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He grabs my hair again and pushes me down to my knees slowly as he moves in front of me. I’m already starting to drool, and he looks down, grinning.
“You have no fucking idea how hot you look right now. How perfect.”
With his free hand, he grips his turgid cock and feeds it to me, and I can’t do a thing. He starts to thrust into me, hitting the back of my throat each time, and I can’t do anything but take it and whimper.
What he’s doing is debasing. I can’t use my words, only make sounds and produce so much drool, the squelch of him slamming into my mouth embarrasses me.
“Jesus, fuck, Rose. So fucking hot. Your mouth is made for this. All that wetness is fucking magic. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. Take my cock, just like that.”
He’s in so deep, and when he starts to flex his hips in hard, shallow thrusts, my nose barely leaves his groin as his balls slap against my chin except to grab a sip of air. I slide into it, give over to pleasing him, the fact that I’m his to use as he wants.
And he does.
His words are all filthy praise, and I try to take more of him. I need more; my body’s throbbing, my clit aching, and with each full thrust, a pleasure rises in me without any of my own stimulation. Somehow, I come. It’s a wild thing, something that encases my entire body, a euphoria of lust and love and giving utterly over to him.
“Fuck.”
Nikolai slips in his control, his movements jerky as his balls tighten. When he comes, his cock twitches as he spurts down my throat.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Rose. That was…that was…”
He pulls out and reverently unbuckles the gag and the belt. He whips off his shirt and cleans me with gentle, loving touches.
I look him in the eye, swaying, drunk on him. “Yummy.”
* * *
He eats me out as we shower, fingers and tongue working me into another orgasm. I’m pretty sure, as I put on the makeup he dictates, heavier than he normally likes, we’re running late.
“Can we do that again?”
I’m still naked and he’s dressed in a suit, and he slides one hand over a breast and slips the other between my thighs to stroke me.
“Any time, Rose. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll tire of the perfection of this cunt.”
I slap his hand away, and his eyes narrow.
“Careful.”
“You don’t mind. You just get to punish me more.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Damn it, Rose.”
He’s surveying my clothes, picking things up and putting them back, choosing underwear, shoes, garter belt, stockings. The thick ruby and diamond collar with the long lead joins the pile, and finally, he settles on a simple, midnight-black dress with a high front and back, both sheer in all the right places.
It’s what we do, and it soothes something in me to have him pick it all out. Even though we’re late, Nikolai doesn’t rush. It’s all deliberate and thoughtful and inexplicably erotic.
I live for it, the ritual. It hits me then: it’s an act of love.
When he’s dressed me and the collar is in place, my hair up, I look at him then pull off his tie. I don’t say a word as I go through his ties and pick one that’s coal black with almost invisible silver dots on it.
He puts it on without question, and my heart beats fast as pleasure floods everywhere.
Pleasure, because his wearing it without a word is love too.
* * *
Garcia is waiting for us at the boat, and I go still at the sight of the woman in the shadows. I grab Nikolai’s arm, really wishing I had my gun.
