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"I just showered."
"I want to shower you with my cum."
She gasps. "Is that filthy? It is. Am I aroused by it? I am. This is soooo wrong." She shakes her head.
"All the good things in life are. A lesson I learned the hard way. Come here, Belle."
She swallows, then slides off the stool and comes to stand in between my legs. I push the hair back from her flushed cheeks, and her breathing intensifies.
"There are going to be a few rules as long as we're here."
"Rules?"
I nod. "Rules to ensure your orgasms bring you the most pleasure possible. Rules to ensure you have the greatest number of orgasms in the shortest period of time."
"Oh."
Her voice is so breathless, so excited, I almost smile. This woman makes me act out of character. It’s a constant surprise. One I relish. One I’d miss if she weren’t around. It’s the main reason I need to ensure she never leaves me. It’s why I need to gratify her, ensure she’s so high on endorphins, she’s addicted to the sensation only I can rouse in her.
"First rule, no clothes." I snatch a knife from the counter, slide it under her camisole straps and twist.
47
Mira
The camisole strap splits. He does the same to the other. The lacy fabric slithers down my chest and stays suspended—held up only by my nipples, which are saluting at him. They’re so hard, and my breasts are so heavy, I feel weighed down. I reach up to tug off the fabric, but he clicks his tongue.
"Second rule: you’ll do everything I ask."
"Like I don’t already."
"Third rule, if you talk back, you’ll be spanked."
I swallow. The fading palm prints on my butt twinge in response. My pussy clenches down, and I know I’m already making a mess between my legs.
"Fourth rule—" He slides the knife under the waistband of my sleep shorts. He flicks his wrist, and cuts through the fabric. Does the same on the other side. He places the knife down on the table with care. His every movement is restrained, controlled. His fingers are steady—unlike mine, which tremble with need. And when he turns to face me, there’s almost a bored look on his face.Ohmigod, do I find that hot? I do find that hot.The fact that I’m turned on, but he seems so indifferent to the million little butterflies that take flight in my belly, only intensifies my arousal. I shuffle my feet, begin to rub my thighs together, but he shakes his head. "You can’t alleviate your need."
"But I itch there."
"Good."
"Just a little chafe of my thighs," I whine.
"Nope."
"It’ll only take a second." I flutter my eyelashes at him. "I’ll slide in a finger and touch myself once. Just once."
"No, Belle." His voice is hard. "You cannot touch yourself. You cannot get yourself off. You definitely will not allow yourself to come."
"But why?" I pout. "What harm can it do?"
"Do you trust me on this?"
As soon as the words are out, his feature grow tense.Trust.That word is like a boulder between us. I want him to have enough faith in me to tell me about his past. But do I have enough confidence in him, enough to hand myself over to him? To entrust my orgasms to his expertise? Do I trust him enough to spend the next few days with him doing everything he wants? Allowing him to do what he wants with me? Not sassing him? Maybe not the last… But the rest? Yeah, I do. He may not be ready to talk about himself, but with everything he does, we come closer. The more time we spend together, the more layers I unearth. And everything I find out about him only makes me want him more.
So, his question was a rhetorical one, in all likelihood. Still, when I nod, his chest rises and falls. His shoulder muscles relax. Huh? Was he tense? Did he think I would refuse him? And if I had, what would he have done? Would he have convinced me otherwise? Would he have spanked me, then kissed me and brought me to the edge, only to hold back my orgasm again? Probably. And the specter of it is not altogether unwelcome.
“Choose a safe word.”
