Never in my life have I allowed myself to be so vulnerable. So open to anyone and everyone seeing me. But I love it. I love the intense shyness I’m experiencing along with the voyeuristic thrill of it all. Add to that the fact that Jordan’s unyielding hands are at my back and shoulders, pressing me into the space.
In the next second, Jordan parts my legs. They’re splayed wide as if he wants the whole wide world — every lonely heart still in Aspen — to see my hairy pussy. My big puffy lips. Mere moments after spreading my legs, he scoots the chair closer.
Seconds after that, from behind, his mouth lands on me. On the opening of my pussy. I haven’t been eaten out here very much, so with his first lick—flick of his tongue—I squeal. Which is also not common for me, but I’m still feeling so open. So exposed. Any of the people driving on the freeway, or in the parking lot below, could see me if they happened to look this way.
Those thoughts seem to make me more sensitive because it isn’t just the first lick that has me being noisy, it’s every subsequent movement. Every follow-up wiggle and penetration of his tongue into my hole.
In no time, I’m building up to my first orgasm. A tight, snappy thing — something that has me wanting to reach down and touch myself.
But, like how Jordan was when I had him up against the wall for his punishment, I keep my hands pressed against the glass.
As if sensing my desire for some frontal stimulation, Jordan brings a hand around, and plays with my clit, hitting every bit of hungry flesh. Every bit of folded skin.
As he touches me, he buries his mouth deeper into the back end of my pussy. He licks deeply, deliciously. The combination of being eaten and fingered is overwhelming.
Before I can even register it, my orgasm is on top of me. Consuming me. Dragging me under until I’m gasping for air.
“That’s it, Mistress.”
My body convulses against the glass. My screams fill the room. Shudder after shudder wrecks me. Jordan keeps tonguing and fingering me, taking everything I have to give.
As my first orgasm clears, I’m already climbing to my second one because, in addition to licking and sucking on my lips, Jordan has, without my being aware, eased a thumb in my ass.
He doesn’t do much more with that than wiggle it around. Shake it like a mini vibrator on my rim, but that’s enough to bring about my second orgasm.
As it rolls over me, I’m so drunk on Jordan — so hot and bothered by what he’s doing with his tongue, fingers and now voice (he’s started making humming noises, as if my pussy’s juices are the best thing he’s ever eaten) — that I have to do something to cool down. To satiate my hunger for him. Curb my desire to ask for his cock in me right now.
A third orgasm builds as Jordan asks me how I like the sensation of the cold glass on my nipples. He rolls his thumb over my clit thoughtfully, adding, “How do you feel standing in front of the window like this? Standing where anyone could see you naked and panting like a porn star?” His observation is right on. I am panting and moaning against the glass like a porn star, and it makes me even more turned on. Even more sensitive to his touch.
“I like being on display,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even. Steady. Commanding in some way. “Your mistress doesn’t mind who sees. Just like her good boy doesn’t care who knows how much he loves to submit.”
This riles me up even more. Just thinking about Jordan sitting the way he was. Sounding the way he did — so brokenhearted and lost — makes me stiffen. My clit swells, despite feeling that I’ve already gotten as big as I ever will.
Thinking about what a good boy Jordan is, and how lucky I am to have him, my fourth orgasm grips me. The way it rips through me is like sweet torture. It’s not light or floating. It’s hard and fast like I’m taking flight. As I come, my breasts and nipples slam against the glass. The coldness is oddly arousing.
As I climax, Jordan says “You're amazing, my lady. How many times does that make? Four? Five?”
“Four,” I say, a fifth on the way. It sings through me almost immediately. Once again, Jordan’s doing that thing with the head of my clit and my hood. Rubbing them together. Jerking me off.
My legs jelly and my legs convulse with the intensity of this orgasm.
“Five,” I amend. “This has never happened before” Even as I talk, pleasure races through me. Through my hips and clit, ending in my ass. Even though he’s not fucking me, it feels like he is. “I’ve never had so many one right after the other.” As if to prove my point to him, I come a sixth time just from thinking about that fact. Just from talking about him.
“You’re so amazing, Jordan.” I shiver, feeling hungry and yet satisfied simultaneously. Even after having six separate orgasms with my clit and pussy, I’m hungry for Jordan. His cock.
“Take me,” I practically beg. “Fuck your mistress.”
“I’ve eaten my fill,” Jordan whispers, as if, once again he can read my mind. “Is my mistress hungry?” He pauses. “If she is, I would be happy to have her devour me.”
“Yes, Jordan!” I say urgently, letting my inner-schoolgirl out, “Yes, my good boy! I want your cock! I want all of it! I want to eat until I’m full.”
“Sit on me, Mistress. Fill your pussy with me,” Jordan answers.
I don’t waste any time. I back myself off the window and impale myself on his naked cock.
The second I do, his girth and length wash into me like a fleshy ocean. I enter Nirvana. Ultimate bliss.
All my hunger is instantly satisfied.
At least until I start riding him.
Jordan
When Bianca impales herself on me — on my rock-hard rod — I’m not prepared for how pleasurable it is. How sensitive I am to each whisper of her lips. Each dance of her ridges on my length. I moan out loud. The kind of moan I tried to keep her from hearing earlier. But this time, I just decide to let her hear it. Let her hear what she does to me.
I already confessed my love for being dominated and punished by her. What more is a moan? A soft, possibly higher-pitched one than most guys would utter?
When she rides my cock, bounces up and down on it like she’s riding a wild bull, I just about lose my head. Lose my entire load right there, but I force myself to keep a grip on it. Hold it back for a little longer because I know how much she’s enjoying it. I can tell by the way she has her head thrown back as she moves. By the way her fingers clench my thighs and hips in the seat. And by the sounds she’s making.
Reverse cowboy never looked or felt so good as it does with Bianca. With her beautifully curved back twisting above me. Her large, shapely ass bouncing and jiggling in front of me. On my legs and pelvis.
I reach around and pinch her nipples between my fingers. To increase her pleasure, and to distract myself further from my desire to come.
Without a condom on, I’m feeling twice the warmth. Twice the texture, and twice the love and devotion coming through her.
With every bounce of her hips and ass against me, I float. Getting closer to my sweet, warm paradise. The itch of pleasure starts in my shaft, practically melting into my balls and up toward my head.
I grunt, giving her nipples one last good pinch. Tug.
Seconds later, I realize that was probably a bad idea. That one action sends us both quickly climbing toward orgasm. And I realize once again that I’m not wearing any rubber. Any protection for my mistress.
“Bianca,” I growl, “I’m not covered! Don’t let me shoot—!”
Just as I go to say “shoot in you,” Bianca orgasms. Cums hard and fast, popping herself off me just in time for my thick, hot milky-white cum to splash harmlessly across her ass cheeks, not anywhere in or around her pussy.
A noise barks out of my throat as I lose it. As I squeeze the shit out of my shaft, in order to make sure that if I shoot anymore, it’s aimed at her ass and not anywhere else.
For a good solid minute after that, neither Bianca nor I have the energy or strength to say anything. All we can do is han
g on each other. Gasping for breath. Kissing and marveling in each other.
When we’ve recouped enough from our exercise, I make a decision, but the decision means I have to head out for a little while.
After I lay her on the bed and tuck her in, I throw on some casual clothes.
As I put on my baseball cap and put the ridiculously big coat Paul made fun of me for (I’ve kept it in her closet since going to get it during our time between breakfast and lunch), I say, “Gonna head out for something real quick.”
Bianca raises an eyebrow. “What for?”
“Something special, for when I get on my knees again later tonight.”
“Oh?” Bianca, Queen of Domination, looks surprised. Curious. “Is it something I don’t have in my repertoire?”
I nod, fighting the urge to tell her she won’t find it in any pink bag. Just a little black box.
“Be back soon, my lady,” I say, and leave her.
From her room, I hurry to the nearest jewelers.
Bianca
While Jordan’s gone, I can’t stop thinking about him. About what he means when he says he wants to get down on his knees again for me tonight; that he is going out to get something special in order to do that; something that’s not in my bag of tools.
Today has been a rollercoaster of emotions, and I’m drained emotionally. Taking him back and forgiving him for his actions in the café was the right thing to do for both of us. I can’t imagine my life without him and I don’t want to. I believe him when he says he wants to serve me and that he loves me.
I hug the blankets around my body, sighing at the tenderness between my legs. Being a good mistress means knowing when to allow your sub to take control, to let him think he’s in charge.
My mind wanders back to why my love had to leave in such a hurry. I want to have my mystery solved right now, but I have no choice but to wait. No choice until he comes back. So, I settle back on my bed and watch another made-for-TV movie.
This one’s not as good as the last one I watched. Mostly because Jordan isn’t here to share it with me, but I try not to dwell on that.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, there’s a knock on my door. Then, “It’s me, Mistress.”
At those words, I practically jump out of bed. I’m lucky I don’t get caught in the sheets and break my leg with how fast I move.
I fly to the door and open it, not caring that I’m still naked.
Jordan sneaks past me, keeping the sides of his big fur coat out of arm’s reach.
I shut the door behind him and lock it, already excited by what the evening has in store for us. For whatever he’s hiding it from me.
As I turn around, Jordan’s on his knees, exactly as promised. “Jordan? What--”
Before I can finish my question, he jams his hand in one of the big, almost-invisible pockets on his coat and fishes out a small black box.
Holding it in his palm, and positioning his other hand dramatically over it, he looks at me. Already, even without a word uttered, my heart beats faster. My breath quickens, and my mouth dries.
“Bianca, Goddess of My Heart, Lady of My Will and Life,” he says, prying open the top of the box, “over these past few days I have been blessed. Reborn by getting to know you. Love you. Serve you as no man has ever served you. And will never serve you if I have my way.”
He opens the box the rest of the way, revealing an obnoxiously solitaire. If I’m not mistaken, this ring is least twice the size of Jane’s big shiny nugget.
“My lady. My love,” Jordan murmurs, scooting closer and taking my dominant hand in his, “will you marry me?”
When he says, “marry me,” I cry for. I burst into tears, nodding. Somehow, I manage to croak, “I will.”
“Will you make me your Forever Good Boy?” he asks, making me cry harder.
“Yes! Yes, baby, I will!”
Wordlessly, Jordan puts the ring on my finger. “Then consider this my contract. My agreement of submission until death do us part.”
I pull Jordan up off his knees and kiss. Shower him with all the love and affection my inner schoolgirl has been dying to give to all weekend.
Jordan giggles under all this, but I don’t stop. I keep kissing him until my mouth is numb.
Then and only then do I cease, and that’s only so we make wedding plans. “
So,” I say, guiding him over to the bed, “how do you feel about Hawaii? I hear it’s perfect for a wedding in June.”
Can’t get enough Jordan and Bianca? Sign up to Jules’ News and Sizzling Hot Reads to get an Extended Epilogue!
Sold at the Ski Resort:
A Virgin & Billionaire Romance
Copyright © 2018 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 1
Jane
December 23
The snow looks as cold and miserable as I feel as I pull into the garage. Well, that went well, I think sarcastically, turning off the radio and practically ripping my car keys out of the ignition. Wear all my best, sexiest clothes, and the idiot doesn’t even know how to romance me out of my winter coat!
I open the door and climb out into the winter wonderland. My fluffy, roly-poly coat that goes down to my knees does a good job of keeping the cold out, but not my irritation. Fucking poser!
I shut my door with that thought, reminding myself that I’m never going to take Kyle up on his offer of a second date. Him, or boys like him. They are really boys! All of them!
It’s so frigid that underneath the puffy warmth of my jacket, I can practically feel the skin I had planned to have Kyle drool over. Since he didn’t, I imagine the fabric of my coat is caressing me, whispering about all my unfulfilled desires. But this only makes me angry at the softness of the fabric, which reminds me of Kyle’s clumsy, unconscious fingers.
He didn’t know a thing about how to deal with me when I was with him. What to do with all the hints I threw at him! In my head, I see myself exaggerating sexy poses. Inviting him to touch here, touch there. Pull aside this piece of clothing, lift this part. Practically holding up a neon sign that says, “I’m ready and available! Please fuck me!”
But no. Kyle couldn’t read the sign. Hell, he wouldn’t even see a sign if I waved one in front of his face.
He just sat there like an idiot. Grinning. Watching me, like I was putting on a show for him, and not once getting the hint! I pull my coat more tightly around myself and then cinch its hood around my head. Insulated from my embarrassment, and how much colder that makes the falling snow feel, I trudge into the house and up to my apartment located in my dad's mansion.
As I get to the door of my apartment, I go to open the lock, but I drop the keys. Partly because my fingers are numb, but mostly because my thoughts have turned to Kyle and what I thought he was promising me with tonight’s date. He and I had discussed how prepared he was to taste and finger his way into all my thirsty, curious holes.
But that was all talk. I reach down to pick up my keys and jam the front door key into the lock. Every bit. No game.
I shove my way through the door, slamming it shut behind me. The faint aroma of peppermint and chocolate scents the air. Leftovers of the candy cane hot chocolate I’d had before going on my date. I’d added a shot of peppermint schnapps, but not enough to get me drunk. Just enough to give me a relaxed buzz.
But after that nonsense — I shrug off my big winter coat, and comb my fingers down my plump breasts, smooth belly, and fashion-doll hips — I might need another one. That was a fucking disaster! I pet the fluffy, faux fur trim on my winter cocktail dress, and run my fingers over myself again, feeling lonely. Hungry. Even with just a little touch from my own fingers, my nipples are already hard.
But I guess I’m not one to talk either. Not really.
I walk into the kitchen, pouring myself the last bit of leftover spiked hot chocolate. The schnapps is almost too strong. Almost too violent against the chocolate; cold too, but I drink it anyway, berating myself.
It’s not like I know what I’m doing any more than Kyle does.
I swallow the last bit of chocolate, and then run my fingers down my dress, feeling its unique material— it cost a week’s wages. More than I’d ever dream of spending on an item of clothing. And after all the effort it took to get this outfit ready, it should get some use. Some appreciation.
I may not be very experienced in the bedroom, but that doesn’t mean I should keep getting with guys who are so inexperienced! Who are good at telling me what I want to hear, not giving me what I need or want!
With these thoughts, I let my fingers tease the furry hem of the dress. The one by my thighs, and then the one by my breasts. I’m allowed to be inexperienced. Some men would kill to teach someone like me what do to in bed.
I drop my hand down the front of my dress. The lacy, practically see-through bra only makes my nipples feel harder. Bigger. Plumper, and irritated that they weren’t touched or sucked on by the man they’d gotten all prettied up for.
I was no stranger to dates, but I hadn’t found the right guy— the take-charge, dominant kind of guy I knew I needed. Instead, the guys I went on dates with seemed intimidated by me. The night would always get awkward when it became obvious I was more interested in sex than they were.
My male friends have told me I come on way too strong and scare guys away. That those men who always disappoint me can sense I want more than they’re able or willing to deliver. My friends tell me to come across as meeker and less interested in sex. But instead of changing myself, I want to find a man who can handle me the way I am. Take me or leave me.
Plus, I don’t know if I could be disinterested in sex if I tried. It seems to always be on my mind lately. Since I can’t find a guy to pleasure me in real life, I’ve been reading a lot of steamy romance novels and watching a lot of porn. Lately, I’ve even gotten into some BDSM stuff— but only in fantasy; I’m not sure how I’d even actually like it in real life.
Sold as a Domme on Valentine's Day Page 12