"Lovely. Stay there until I return. Do you understand? Don't move."
"Yes, Daimaen."
He disappeared into another room. She assumed it was the bedroom. She bit her lip and looked around. The couch and chairs appeared to be soft black leather, the carpet beneath her knees was dark green and very plush. The walls were beige and the artwork encompassed panoramic views of the city, skyscrapers and skylines, a mix of photographs, both black and white and color. She wondered if any of them were photographs he'd taken himself.
There were no family photos in the living room, nothing personal which would expose Daimaen, the man. There was a model of a sailboat encased in glass on one side table, and several hardbound books in a bookcase near the sliding glass door, which led to a balcony. Several magazines lay upon the carved mahogany coffee table, but she wasn't close enough to know which ones they were.
Her back started to hurt, but she didn't rise, or change position. Why did she want to please him so badly? But she knew the answer. Over the last weeks he'd been so attentive, so gentle. Yet, she knew he wasn't a weak man. She also knew from the list he'd given her, he was going to expect things and she didn't know if she could agree to them. They'd talked about some of them, and he'd been above-board about the fact that he planned to push her boundaries.
He was honest and forthright about his expectations. And she liked that about him. He seemed attuned to her emotions, always considerate and questioning when she appeared frightened or confused. Above all, his attitude toward her was one of respect. She'd never believed the words submission and respect could go hand in hand. But with Daimaen, it appeared they did.
No other man seemed to care or want to know anything about her, but what she allowed to be seen on the surface. Their wants and needs had been paramount. She'd always needed to soothe their egos, and her encounters had remained unsatisfactory, superficial.
Daimaen already had breached that surface. He'd done it the first night. And since then he'd slowly penetrated each layer of who she was. Things she'd even kept hidden from herself. There'd been no force and that scared her even more. She'd have recognized that and taken adequate precautions against it. He was coming closer and closer to the final barriers that surrounded her heart and soul. If she was wrong about him, she would never recover. She shivered at the thought. She could very well be on a course to her own destruction.
There was a sound from the other room, and Sylvie turned her head. Liquid desire seeped from her vagina as her lustful gaze consumed his dark, masterful presence.
Dressed in black satin pajama bottoms and a dark burgundy robe tied loosely with a belt, he was the embodiment of her deepest carnal fantasy. The robe draped open, offering a view of his broad bronzed chest shadowed with dark curling hair. His magnetic force arced across the room with such power, she gasped with surprise at its potency. She looked away from him and gazed down at the floor, trying to regain her composure.
She heard the whisper of his footsteps as he came to her, but she couldn't look at him.
"Sylvie.” Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened in response to his voice.
She trembled, knowing that tonight her last defenses against him would be breached. Her hands itched to touch him, and she was possessed by the need to feel him plunging deep inside her. It felt like she was trying to control a wild, bucking bronco as she impotently attempted to rein in her emotions. She closed her eyes, battling for control.
"Sylvie.” The tone of his voice commanded her obedience.
"Yes, Daimaen."
"Look at me."
Slowly, as though in a dream, she lifted her gaze to his dark, compelling scrutiny.
His knuckles trailed along the contour of her cheek. “I need to give you a safe word."
Concentration on his words was difficult as she surrendered to his touch. “A safe word?"
"In case there comes a time when you want to end what's happening. If you use it, I'll stop. No matter what. It's your ‘out’ if you feel whatever is happening is too much for you. What word do you want to use?"
"I don't know.” The thought of needing a safe word frightened her. What would she interpret as too much? How far would she let him go?
"It should be something you can remember easily. How about your last name? Will that work for you?"
"Yes. I think I can remember that."
"Say it for me now. What's your safe word?"
"Taylor,” she responded.
"Good.” He stroked her hair. “So beautiful. Sylvie, have you ever sucked a man's cock?"
It was an unexpected question. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. Her gaze fell and was riveted to the tented front of his black pajama bottoms. She'd never taken a penis into her mouth, never wanted to. But here, now, she craved it more than she could have imagined.
He stepped in front of her, his hands tangling in her hair. “I want you to take me into your mouth. I want to feel your tongue, your lips wrapped around me. I've fantasized about it for weeks."
As though hypnotized, Sylvie raised her hands and loosened the belt at his waist, and the robe fell open. She lowered his pants and they dropped to his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Before her eyes, his shaft sprang free. It was thick, long, the head glistening with pre-cum. She needed to touch him, to feel his silk-hard heat against the palm of her hand, filling her mouth.
She extended a finger and touched the tip. He jerked and groaned. Feeling bolder, she traced the ridge beneath the engorged head, more pre-cum spurted and she used a finger to spread it along the slit and over the velvety crown. The aroma of his heat washed over her.
Although she'd never done it before, an age-old instinct guided her as she leaned forward, opened her mouth and encircled him. Oh, yes. His taste was male arousal and it excited her. His hands tightened in her hair as her tongue curled beneath the sensitive ridge and she sampled his unique masculine flavor. His pulsing life force filled her mouth. Her tongue slid along the length, tasting, stroking, appreciating these new sensations.
She felt him grow thicker as her tongue and mouth loved him. His hands fisted in her hair, his hips strained against her.
"Yes, Sylvie, yes. More. Deeper. That's it. God, yes."
Her hands cupped his twin sacs, kneading lightly, as her mouth danced along his length. His body tightened, and she knew he was close.
"I'm going to come. Are you ready for me, Sylvie?"
He groaned and plunged forward as he orgasmed, and she swallowed the milky, exotic taste of him.
"Yes. Take it all, love. God, you have such a sweet mouth.” Slowly, he withdrew, brushed her hair away from her face and helped her to stand. She noticed he was still hard, still aroused.
"Ah, Sylvie.” He licked at her lips, then thrust his tongue inside her mouth, sucked, and drew on what she knew to be the erotic mixture of her taste mingled with his. The thought aroused her, and she wound herself around him, unable to get close enough.
She pushed at the silky robe. It dropped to the floor, and she ran her hands along his hard arms. The power and strength in those corded muscles wrapped around her. Her hands smoothed down his solid back, cupped his firm buttocks. Hot and hard, damp with perspiration.
A tornado picked her up and tossed her into its eye as the heat of her lust wrapped her in its embrace. There was nothing but Daimaen in her narrowed vision. She ached with the need to be touched by him, filled in every crevice with the essence of who he was, what he needed.
The world tilted as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He claimed her mouth, his teeth nipped at her lower lip. His eyes were open, and his gaze bore into her with a blazing, savage need.
Dizzy with desire, her body burning with a wild, ravenous appetite to experience more, she clung to him. Out of control, a need to scream and claim him as hers seized her, to be claimed by him in the most elemental way, the only coherent thought in her mind.
CHAPTER 11
He placed
her on the bed and she rose to her knees, reaching for him.
"I need you. Now. Please.” Her body throbbed with desire, her pussy pulsed with emptiness.
"Not yet.” He pushed her hands down to her sides.
But the vortex of emotion slammed into her. Again she reached for him.
"Now, damn you. I've waited long enough."
His dark gaze pierced her as he pushed her back onto the bed with unexpected speed and pulled her hands above her head, ensnaring them in a set of soft cushioned handcuffs. She struggled against him. “No!” she screamed.
He held her still. “Look at me.” His voice was a growl of fierce demand.
Panting with frustrated desire, she raised her gaze to meet his. “Do you want to use your safe word?"
Struggling against the haze of passion, she shook her head.
"Answer me, Sylvie. Do you want to use your safe word?"
"No,” she screamed at him. “I want you to fuck me, damn you.” Again, she struggled against him.
Her need was too fierce for fine words. The wall surrounding her most basic desires had been breached and tamping down the brilliant blaze consuming her was no longer in her control. She'd wanted him for too long. It seemed like forever, and it crashed against her, battering her with its intensity.
She felt him lift her arms and attach the cuffs to something at the headboard, then he flipped her onto her stomach.
"What are you doing?” She struggled, tried to turn back.
"Stay still.” One hand connected with her bottom. She screeched and tried to come to her knees. “No.” Her bottom warmed. He pulled her back flat against the bed.
Craning her neck, she tried to see where he was. He moved onto the bed, splayed her legs and settled between them. Placing a pillow beneath her hips, again, his hand came down and her other cheek warmed. And again, never landing in the same place twice.
Sylvie shouldn't have felt aroused, she told herself. It wasn't just her rear that throbbed, but her pussy pulsed with desire. It should be painful, but it shouldn't excite her, should it? She couldn't make sense. A desperate need for release annihilated any remaining defenses.
His hand smoothed over her warmed cheeks. “It's not what you expected, is it?” Again his hand landed against her warmed buttocks. She drew in a sharp intake of breath. In less than a heartbeat, she felt his lips against the warmth and shuddered beneath the touch.
"Please,” she whimpered and arched her hips. When she felt his lips pressed against her sensitive lips, she groaned. His moist tongue tantalized its way along the length of her labia.
"Do you like that?” His breath fluttered against her sensitive core.
"Yesss,” she hissed. Her hips arched higher and her legs opened wider, giving him better access.
He teased with his tongue, swirling and circling, his hands kneading her tender buttocks. She writhed beneath his ministrations—frenzied with hunger.
"Daimaen,” she begged him. Her skin was damp with perspiration, and her clit sensitized with want.
"Let me have your passion. Come for me.” She screamed and fell headlong into the black void, shuddering as he anchored her, his mouth clamped, sucking her juices from her. He lapped at her until her tremors subsided. Then he proceeded to lick and tease again, driving her back up the summit.
Her head thrashed back and forth. “No more, Daimaen. Please. I can't take any more."
She felt him grasp her hips and flip her onto her back. She had no energy left to fight him, her breathing was labored.
"Look at me, Sylvie."
Sluggishly, she opened her eyes.
"Do you want to use your safe word?"
He'd stopped caressing her, and she felt abandoned. She needed more. Sensations shifted inside her.
"No. I don't want to use my safe word."
"My beautiful, Sylvie.” He raised her legs, widening her, and slipped two fingers into her throbbing center. Again, she arched and moaned. He withdrew and she watched as he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small packet, tore it open, and sheathed himself. “Are you ready for me, Sylvie?"
"Oh, God, yes. Please Daimaen, I need to feel you inside me. Please.” Slowly, he entered her pussy, widening and stretching her, filling her.
"God, you're so tight and hot. So ready for me.” He drove forward until he was seated fully, his hands grasped and kneaded her aching bottom.
He began to move and she thrust against him in counterpoint to his movements. “Slow, baby, nice and slow,” he urged her.
She whimpered and undulated beneath him. Pain radiated through her from the spanking, soon voided by the ecstasy of his penetration. Opposing forces intermingled and melded inside her until there was no division between the two sensations as they wrapped about her—each enhanced, driving her higher and higher, boundaries exploding in the pure rapture of his total possession as he controlled every movement.
Pain and pleasure merged in her soul to pleasurable pain—an edge that had her crying out for more. A primeval growl erupted from her throat and she screamed as her control splintered, driving her beyond the brink of consciousness. The ocean of her being crested as a tidal wave of emotion was released flinging her away, and breathing became an afterthought.
A final surge, and he filled her, thick and deep. She felt his pulsing climax all the way to her soul.
Sylvie collapsed beneath him, and she felt him slide from her body. He lowered her legs and then released the cuffs, gently drawing her arms down to her sides, massaging them. Lowering his head, he trailed kisses down her damp neck and suckled at her breasts, teasing her nipples. As boneless as she felt, her womb vibrated in response, and again the need inside spun out of control.
She watched him through slitted, hungry eyes, and he held her gaze, with a languid, dark look, as he tugged at her breasts, grazing the sensitive buds with his teeth. A feeling of weightless freedom engulfed her, and she filled her lungs with its fragrant scent. She'd once been wrapped in chains so tight they'd suffocated everything alive inside her. Emotions so deep and so profound she couldn't absorb them all, flooded her. She threaded her fingers through the silky strands of Daimaen's hair, needing him once again ... still ... always.
Suddenly she bounded upward, energized and urgent. It wasn't enough, and she saw a look of surprise in his eyes as she pushed him backwards until he lay prone on the bed.
"My turn,” she said with a smile, “I want dessert."
Straddled across his hips, she guided his still firm length into her pussy and rode him. She started with slow thrusts which built with urgent abandon, until finally, again in command, he sprang up and wrapped his arms around her, and plunged upwards, deep inside, throbbing and quivering with release. Their bodies, slick with sweat, sealed them as one in the burning core of their completion.
* * * *
A shy passion flower, open only to him. And she had opened fully. He'd felt her surrender when that last barrier crumbled beneath his sensual onslaught. She was his, totally and completely.
Daimaen lay with her at his side, his deep hunger for her sated at present, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he needed her again. He inhaled her scent mingled with his, watched her as she slept, her swollen red lips slightly parted. She'd become so much a part of him already. The essence of her life was now threaded through his own.
Although sated with their loving, knowing they were now bound, the thought of her planned return to work, kept sleep at bay. Her vitality and energy had almost been extinguished by someone who wanted her dead. He couldn't lose her now that he'd found her. Her innocence and fire, her passion and submission, filled the emptiness in his soul as nothing else ever would. Her protection was paramount—whatever it took, even from herself if need be.
He pushed a stray lock of her hair back from her face. She snuggled closer in his arms. This was where she belonged, always. He'd find a way to make that happen. Whatever it took to make her happy and keep her safe.
CHAPTER
12
On Monday morning, Sylvie awoke to the phone ringing.
"Hello?” She was just barely awake and her voice was tinged with early morning drowsiness.
"Now that's the sound I missed waking up next to this morning."
A smile curled her lips at the raspy quality in Daimaen's voice. She lay back against the pillows and languidly stretched. “What sound is that?"
"That sexy little kitten purr that says you could use some nice long strokes about now."
Her laughter was husky and low as she envisioned his hands doing the stroking. “You do that on purpose, don't you?"
"I don't want you forgetting me today."
"Like I could. Where are you right now?” He hadn't stayed with her last night. His presence was required at an early morning meeting, and he'd needed to make several overseas calls before dawn in preparation. Sometimes she wondered if he ever slept with the routine he seemed to keep.
"I'm headed back to the office. What are you doing right now?"
"Did your meeting go well?” If she didn't stop this conversation, he would have her so aroused she'd never get through the day.
"Answer my question first.” His voice was deeper.
"I'm in bed."
"What time do you have to be to work?"
Sylvie squinted at the clock. “My alarm won't go off for probably another twenty minutes or so."
"Mmmm, good. What are you wearing?"
Sylvie's hand tightened on the phone. His voice feathered along her skin, as though he was with her, his hands caressing her. She swallowed, knowing what was going to come next, anticipation tightening her nipples. “Nothing,” she breathed into the phone.
"Ahhhh, I'm picturing you. Are you wet for me, Sylvie?"
She undulated with arousal. “Yes, Daimaen. I wish you were here."
"No more than I do. Close your eyes, and touch yourself. Slip two of your long, beautiful fingers inside your slick pussy and pleasure yourself. I want to hear you come."
She did as he asked, her body damp and responsive to the voice in her ear. “Daimaen,” even to her, it sounded like her voice dripped with desire.
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