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Mercer’s cock is in his hand. It’s big. Hard, and he’s lazily stroking it.
I choke on a gasp. That thing is never, ever fitting in me. No way.No how.
He looks at me and smiles slow, one lacking in everything except heat and knowing. He’s a man who’s watching his property.
“Strip, Ivy. Slow.”
I let the sultry beats of the song flow through me and I sway, moving toward him. Then I sort of wiggle and turn, lowering the straps of the bra.
Then I unhook the back and let the bra fall to the floor.
I bend forward, offering him my breasts. Then I straighten back up. Next comes the underwear. I push the panties to my ankles, kicking them off one leg at a time.
Then, like some power is possessing my body, I drop at the waist, parting my legs.
I’m rewarded with a small groan.
Something comes over me. The music, the situation. Him. And I walk over to him and slip one finger between my folds. Then I hold up my finger to my lips and suck on it. Slow.
His eyes narrow. His hand works his cock a little harder, faster. It’s the only giveaway that what I’m doing is having any effect on him.
I slide my finger in again. As his gaze drops to the floor, I follow the wordless order to go down, offering him my finger.
His lips close over it, and he sucks me in deep, biting down.
I reach for his cock.
“Want it?” he says, releasing my finger.
“Yes, Sir.”
He pumps his cock, eyes on my lips, my breasts, my pussy. Then back up again to my eyes.
“Arch your back for me.”
I do. And he lets out a groan.
Cum hits me, ropes of it splatter on my breasts, lips, and throat.
“Fuck.”
He lets out a guttural roar through gritted teeth as he finishes. A minute later, he adjusts himself, stands, and zips his cock into his pants.
I’m not sure if I should stand or stay put since he didn’t give the order. I decide to stay on my knees, my tongue flicking out to taste him on my lips.
Salt and that inexplicable taste that’s him. I like it. I didn’t think I would.
“I need a fucking photo of that, Pollyanna. You’re a fucking work of art.”
He brushes his hand over my head, then sheds his jacket. He rubs his cum off my face and then pulls me to my feet, where he slowly massages it into my breasts, paying special attention to my nipples.
Art. Yeah, like the lewdest piece of living art.
“I think I might keep you this way. Naked and covered in cum when you live with me.” He hands me his jacket. “Put this on.”
“I have clothes.”
“And I’ll send someone for them. Put on the fucking jacket.” He sends a text. “You’re coming with me.”
