve never thought of myself as beautiful. It’s not really a word I’d use to describe myself, or any other guy, for that matter. I unhook my belt, pull it out of my pants, and toss it onto the floor.
“Kneel before me,” I say.
She pauses a moment, but then she drops to her knees.
I should get a pillow for her knees. The small rug by my bed won’t give her much cushion, and her knees will begin to ache.
But I don’t.
Because I don’t want to stop.
I unbutton my pants, unzip them, slide them over my hips, along with my boxer briefs, and my dick springs out, so ready and willing, so throbbing and hot, and so ready.
She gapes at me.
“You know how large I am. I’ve been inside you, Frankie.”
“I know. It’s not the size, Hunter. It’s the beauty.”
Beauty. That word again.
No one’s ever said my cock is beautiful. Magnificent, yes. Never beautiful.
Of course, she shouldn’t be talking.
But already I know this relationship is different. I’ve been a demanding Dominant. Normally I don’t let my sub speak while we play. A lot of times I don’t allow her to touch me.
But here, now, I crave Frankie’s touch.
And that fear I’ve been feeling for so long? Fear at wanting what I shouldn’t want?
It’s dissipating.
Which of course leads to a new fear.
I don’t even know if she shares my proclivities. She’s curious, of course, but will she be able to be a full-blown sub? The kind of sub I desire?
I walk toward her, ready to shove my cock into her mouth, but before I do, I cup her cheeks, tilt her head so she’s meeting my gaze.
And I realize, as I look into those gorgeous silvery blue eyes, that it doesn’t matter what kind of sub she is or whether she turns out to be a sub at all.
All that matters is her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Frankie
He absolutely mesmerizes me.
Penn was a good-looking guy, but Hunter is a masterpiece. Penn had a good-size cock, but Hunter’s is a massive work of art.
Penn was lean and muscular, but Hunter is a freaking Renaissance statue.
There’s simply no comparison between the two.
I look up at him as he cups my cheeks, his palms warm against my skin. Is he comparing me to Allison right now? To Teresa? To any of his other partners in play?
I hope he isn’t, but how can he not be? I’m doing the same thing.
I’ve never seen anything like Hunter Stone outside of a magazine, and he puts the best male models in our publication to shame.
“Have you ever considered modeling?” I ask.
He shakes his head slightly. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“I’m thinking about how freaking gorgeous you are, Hunter. You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and quite frankly what’s even more amazing is that you seem to want me.”
Then he does something I don’t expect.
He drops to his knees so that we’re face-to-face—an odd move for someone who’s clearly a Dominant.
“How can you say that? You’re ravishing. Those eyes—I feel like you’re looking right into my soul.”
“That’s just because they’re such a unique color.”
“No, Frankie.” He cups my cheeks. “That’s because they’re yours.”
I suppress a shudder. Then another one flows through me, and this time I can’t suppress it.
I’m warm all over. And also cold. And also steaming hot. My pussy is already throbbing.
But I’m feeling more than just the physical reactions.
I’m feeling…something new.
On its face, I want to call it love, but I thought I loved Penn, and already what I’m feeling for Hunter is deeper, more significant.
Which is ridiculous because I barely know him.
I mean, he came to me in a mask with a fake name. He came to me as a character, not as himself.
But honestly, I’m feeling the love so much that I’m afraid if I open my mouth the words may pop out.
So I keep my lips closed. Tightly closed.
The last thing I want to do is scare Hunter away, and me professing my love to him will do exactly that. This is a man who has kept himself out of any relationships with feeling for a long time.
Even now, it’s new to him. Bringing me to his bedroom is a huge step.
I don’t want to blow it.
He leans into me then, presses his lips against mine. This time I part my lips and allow his wandering tongue inside my mouth.
It’s a soft kiss, and for a moment I’m not sure he wants me as desperately as I want him.
Until the kiss turns passionate, raw, and feral. He groans into my mouth, and it vibrates into me, as if I have my hand on a playing piano.
It’s like music when we kiss.
At first it’s a soft melody, and then a brazen concerto with lots of percussion. That’s what the kiss is now.
