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“E-excuse me?” I want to sound indignant but instead my voice comes out weak and trembling. It’s so hard to even remember what I’m mad about, with the way his cock keeps rubbing in the most delicious way possible against my wet, hot core.
“Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough.” Mr. Rochester captures a loose lock of my hair, and the gesture is almost tender, frighteningly so. It completely unnerves me, and my heart beats harder and harder against my chest.
“You may have my attention, but I still require you to say what you want to do about it.”
Oh. The meaning behind his actions finally becomes clear, and I’m torn between shuddering in despair and anger. He knows how hard it is for me to say such things, and that’s exactly why he’s asking for them.
“Bastard,” I can’t help choking out.
“Always,” Mr. Rochester croons, “and it’s all for you.”
His words are begging for a retort, but I just end up shuddering on his lap as he tucks the loose lock behind my ear. After, his fingers continue to trail down the side of my neck—-
I shake my head vehemently, crying out, “Stop.”
And still his fingers continue to move lower and lower.
“I said, s-stop.”
Mr. Rochester releases a taunting laugh. “Stop, you say.” His voice is gently mocking. “But the sexy note of plea in your voice says otherwise.” And he proves it so easily as his fingers find one nipple, so erect that I might as well have gone bra-less, with the way it’s poking so visibly against my blouse.
My eyes jerk up to his. “Don’t—-” But Mr. Rochester has already pinched my nipple between his fingers. Hard. And I end up crying out instead.
“How does it feel?” He pinches it again, and I bite back a cry. “Tell me, Ms. Reed. Give me the words.”
I shake my head. Never.
Almost in retaliation Mr. Rochester starts tugging my nipple and the excruciating sensation has my whole world turning faster.
Oh God.
“Tell me.”
And again, the words are like the devil’s whispers in my ear, wicked, forbidden, and God, they’re absolutely tempting.
“Tell me so I can give you what we both want.”
I start to shake my head—-
“Your nipple in my mouth. I want to taste it. Don’t you want me to suck on your breasts?”
A whimper escapes me at the graphic picture his words paint. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s futile. I can’t stop imagining how it would look like. How it would feel.
“Tell me.”
And once again, the devil wins, and I find myself succumbing willingly into his dark embrace as I choke out, “I want it.” A shudders run through me at my surrender, but I can’t make myself regret the words, knowing what kind of pleasure awaits me. “I want it, damn you. I want it—-”
“Then feed me.”
A cry trips past my lips at what he’s asking, but it’s a sound of desire than horror.
“Take your blouse off,” Mr. Rochester grates out.
And I find myself doing it.
“Get rid of your bra.”
Oh God. My fingers shake as I follow his command, and I can’t help shivering anew when my breasts finally spill free from their restraints.
Mr. Rochester’s gaze settles possessively on my chest. “Beautiful.”
It’s not just what he’s said that makes me moan, but it’s how the word sounds, with his low voice and cultured edge turning a single word into a fuckload of promises—-
And of course, they’re all bad.
“S-stop staring.” I try to cover my breasts, but Mr. Rochester shakes his head sharply.
“No.”
I freeze.
“Don’t hide them.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is harsh with desire, and the sound makes my already aching breasts ache even more painfully. “From now on,” he continues in a hard voice, “you are never to hide them from my sight. Understood?”
I nod jerkily.
“Now, cup them for me.”
I hesitate.
“Now.”
And my hands once again move on their own volition. The weight of my own breasts on my hands is unfamiliar and embarrassing, and I feel my cheeks turning redder as I watch the way Mr. Rochester’s gaze devour my naked chest.
“Come closer.”
“Don’t let go of them.”
The back-to-back commands make me whimper, more so with the way his monstrous cock is twitching impatiently against my swollen folds. When I can’t get any closer, I look up, and Mr. Rochester says, “Now, feed me.”
Aaaaah.
His head lowers as I shakily raise myself up on my knees, my hands still cupping my heavy, aching breasts.
A moment later, and it finally happens—-
His mouth on my nipple, and when he starts to suck stars explode behind my eyelids at the exquisite beauty of it. I moan and I moan, and as Mr. Rochester sucks harder and harder on my nipple I just can’t stop moaning.
It’s so good. God, it’s so good.
I cry in disappointment when Mr. Rochester tears his mouth off, but then it starts all over again when Mr. Rochester latches on to my other breast, his tongue laving around the erect pink tip.
