“Stay,” he whispered, then released her.
She wobbled on her legs a little without the comforting solidity of his body there to cradle her.
She heard him moving around, even leave the bedroom. Then came the sound of him out in another part of the house but she wasn’t sure where.
A few minutes later, he returned and stopped in front of her. She sensed him kneel in front of her, followed immediately by the feel of his hands on her feet. He tapped her right ankle, prompting her to lift her foot. He took her shoe off, and the other.
He stood and trailed his fingers up her arms, over her shirt, to the neckline where he started unbuttoning it.
If he was trying to torture her, he was doing a damn good job of it. It felt like forever before he had her shirt loose and was sliding it down her arms. Then her belt, the button on her jeans, leaving her standing there in her bra and panties.
Standing in front of her, he wrapped his arms around her again, hands splayed across her ass. His fingers drew electricity across her flesh, up her back, to her shoulders, and down her front, until his hands cupped her breasts through her bra. She realized at one point he was tracing her scars with his lips and fingers, too, as if committing them to memory.
And he was still dressed. She felt the material of his shirt, of his jeans brushing against her, although she suspected he was now barefoot since she hadn’t heard the sound of his shoes on the tile when he returned. He began exploring her body with his lips and fingers, tracing every curve and line, still making no move to remove her bra and panties.
Maybe he’d make her beg for more, she didn’t know. She was close to that point now.
Even unseen, the air between them felt alive, as if their souls were connected. A ball of energy seemed to engulf them, highlighted by where he touched her.
When he stood in front of her again and reached around her, it took every ounce of will within her not to grind her body against him. He deftly unhooked her bra strap and slowly slid it down her arms and off her. Then he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs, letting them puddle on the floor around her ankles before having her step out of them.
He cupped the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair, holding her in place while his lips closed onto hers. His other hand came to rest in the small of her back, gently pulling her against him. Her arms curled around him, her mind lost completely to him and everything he was—and would—do to her.
Okay, so no intercourse wasn’t a hardship. Not if this was any indication.
She felt the solid, hard bulge of his cock pressing against her through his jeans and couldn’t wait to finally get a look at it up close and personal.
When he stepped away again, she almost stumbled when she tried to follow him, to cling to him.
He chuckled and took her hand. “Follow me.”
Walking slowly, he led her out of the master bedroom and to the living room. There, she realized what he’d done when he had her sit on the edge of his portable massage table, which he’d positioned over the area rug that the coffee table usually occupied. He frequently took the massage table to the club with him if it was a busy night and he thought the club might need the table he usually used as an additional play station.
He took her hands and placed them on his waist. “Take my shirt off, baby.”
Working only by feel, and with the difficulty level increased by how her hands trembled, she tugged his shirttails loose from his jeans and then followed the line of buttons up to the collar and started there. When she had his shirt open, she slid her hands around his waist and pulled him to her so she could press her cheek against his chest.
He chuckled again, a sound she adored. His fingers stroked her hair. “A meaner sadist would punish you for not exactly following directions, but I want you to enjoy this completely.”
She hadn’t seen him without his shirt yet. She nuzzled his abs, feeling a thin treasure trail brush against her lips, from his navel to his waistline, where his jeans were slung low on his hips.
Arms still around him, she stood, her lips covering every inch of ground, grazing over his nipples. She enjoyed the soft gasp he made when she found the left and flicked it with her tongue. That led her to look for the right and repeat the motion with the same result.
She drew her hands up his back, feeling the lean muscles along his spine and up to his shoulder blades. Only then did she finally work his shirt down his shoulders, his arms, until it fell unseen to the floor.
She circled him, her lips and hands and fingers tracing abstract designs across his flesh. He never wore cologne because of his work, but he smelled like soap and shampoo and deodorant, and warm heat pulsed from his skin.
The contour of his spine she dedicated to memory under her tongue, her lips, having to stand on tiptoe to reach the base of his neck and down again, until she found the hollow of his back. There, she traced little hearts with the tip of her tongue.
He reached behind him, found her hands, and drew them around his waist, to his belt. “Next,” he softly said.
This was…nothing like this could ever compare. Not to insult Leo or his skills, but this was…
Amazing.
She fumbled a little with his belt until she finally got it, opening it and then thumbing the button. Her breath caught as she carefully eased his zipper down, relieved to realize he had briefs on under them and didn’t have to worry about catching the hard shape of his cock in the teeth.
Eva followed his jeans to the floor, kissing her way down the backs of his lithely muscled thighs, behind his knees, the hair on his legs tickling her cheeks as she worked her way around him to the front.
Now she was on her knees and knew she was about at eye level with his cock. In the past, this wasn’t something she’d done with Leo. Not by his fault, but because of bad memories. She’d tried, but when he realized it was a problem for her, he stopped. And she loved him for it.
Maybe with Nate’s patient love she’d be able to overcome those dark memories once and for all and be able to love one hundred percent of him one thousand percent of the way he deserved.
But she pressed her cheek against the outline of his cock. By her best guess he was at least eight inches, and thick. She pressed a kiss against the head of it through the fabric, her hands stroking his tight ass before sliding down the backs of his thighs and around.
And up.
Drawing them slowly up his thighs, until they were cupped around the hidden shape beneath.
No hands gripped her head with cruel force.
No coarse order to open and take it.
No forcing her to do…anything.
Just her mind and the darkness behind the blindfold, and the loving man in front of her.
Opening her mouth, she lightly grazed her teeth over the head, down its thick length to where it grew from his balls. She feathered her lips over his sac, what she could reach of it, while her hands cupped his cock.
Still patient waiting from him, soft, pleasured sounds when she did things he liked, but that was all.
She stood, one hand cupped over his cock, one following his chest, up to his throat, around the back of his neck so she could urge him down for a kiss.
And still, waiting…
She didn’t know what he wanted. Figuring this out was frustratingly fun, so she finally backed up until she felt the table behind her again. She slipped the hand covering his cock inside the waistband of his briefs, both of them softly moaning as her fingers closed around the steely velvet heat of his shaft.
Damn.
Controlled kisses, letting her set the pace, he did lean forward and brace his arms against the table but she didn’t feel trapped.
She felt safe, enveloped.
Protected.
Her other hand dropped to his briefs and she slid them down his legs, letting them fall to the floor. She felt him step out of them and kick them out of the way, and then it was her hands on
his cock, squeezing, one hand cupping his full sac, cradling it in her palm.
He didn’t tongue-fuck her either as they tasted, teased, nipped, explored.
She couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled her head back, breaking their kiss. “Please,” she whispered.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I…I want you, Sir.”
He scooped her into his arms and gently set her on the massage table. “On your tummy,” he said.
She carefully rolled over. He gathered her hair up and off her back, and she realized he was putting it in an elastic band. Then she heard him do his, too, and suspected what was coming next.
He spread oil across her back, kneading, both relaxing and exciting her, his bare flesh against hers. Seconds later, the snick of the lighter, and the feel of the first rounded glass cup taking hold, the suction tugging on her flesh on the back of her right shoulder. He tested the suction and then moved it, positioning it where he wanted. Five cups later, she had them from shoulder to the middle of her back.
“Don’t move, baby,” he said. “Be my good girl.”
Her toes curled when she felt the sharp drag of whatever it was, she suspected a knife, against her flesh. Just the tip tracing around and through the cups, weaving, dancing along her flesh. Down her spine, over her ass, down her thighs and back up again, over and over, not quite pain but a struggle for her to hold still until he finally stopped.
He checked the cups and then she felt him walk down to her feet. He picked up her left one. “I’ve done a little acupressure on you before, but not like this.” His fingers probed, sliding over her flesh, searching for something in her instep.
Apparently he found it, because he stopped. His thumb circled the spot, and then he began to apply pressure.
She gasped, having to curl her fingers around the end of the table as agony shot up her leg, but as fast as it started, it was gone.
He chuckled. “Good girl. Again.”
He repeated it several times, longer each time, leaving her gasping for breath as she struggled not to pull away from him. Yet she couldn’t make herself safeword for it. She knew he wouldn’t do anything to harm her.
And she wanted to take it for him.
He moved to another point, on the inside of her big toe, producing similar results until he started massaging her foot before gently placing it on the table.
“Such a good girl,” he whispered, his voice sounding throaty, hoarse, a tone she couldn’t remember hearing before. “For the record, this is only as hard as I’m pressing.” He took one finger and pressed against the back of her left calf, not even remotely uncomfortable.
“Wow,” she said, feeling shaky.
He laughed. “I know, right?”
Then he did it to her right foot. She was barely aware of it when he set her foot down and moved up her body again, one hand caressing her ass while the other he used to tug on the cups and check them.
The hand on her ass slid lower, between her thighs. Her legs parted for him and she gasped when one finger lightly brushed her clit.
“Please, Sir,” she whined.
“Is my girl horny?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Does my girl want to come?”
“Please, Sir!”
“Soon,” he teased, withdrawing his hand.
He shifted the cups into new positions on her back, removing one and resetting it. He walked around to her head and kissed her, this time his fingers grabbing her hair, tightly holding on as his tongue hungrily fucked her mouth.
She felt the soft slide of rope over her skin.
“Legs and hands. Okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
He quickly tied her arms to the head of the table, and bent her legs back, tying them that way before pushing her thighs wider apart and tying her so she couldn’t draw them closed.
He removed the cups, rubbing her back after he did. He disappeared for a moment but she followed him with her ears, listening as it sounded like he plugged something in.
She flinched when she felt something between her legs and then realized it was a vibrator.
“You’ve seen others use these at the club,” he said, sounding very amused. She could picture his handsome, playful smirk as he said it. “Bloody ingenious things, these Hitachis.”
He flicked it on.
It was probably a good thing he had tied her to the table or she likely would have fallen off when the orgasm hit her. He slipped his fingers into her mouth as she moaned, screamed around them while he kept the vibrator pressed against her clit.
Holy…fuuuck…
No lie, it was the strongest orgasm she’d ever had in her life.
And, she quickly started to realize, it wasn’t going to stop until he was ready to let it stop.
He leaned in and nuzzled her right ear. “You…are…beautiful.”
He pulled his fingers from her mouth as she undulated on the table, trying to get away from the vibrator but unable to. He switched hands holding the vibrator and it was only too late she understood his plan.
His fingers skillfully found the pressure point in her right instep and he pressed, making her bite down on her scream, pleasure and pain mixed up in her brain and her body too far gone to want either to stop at this point. He alternated feet, back and forth, until finally he switched the vibrator off, leaving her trembling on the table.
He gently untied her, rubbing her legs, then her arms and hands. She reached out and felt his thighs, felt her way to his cock. She wanted to stroke it, to make him come, to make him feel even a fraction as good as he’d just made her feel.
“Careful,” he teased. “We’re not even close to being done yet and that might go off.”
* * * *
Nate got her sitting up and then scooped her into his arms again, carrying her back into the bedroom. He’d already pulled the covers down and laid her in the middle of the bed. Leaving a few LED candles flickering on the dresser for ambiance, he turned off the lights and then climbed onto the end of the bed, between her legs, and kissed his way up her thighs.
Settling there, with his hands wrapped around her thighs, he started licking, sucking, enjoying her rich, sweet scent, the salty taste of her juices, the way she moaned and squirmed as his lips closed around her clit and he started flicking it with his tongue.
He’d carefully watched her up until now, judging her reactions, gauging whether or not she was really okay. He’d managed to drive her out of her head, away from her self-consciousness, with the blindfold and the sensory overload. All she’d been able to focus on were sensations and sensory input, not trying to gauge his reaction to her body.
She was a gorgeous woman of almost thirty-nine, of course she carried a few extra pounds. Her body had birthed a baby and survived things he didn’t even know about yet, things he was sure had deeply scarred her.
It made her all the more beautiful in his eyes. Only by making this first encounter about the pleasure and pain and not about the thoughts and memories rattling around in her brain did he know he’d be able to keep her there, with him, firmly rooted in the moment and what he was doing to her and not whatever she’d been through.
So far, so good.
Only once he was satisfied that he’d made her come several more times did he sit up and reach over to the side table. He grabbed a flavored condom from the drawer and rolled it on. He wasn’t going to make her suck him, but he didn’t need to make an unintended mess all over her that might undo everything he’d just accomplished with her.
And if she did decide she wanted to go down on him, at least it wouldn’t taste as bad through the cherry-flavored latex.
He stretched out next to her on her left side, taking her right hand and drawing it across her body, wrapping her fingers around him. Even through the condom it still felt damn good to have someone else’s hand there for a change.
He kissed her. “You may make me come however you wish, except you can’t fuck me.”
&
nbsp; Even behind the blindfold he saw her brow furrow. “Then why the condom, Sir?”
“Biohazard containment,” he joked. He rubbed his finger over the condom and then touched it to her lips. “Cherry-flavored biohazard containment.”
She smiled.
“That’s a beautiful smile, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She rolled toward him, the hand on his cock slowly stroking him as she kissed him.
Then she started kissing down his chest.
He laced his fingers behind his head, more to keep them there and remind himself not to make any moves that might spook her. He suspected, at this time, if he grabbed her and made her go down on him that it would absolutely be the wrong thing.
He’d given her an order and now she was free to do whatever she wanted within those parameters.
When she started groping around and trying to reposition herself, he spread his legs for her, giving her room to move between his thighs. He intently watched her as she settled on her stomach, still stroking him with her hand but nuzzling his inner thigh with her lips.
That turned into her kissing his sac, making him struggle to keep his breathing steady, controlled, to make it last.
She seemed hesitant at first, not doing anything else but what she was doing, as if waiting for…
Something.
He wouldn’t move, wouldn’t speak. Her every motion telegraphed to him how her brain was struggling to process this, to recalculate her responses. She couldn’t see him, how he was reacting. He wasn’t—and wouldn’t—force her to go down on him. If she wanted to sit up and stop right now, he would.
He wouldn’t touch her. Not until he knew they were past the point of bad emotional triggers and he had started bridging and rebuilding her psyche with only good associations.
She seemed to gain confidence, her hands stroking him more surely, slowly, but deliberately now, no longer tentative. Her tongue slipped out and flicked his sac, more, until she started confidently laving her tongue over and around.
He drew his legs up a little, knees bent, giving her better access but still keeping his hands to himself.
The Strength of the Pack [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Page 11