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He brings his mouth to my ear. “You’re going to pay for that.”
Everything in me throbs and beats, a pagan desire in my blood. I need him to debase me, humiliate, I need him to elevate me, bring sweet release. I need it all.
He dips his head, biting and sucking on my throat, up and down, hard, soft and everything in between. I start to gasp and moan, my body trembling against him.
Then he lifts his head, grabs my hair, and shoves me to the ground.
“Fucking make use of that mouth, Pollyanna.”
I undo his zipper and take out his huge, hard cock. Mymouth waters at the perfect pink length, corded veins pulsing with desire. I take him into my mouth, lick and suck him down. He winds my hair into his fingers, and I’m willing, ready, aching for him to treat my mouth like a pussy.
But he won’t let me take him deep. He slides in slowly, stopping short of what it is I need. I grab him, digging my fingers into his back, urging him deeper.
“Hands behind your fucking back.”
I drop my hands, and he continues the slow, sweet slide.
“Get me nice and wet. I want to drip.”
I try to do what he asks, but before I can get into it all, he pulls out.
He drops his gaze to me. “Enough. Crawl to your room, Pollyanna.”
I stare up at him.
“What? You don’t want to?”
“Yes, I do, Master.”
So I do. It’s horrible and humiliating, but the crazy twisted thing is that I know we’re both giving each other what we want. The dangerous, delectable edge we both crave. He needs this. This is me giving him his aftercare. And me? I gethim. One more time. Every time there’s one more time, it’s a bonus, a gift.
I crawl to my room and he’s already naked, on my bed, his thick cock standing at attention. “You can stand, but crawl over my feet and straddle me. It’s time you fucked me, Pollyanna.
I do as ordered, and position myself on him, waves of pleasure already hitting me as I sink onto his dick. Wet as I am, my walls stretch, filling up with all of him. Every long, delicious inch. I start to move, trying to take him hard, but his hands grab my hips, and with an iron grip, fingers placed to press against my bruises, he controls me, another slowslide, measured. It’s so good, so maddening, but it’s not enough.
The maestro knows how to play me like a goddamn instrument, to bring me to the brink, then stop just shy of doing all the things that tip me over into orgasm.
But my master…he’s fraying, the intense concentration on his face, the perspiration on his brow are all telltale signs of how he’s so close to losing the control over me he desires.
Finally, he bucks up hard into me and as he pulls out, I’m so close that I know the next time, I’ll explode into orgasm.
Except, there’s no next time.
He pushes me off of his cock and rolls me on my back. Then he reaches over to the side table and squeezes something onto his fingers, and cool, slippery gel smears over my ass.
“Did…do you carry that with you? Sir?”
“With you, I think I need to carry a fucking arsenal. No. I had it in my pocket from the session. I was thinking of taking your ass there. Now stop talking, pretty Pollyanna, or I will find the studded paddle and bring you a world of hurt.”
I shut up. But…paddle?
Mercer lifts my legs so they lay on his shoulders. He knows it’s pushing me into the mattress, pulling at the welts and bruises. And then he pushes slowly into my ass. I gasp at the flash of burning pain that follows. His eyes are both dark with concern and glittering with pleasure.
“I’m not going to be gentle, Ivy. Use your word if you need.”
“Kiss me,” I rasp.
His eyes narrow and he thrusts all the way into me. It’s intensely intimate and he brings his face close. “I give the orders, not you. Bite my neck, slave, and hold on tight.”
