by Foster, Lori
Jonah’s arms were wrapped around her waist, the side of his face pressed against her belly. His breath had warmed her skirt. She put her hand in his hair and stroked it. Damp and silky and springy beneath her fingers. He was sweating, too.
He lifted his face, his eyes dark with wonder. “I’ve never felt anything like that,” he said.
She licked her lips. “I think that’s my line,” she whispered.
“I felt it go right through me. Like a hot wind. You are incredible.”
She tried to smile, but her muscle coordination was not yet up to such a complex task. “Of course you have to say that,” she teased. “It’s in the script. Queens have to be flattered and adored.”
He scowled. “Fuck the script. That was for real. And so am I. Don’t you get that yet?”
She was startled at his harsh tone. “Um, yes,” she conceded softly. “I think I get that.”
“Good.” He pressed his face against her belly again, his big, naked shoulders rubbing against her thighs. She clasped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a soft murmur.
He lifted his head, his eyes hungry. “And? So?”
“And what? So what?”
“I’m waiting patiently for you to command me to take the next logical step, and the waiting’s killing me,” he said.
“What step?” she hedged.
He shook his head. “You have to articulate your desires. The queen of the universe knows exactly what she wants. So go on. Instruct your eager servant.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She swallowed. “I can’t,” she whispered.
He lifted his eyebrow. “You have to, Tess. Otherwise, we can’t proceed.”
She gathered her wits. “That’s ‘Your Exalted Majesty’ to you. Don’t you dare presume to tell me what I have to do, Mr. Love Slave, or I’ll have you punished for your insolence.”
“Ah. That’s better,” he said softly. He bent down to lick her thigh. She caught her breath at the warm, wet intimacy of the caress. “So? What does my queen command?”
She reached down and ran her fingers across the rasp of beard stubble that covered his jaw. She knew what she wanted, but the words were stuck in her throat, pounding against a brick wall. She bit her lip in frustration. “What do you want to do?” she asked.
“Everything,” he said promptly. “But for starters, I want to pull those panties off and lick you between your legs until you come again.”
Heat pulsed through her at the image his words invoked: a tangle of lips and tongues and limbs, of kisses and caresses. Her breath jerked into her lungs, shallow and fast. “That sounds, um, interesting,” she said. “My royal command is to . . . do what you want.”
His eyes gleamed. “Whatever I want? You’re sure?”
“Within reason,” she amended swiftly.
He shook his head. “Can’t have it both ways, sweetheart. If you give control to me, I’ll take it and run with it. And I’m so turned on that I’m probably going to run long and hard and fast.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “Are you trying to scare me?”
He shrugged. “Just being honest. If you can’t tell me what you want, then I’m just going to have to show you what I want.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“I’ll let you off the hook now, but eventually, I’m going to get it out of you,” he went on, kissing her thighs. “What you want, what you like, what you fantasize about. I want to hear the words. In explicit detail.”
“I don’t know how to talk about it,” she said desperately.
“Then you’ll learn.” He lifted his head and gave her a slow, implacable smile. “Because I’ll teach you.” His hands moved over her, bold and skillful. “I’m going to make you come again now, Tess. Over and over, with my mouth and my fingers and my cock. Until you’re begging me to let you rest. Until you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be shy or embarrassed. Do you want that?”
She nodded. She couldn’t stop her lips from trembling.
“So, I’m taking over, then?” he said insistently. “You’re sure?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded again.
He rose up with smooth grace, and pulled her to her feet. “My first act as an emancipated love slave is to get these clothes off you.”
Alarm went through her like an electrical shock. She clenched her teeth and tried to let it go. “OK,” she whispered.
She tried to help him, but her hands were clumsy and ineffectual, just getting in the way of his swift, strategic assault on her clothes. Finally she just held her hands out, as stiff and passive as a doll, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t be disappointed by what he found.
He got rid of the dress first, shoving it down off her shoulders. Then her loose fleece shirt, his deft hands making short work of her buttons. Her silk knit chemise sailed up and over her head into the shadows.
And there she stood, in nothing but the flame-red lace teddy. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She could not breathe.
He was silent for an agonizingly long time.
“My God,” he whispered. “Did you wear that thing for me?”
She licked her lips, tried to speak. Tried again. “I . . . I guess I did,” she admitted in a tiny voice.
Another maddening silence. She clenched her fists and waited.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
She finally dared to open her eyes, and she was shocked by the look on his face. He looked moved, his eyes soft, dazzled.
He lifted his eyes to her face. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered. “You blow my mind. I’m afraid to touch you.”
She let out a hitching little laugh that threatened to turn into tears. “Well, you better get over it.”
They both laughed. He lifted trembling hands and placed them on her shoulders. Brushed them tenderly down her arms. He slid his fingers around her lace-covered waist. Splayed them over her hips with a sigh of approval, then cupped her bottom. She nudged herself closer, breathing in shallow little gasps.
One of his hands slid up to touch her breast. She nestled in his warmth as his fingers traced the pattern of the scalloped lace, brushing over her lace-covered nipple, making her heart pound. He pushed the stretchy fabric down over her breasts, until her nipples peeked over the edge of the fabric. She pressed herself against him, hiding her face against his shoulder.
“I hate to take it off you,” he said shakily.
“I can always put it back on for you later.”
“Promise?”
When she nodded, he began to inch the fabric down over her torso. He freed her breasts and peeled it down over her thighs. Gently lifted one foot, then the other. He smoothed the little garment in his hands and lifted it to his face, taking a hungry whiff. “Delicious.”
She was laughing at his silliness when she suddenly realized that he was staring at her naked breasts. She made a move to cover them with her arms, and at the same moment realized how stupid that was.
She forced herself to drop her arms, closed her eyes, and tried to breathe. It had been so long since she’d been naked in front of anyone, and it wasn’t as if she’d ever gotten very comfortable with it.
She jumped nervously as he reached around her shoulders, feeling for the thick knot of hair at her nape. His long fingers searched delicately for the pins, and he flung them away to join the rest of her discarded clothes and he let the knot unravel. It spiraled down to the small of her back. “I’ve been fantasizing about seeing your hair down since the first moment I saw you,” he said, draping it across her shoulders like a shawl. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
He pushed her back, gently, until the backs of her knees hit the couch, and kept pushing until she fell into the cushions, staring up at him. Wide-eyed. He stroked her thighs, staring hungrily at every detail. He tucked a pillow behind her, and pulled her until her bottom was at the end of the couch cushion. “Your breasts are amazing,” he said. “I wish my mouth
could be everyplace at once, but the night’s still young.” And he pushed her legs wide open.
She tried to squirm, but she was pinned. “Jonah, wait—”
“What for?”
His mouth was on her, his tongue sliding boldly along her most intimate flesh. She was transfixed with pleasure.
Never. Never like this. She’d always been far too tense and self-conscious to enjoy this the few times that she had attempted it. This was utterly different. All she could do was stare at his dark head, her breath coming in harsh, audible gasps. His hands held her wide open as his tongue fluttered across the exposed, swollen bud of her clitoris. It rasped tenderly across the glistening folds of her labia, slowly up and down, lapping and licking with hungry abandon. He slid one long finger slowly inside her while suckling her clitoris, and looked up at her as he slid it slowly out. It glistened.
He thrust it again, harder. “You’re so wet and tight,” he muttered. “Clinging to my finger like you’re sucking on it.”
She barely understood what he said. Her body was lit up like a torch. Everything he touched was melting. Shimmering hot, liquid, lost. The center of the universe was the agonizing pleasure of his lips and tongue and clever hands. He brought her almost to the brink, and then drew back. Wave after wave, closer and closer, till she wanted to scream with frustration.
She clutched as much of his short, silky hair as she could grab. “Damn it, Jonah,” she gasped. “Do it!”
His laughter vibrated through her sex. His tongue probing, teasing. “Trust me.”
“Please,” she begged. “Please, do it now.”
“Soon,” he promised.
“Now!” She swatted his shoulder, hard.
He thrust with his hand, bold and forceful. It almost hurt, but then he was pressing tenderly against the hot, shivering sweet spot deep inside her sheath that she had never known existed, while his tongue circled the swollen bud of her clitoris. He drove two fingers into her flushed, swollen opening, and it all came crashing down. A throbbing explosion of rippling pleasure, widening out. A pulsating red glow that spread to every part of her body.
When she opened her eyes, he was on his feet, shoving his jeans down. She stared at the erection bobbing in front of her and suddenly remembered that she had ceded all control of their tryst to him.
He was impressive. Much longer and thicker than Larry. Rising out of a rich thatch of dark hair, thick and blunt, flushed to a deep, purplish red. Veins pulsing. He stood there and let her get used to the sight of him. He was so tempting and powerful and perfect.
He stepped closer. “Touch me there,” he said quietly. “Please.”
She put her hand against him, startled at how hot and smooth he was, how delicately soft the skin that covered his hardness. “Harder,” he said. His hand closed over hers, squeezing and pulling, rougher than she would ever have dared to touch him on her own.
The pressure milked a gleaming drop of pearly moisture from the slit in the tip. She didn’t stop to think, she just pressed her mouth against it, licking it away. Sweet and salty, heat and bursting pressure. She could get used to this feeling of power, the helpless groan of pleasure she dragged from him. She could learn to love it.
She gripped him, taking the whole tip of him into her mouth. It was big and blunt, and barely fit. She swirled her tongue around, moistening him, and was just about to suck him deeper when she felt his hands cupping her face, holding her in place.
“No, please,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ll come in two seconds if you do that.”
He pushed her back, and she stared at the thick hard shaft bobbing next to her face, radiating heat. Her eyes traveled slowly up his big, powerful body, saw his flushed face and dilated eyes.
Long and hard and fast, he had said. His size and strength were suddenly disconcerting. But she’d been so wanton, so selfish and eager and willing so far, there was no way she could draw back now. It was his turn, and she had to just relax and try to not be nervous and silly. It wasn’t like she was a terrified virgin. She was twenty-nine years old. And the man clearly knew what he was doing.
Jonah was moving briskly ahead, unaware of her spasm of doubt. He had already produced a condom out of thin air, and had rolled it purposefully over himself. His eyes dragged slowly, hotly over her body.
“I’m too big for the couch,” he said. “Let’s take this to the rug in front of the fire. It’s nice and soft.”
She was frozen in place, mute. He grabbed the fluffy afghan from the back of the couch and flung it out over the rug. He scattered a couple of the thick, fleece covered pillows onto the afghan, and held out his hand, a swift, imperious gesture. “Come on.”
He was so overwhelming, she couldn’t control her primitive hesitation, but Jonah had no intention of letting her pull back. He scooped her into his arms.
She protested, wiggling. “Jonah, you’ll hurt yourself!”
He snorted. “Get into the moment. Do you think Scarlett said that to Rhett while he was carrying her up the stairs?”
She was startled into giggling as he lay her against the cushions. “So men fantasize about that scene, too? I thought that was a girl thing.”
“You mean about what he does to her once he gets her into that bedroom? Hell, yes. At least I did. To start with, I think he throws her on the bed and rips open her dress, and goes like this—”
He lunged over her, covering her with his body, and pressed her breasts together, burying his face between them. He kissed and swirled his tongue against her curves, leaving a trail of wet, pulsing pleasure in his wake.
He looked up at her face as he suckled her nipple, and dragged his teeth gently across the sensitive flesh. The rasp of his teeth made her cry out, clutching his head to her chest. He lifted his eyebrows and hummed the theme to Gone With the Wind. She dissolved into giggles.
He lifted his head. “Then he rips open her bloomers or petticoats or whatever the hell else women wore back then, and he fucks her brains out. He tries to show her who’s boss. Never works worth a damn, but it’s fun while it lasts.”
Her laughter cut off abruptly. She stared, transfixed, into his burning eyes as he pushed her legs wide, settling himself between them. The hot, powerful bulk of him was poised over her. No wiggling away, no second thoughts. Her fingertips dug into his upper arms.
He leaned down, covering her face with coaxing kisses. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re ready for me. I made sure of it.”
“I’m sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the smooth, blunt head of his penis sliding tenderly against her labia, probing, pressing. Then insisting.
“Open your eyes,” he said. “I’m Jonah, and you’re Tess, and this is no fantasy. This is for real. Right here, right now. Keep your eyes open, Tess. Look at me.”
“I can’t,” she said tightly.
He cupped her face in his hands. “You have to,” he said. “Now.”
And such was the force of his will that her eyes actually did pop open. She stared into his face, lost and overwhelmed. A certainty was growing inside her, that opening herself up to this man was going to change her in ways she could not yet imagine. But there was no going back. She dug her hands into his shoulders and tried to relax. It had been three or four years since she last tried this, and he was so big and solid, stretching her tender opening to the point of pain.
“Stay with me, Tess.” His voice was tense and strained. He stared into her eyes so intensely, she felt as if she were chained to him. His muscles flexed, and she cried out as he thrust all the way inside.
It was too much. She felt pinned, immobile. Stifled by his size, the force radiating out of him. The deep, aching pressure of his shaft inside her was a painful intrusion. She turned her face away, her breath getting short and strangled and panicky.
She felt his hands on her face again, wrenching her face back toward his. “Damn it. Look at me.”
The steely anger in his voice stung her own anger to life. “Wh
at the hell do you want from me?” she spat out.
He shook his head, his eyes full of angry confusion. “I don’t know! Be there for me! Meet me halfway! Tell me to fuck off, whatever the hell you want, but just be strong for me. Don’t you dare slip away and leave me alone, like you’re scared of me. I can’t take that!”
She tried to wiggle beneath him, in vain. “Aren’t you happy now?” she flung at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He drew back and thrust slowly inside her again, holding her gaze. “No. I want more. I want everything.”
“Great. Well, spell it out for me, then,” she snapped. “Because I don’t know just exactly what everything entails.”
He cut off her words with a deep, plundering kiss that left her breathless. “I’m sorry I pissed you off, but I’d rather have you mad at me than slipping through my fingers like sand.”
“This is your lucky day, then, Jonah, because I’m furious! I don’t know why, but I am. You’re too big, and too heavy, and you’re making me nervous. Let . . . me . . . breathe.” She wrestled her arms between them and shoved at his chest.
He arched himself up so his weight lifted off her, and trapped her wrists and pinned them over her head. She could breathe, but having her arms stretched out over her head made her feel helpless and maddened. She heaved and bucked beneath him, but he wouldn’t dislodge himself. He just thrust in again with a voluptuous surge that made her gasp.
Despite her furious tension, she was slicker and wetter and softer than she’d ever been. He sensed the exact moment that her body found the right angle to clasp him, move with him. The moment that the pressure of his thick penis sliding along the length of her humid sheath made a flush of excitement race like a grass fire across the entire surface of her skin.
She was burning up. Crazed and feverish. She tried to free her hands, but he was immensely strong. “Let go, God damn it,” she panted.
He slowly shook his head. “No way. Be mad, Tess, if that works better for you.”
“You bastard,” she hissed. “It doesn’t!”
“Liar,” he said softly. “You’re opening up to me, now. All wet and soft and scalding hot. You like it. Feel this.” He drove himself deep inside her, a heavy lunge that shocked a wail of pleasure out of her throat. “See? Go on, spit some more venom at me. It turns me on, too.”