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“No, that one was real.”
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up a little. “It’s probably not the best thing to say to me if I’m a serial killer.”
“Oh yeah, right. Damn.”
I reached down and took his hand to put it back on my knee, pulling it up a little higher on my thigh. He looked surprised and for a moment I thought he’d pull away or tell me to back off, but he didn’t. He did ease his hand away, though. “No,” he said softly, and he was using that Dom voice again, and I knew I didn’t have a shot.
But was that a slight flush on his cheeks, or was it only my too vivid imagination? I thought his breathing might be a little unsteady. I’d thought it had been ever since I’d shoved my uninvited ass back against his dick, accidentally on purpose. I wondered what he was thinking as he turned his head to stare out his window. Did Doms like him ever just have regular sex? Because I was so here for it if he did.
Chapter Four
There were flashing lights ahead of us on the highway—lots of blue and red blocking our way. I could see a snowplow ahead too, and it looked like some idiot had rammed right into the back of it, bounced off it and slid into oncoming traffic. The accident along with the emergency vehicles blocked all six lanes across.
“Let me see if I can find out anything, sir,” Richards said, pulling up the hood on his heavy jacket and getting out to go speak to one of the officers directing traffic.
Silence slotted into place behind him, and I found I didn’t like Jared Spencer’s hand back on his own lap. I reached out to get it back again, wanting to thank him for his kindness and maybe bridge the gap between us, which loomed as wide and insurmountable as a canyon. He was older and richer and infinitely cooler than I was, and I barely knew him at all. Yet if this had been a club, I’d have gone to the bathroom with him in a flash if he’d asked.
It was dark and quiet in this backseat, and it seemed like we were in our own little private cocoon, warm and toasty while the gods of snow and ice raged outside, battering against the car. I wondered what he was thinking and if he could possibly be as aroused as I was.
On a whim, I slid down to my knees in front of him. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone slightly incredulous. But that little breathiness—so slight it was hardly even there—was back to betray him.
“You know what I’m doing, Sir.”
“Don’t. Get back up here and stop this at once.”
“You don’t really want me to, do you, Sir? I just want to…” There was no good way to end that sentence. It was obvious what I wanted to do and obvious, to me, at least, that he might want it too. I wanted to give him pleasure, to make him feel good, to forge a bond, however tenuous, between us. We didn’t have long, but from the painful looking, hard bulge in his trousers, it wouldn’t take that long either. I looked up imploringly at him from my spot between his legs, and he gazed steadily back, neither giving me permission nor denying me. He had absolutely no expression at all, in fact. He was cool and distant and so far out of my league it was ridiculous.
But it felt right for me to be on my knees for him, and that came as something of a surprise. Not that I didn’t often give head to my sexual partners, though it had been a while since I’d actually had one. A partner, that is. And none of them had ever been as drop dead gorgeous as Jared Spencer. The difference may have been that this was a Dom. Not that he was doing anything in particular—he wasn’t wielding a whip or a flogger or decked out in all leather. So far I’d totally been the one coming on to him. And I didn’t feel the least bit degraded kneeling here for him—the opposite, in fact. I felt powerful and strong. I wanted to do this for him. Then, very slowly and deliberately, his hands moved to his waistband, and he flicked open the fastener of his trousers.
Oh god, I was going in. I parted the opening under his zipper and delved into his silken boxers like a deep-sea diver hunting for treasure. And the treasure was so much better than I could have imagined. His hair was as soft and curly as a baby’s, and he was beautifully made—large and perfect and alabaster in the streetlight filtering through the window. He was like some statue of a beautiful Caesar on his throne, waiting for his slave to pleasure him.
I leaned forward and slid my mouth over the fat length of his cock again. He began to thrust slightly, like he couldn’t help himself. I sucked him hard. Then soft and sweet. His hands went immediately to my head as I took him in my mouth and sucked him from root to tip, up and down, with pauses to bury my nose in the soft nest of his groin, or to lick at his slit that was leaking his pleasure. He smelled and tasted wonderful. Strong and clean. I’d always prided myself on my blowjob skills, and I put everything I had into this one. He carded his fingers through my hair, and I gave a fleeting thought to how quickly my fortunes had turned around so completely. Earlier in the evening, this had been shaping up to be the worst night of my life, and now it promised to be one of the best ever.
I deep throated him—a little trick I had learned in college—and there was a quick little intake of breath, as I was stroking and fondling his balls at the same time. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and giving in to the pleasure when—so fast it made my head reel, he was pushing me away.
“Get up, Connor.”
I was confused at first and slow to react. I just knelt there between his legs, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth. He helped me move by literally picking me up under the arms and depositing me back on the seat beside him in a casual display of strength. But it was just in time, because Richards opened the car door and slid in the front seat.
I sat there trying not to gasp at the sudden change in my situation. His balls had to be aching because mine certainly were. I was too sex-addled to even speak. My fingers clenched with the need to hold him again and my cock was throbbing with the need to come, but I sat there quietly because he’d put me there, and I somehow knew he wouldn’t like it if I moved.
I heard him talking to Richards at the same time his hands were busy again at his waistband. How was he being so calm when I was such a quivering wreck? My breathing was rough, and he glanced over at me, and then put a big, warm hand over my crotch. Just held it there and I couldn’t help the moan that escaped my lips. He stopped talking to Richards and murmured softly in my ear. “Be still and making those noises. Sit there like a good boy.”
And just like that I wanted to moan again, even louder, but I choked it down, shuddering and hoping he wouldn’t move his hand or for god’s sake, press down. If he did, I was going to embarrass both of us by shooting in my pants. Plus, if he thought I’d been loud before, he should hear me when I was coming.
He didn’t press down, but his hand was a steady warm weight on my dick, which started throbbing. I could feel the heat even through my jeans, and I was so fucking miserable, because I wanted to squirm and hump his hand, but he’d told me to be still, and I dared not do anything else. It was torture, plain and simple, and worst of all, I’d done it to myself. The irony was not lost on me, and I thought it wasn’t lost on him either. It occurred to me that he might be enjoying my discomfort. Come to think of it, a lot of Doms were sadists, weren’t they?
He continued his brief discussion with Richards, and then we turned around on the Interstate, and moved into the lane that was headed back out of town. I assumed Richards knew a way around the accident and sure enough, he turned off at the first exit we came to and took another road.
As for me, I’m afraid I let out another little moan, and I saw Richards’ eyes flick to the rear view mirror for a moment. Jared Spencer must have too, because he sighed and picked up the teddy bear from the seat beside me and thrust it in my arms. I was so surprised I just grabbed it and he pressed it over my dick and then took his hand away.
I sat there clutching it against me, missing his hand and feeling like I was doing criminal things to this poor, unsuspecting teddy bear. And for some reason, that thought made my dick get even harder. Shit. Just when my breathing had finally started getting back to normal…ish.
The roads were turning to pure slush, so it took a while to get to Jared Spencer’s house. Predictably, it was a mansion in Druid Hills, a posh neighborhood in Decatur. I didn’t see much because it was dark and had started snowing fat flakes that filled the air by that time. The scene looked like a snow globe when you shake it up too hard. That wasn’t a common sight in this part of the world, so I stared out the window, a little in awe. Richards drove us right up to the porch steps on the circular driveway, and we got out. Jared Spencer took my hand in his and pulled me up the steps to the front door. I held on tight to his hand, dragging the teddy with me by one of his arms. It was slippery and the snow fell over into my shoes. The door swung open, and standing there was a maid wearing one of those black uniforms, like you see in the movies.
She took Jared Spencer’s beautiful coat and offered to take my hoodie, but I shook my head and kept it on. He saw that, like he saw every damn thing and said, “Connor, give Mary your hoodie. It’s wet and you’ll catch cold.”
I slipped it off right away and handed it over. I guess I was getting used to that Dom voice of his. After I did, I was a little chilly in just my t-shirt, like I thought I would be, but he grabbed my hand again and led me and the teddy down the entry hall.
