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“Princess,” he says, one hand closing over mine. “Let’s go inside.”
I shake my head, underlining my refusal with a fingernail that traces one of his heavy veins.
“Sweet fuck,” he gasps, trying to cup my elbow in his palm. “Come on. Let me make you feel good.”
My only answer is to take him deep.
I feel the tension in his thighs. He wants to be in control here. I’m breaking the rules. He’s supposed to be the one who chooses what we do and when and where. He’s the one in charge. My only job is to submit.
But his cock is willing to consider a change in plans.
I pull back slowly, tightening my lips as I swirl my tongue down his length. He groans as he grows thicker, pressing against the roof of my mouth. I swallow him again.
He starts to swear, a filthy prayer that lights a candle deep inside me. His hands close around my head.
He’s guiding me. Controlling me. He’s making me take him deeper than I ever thought I could.
“That’s right, Princess,” he whispers. “Your mouth’s so hot. So goddamn wet… Let me fuck your beautiful face.”
The dirty talk loosens my throat. His balls flirt with my chin, and I want to tongue them, want to suck them hard, but his hands deny my freedom; they’re too tight on the back of my head.
I long to tell him what I’ll do for him, what I’ll give him, how he’ll come. But the sounds vibrating in my throat only seem to stoke the fire between us.
“That’s right, Princess,” he says, plunging deep. “Take. It. All.”
I’m the one who started this, but I’ve lost control. He’s driving now, not me. He’s pumping in and out of my lips, hitting the back of my throat.
My eyes water. My hands splay on his hips. My neck stretches, angles, working hard to give him what he needs.
His palms burn my scalp. His wrists tremble. His breath is coming fast now, short, sharp huffs that fan the flames inside me. His thighs are iron beneath my jaw.
I need to pant like he does. I need to catch my breath. I need to slow down, to speed up, to take the entire velvet shaft of him and hold it deep, deep, deep, forever and ever and ever.
He explodes inside me.
His fingers tighten like exquisite clamps, pinning my head to the angle he needs. He’s holding me close, pressing my face into his lap, keeping me exactly where he wants me. He’s pulsing down my throat, hot, thick, salt, and I swallow hard, jaw working to take all that he can give me.
The words flooding from his lips are raunchy, depraved, all the ways he wants to come in me, on me, all the things he wants to do with every part of my body. I’ll do it—any of it, all of it. He’s mine, and I’m his, and I want this moment to stretch and loop, to weave between us, binding us together forever.
He’s slowing now. The heat he’s pulsing against my throat fades. His fingers loosen on my head. His words fade to a rumble, a whisper, to silence.
He pulls out of my mouth slowly. I miss him even before he’s gone, miss the hardness of him, miss the stretch of my lips, my jaw, my throat. I sit back on my heels, smelling the bruised grass beneath my knees. I turn my face to rest my head against his thigh.
“Good girl,” he rasps, his thumb tracing the corner of my mouth. “My good, good girl.”
Something unspools inside me, a longing so deep I can’t give it a name. I need to be good. I need to be whatheneeds me to be. I need to say yes, yes, yes, to any question, every question he could ever dream of asking.
He lowers his hand to the belt around my throat. The leather’s still fastened through the buckle, but it’s loose now. Without my asking, he wraps the end around his fist. He pulls it tight, until the edge of the belt cuts off my ability to swallow.
Using the belt as a lever, he raises my head from his knee. Leaning forward, he forces my face close to his. His grasp on my leash holds me steady; I can stay where he wants or I can choke.
His eyes meet mine, their jungle fire nearly banked. I stare at him—not blinking, not breathing, not breaking the bond that burns between us.
He holds us there, waiting, balanced, perfect.
He’s asking if I’m his.
I’m saying that I am, always.
