Still in a squat down on the driveway, Paul shifted his weight back on his heels and looked up at her. His gaze slid down her body to her toes and up again, settling on the new pink thong she'd bought just for him.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “You shaved,” he said roughly.
“Just a little. Here and there.”
He nodded and inhaled deeply. Then fell forward onto his knees and pressed his face between her thighs.
“Here and there,” he repeated, and she felt his voice vibrate deep inside her. Then she felt a soft, small pressure as his tongue lapped at the thin fabric. She sagged against the car and struggled to focus.
“You're not listening.” Her voice sounded far away. All her attention was on the increasing sensations between her legs. Suddenly, his hands spanned her ass and jerked her pussy hard into his face, and her head fell back and she looked up at the sky past the house roof and the overhanging oak branches and exulted in the thrill of being alive. Then vaguely, as wet tongue met wet labia, she remembered her command to be carried inside.
Chapter 8
She was being carried, all right. Right out of her mind.
“Thank you, Bonnie.”
She shivered, feeling him everywhere. He had stopped, damn him, and was gazing up at her with a look of humble adoration.
She blinked and looked down at him, raked her fingers through his thick hair, pulled him back to where he belonged. His low laugh tickled her deep. She sighed. That wouldn't do—she was in control this time. Reluctantly, she pushed him away and stepped to the side.
“You've had a taste,” she said. “Now take me inside before I give up on you.” She had to look away while she said it so he couldn’t see the need in her eyes. Her impatience.
“I'm so sorry.” He hung his head, then suddenly lunged forward and lifted her over his shoulder, like before, with her bottom up in the air. She waited for the punishing, loving slap, but he only stroked each rounded cheek with the palm of his free hand and left her upturned pussy half-exposed to the sunshine. Her thong was tight, even tighter than the one she'd worn the first time, and while he shoved his house key into the lock to let them inside, she winced as the thin band of elastic dug into her.
He set her down in the laundry room again.
“Take off my panties,” she said, frowning at the washing machine. “You might like them, but they're uncomfortable.”
With his hands never leaving her, he fell to his knees and slipped them off, licking her stomach. Big, wet licks that lapped and tickled while his hot breath set her nerves on fire. Her fingernails dug into his broad shoulders under his jacket.
He was still wearing his jacket, which was entirely unacceptable. As was being in the laundry room again.
She shoved him away and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Take off your clothes. I'm going to explore.” With a saucy tilt of her head, she walked away from him down the hall like a supermodel and listened with a mixture of satisfaction and impatience to the sound of him tearing off his clothes. As much as she wanted him right now, it would be better for him to wait. Better for his humility.
Defying the laws of time and space, he caught up to her in seconds and hooked an arm around her waist. He was naked. She glanced down, furtive at first, then remembered her role and stopped to openly inspect him. Hands propped on hips, she raked her gaze over him and hid her awe. Her memories hadn't idealized him after all. He was built like a minor god.
His cock came to attention and he cleared his throat.
She corrected herself. A major god.
“May I show you my favorite room?” he asked.
“You may.”
He pulled her tighter against his hip and smiled down at her. “Great. Follow me.”
She let him tug her up a flight of carpeted stairs past empty bedrooms and bare walls and stacks of moving boxes to a bright and wide sunroom at the back of the house. It was painted yellow and filled with couches, tables, a TV, treadmill, beanbag chair, oversized floor pillows, framed photographs of California wilderness, and him.
“Nice,” she said. “So this is where you really live.”
“Mmm.” He turned and faced her, back to the room, and dipped his head to her neck. “Like it?”
To hell with the decorating. He had his hand over her breast and was gently rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She shuddered. “I'm ready for you.” She intended for it to sound dismissive and commanding, like she was talking to a waiter—not desperate.
His tongue traced the curve of her ear, maddening her with sensation. “Tell me.” His breath tickled over the damp skin. “I aim to serve.”
“What's on the menu—”
He nibbled on her earlobe at the same time his fingers pinched her nipple into a hard, sensitive point. She pulled away to recapture the reins.
Reins.
He was watching her with an arrogant curve on his lips, knowing she would have been happy to let him tie her up and fuck her and take what he wanted like last time. Men always thought they knew everything.
She gave him a dismissive snort and turned away from him to walk around the room, looking for just the right place and finding it in the far corner under the window—an antique daybed, with a wrought iron frame around it on three sides, overloaded with pillows and blankets.
She pointed down at it. “Lie down here.”
His smile fell a fraction, but he came over and sat.
“All the way,” she said. “On your back.”
He wasn't smiling anymore. “If you tie me up I won't be able to touch you.”
“Oh, honey.” She put a palm on his big, muscular chest and pushed him down. “Yes you will.”
He collapsed onto his back, his hard cock arching up to his stomach. She traced his abs with a fingernail and watched a shudder ripple across his skin.
“Use the spare power cords under the bed,” he said. “Make me pleasure you.”
The words slipped down her spine and pooled hot and seething in her belly. “If you're lucky maybe I'll do just that.”
He lifted his arms above his head, one hand to each corner, then stretched his feet out at the bottom. Big and perfect, he was giving himself to her.
She found the extension cords in a moving box, but didn't like the idea of hurting him, not really. So she used the curtain tie-backs instead, silky gold braids that hung in pairs on each window, and with his passive willingness, soon had him spread wide and harmless for her.
Without touching him, she knelt between his feet and ran her hands up her sides to her bare, heavy breasts, and lifted them in her palms, watching him.
“Please.” He jerked against the restraints. “Oh, God.”
She sucked her fingers, then ran the spit across her nipples. “Don't beg Him, beg me.”
He nodded, straining up to her. “Please, Bonnie. Touch me. I'm dying here.”
Smiling, she bent over and licked the tip of his penis. Nothing else, just the silky curve at the end, then sat back up. “Like that?”
His mouth fell slack and he nodded.
Thrilling in the power she felt, Bonnie smiled at him and patted his upper thigh. “Good boys get rewarded.”
“Just let me touch you. I'll be very good.”
She'd been careful to leave room for herself at the top of the bed. She eyed it now, deciding sixty-nine was a good year. So she'd heard.
Putting both hands and knees on the mattress, Bonnie turned around and climbed over him backwards to the head of the bed, spread wide over him just as he was spread wide for her. If he was very, very eager, he'd be able to reach up—
Ah. Wet, soft, firm tongue. She sank lower. Lost thought.
Ah.
He couldn't pull her closer, couldn't push her away. It was an odd, forbidden sensation of needing and taking. Lower and harder, she pressed her hips down, only vaguely aware of the warm penis brushing her cheek, the tips of her hard nipples brushing his belly.
The licking didn't
stop. His tongue attacked her and split her in a million pieces. His hips jerked off the bed, desperate to reach her face. “Please, Bonnie. Please.”
She had never felt such power before in her life. One small thing—one big thing, actually—and all at her mercy.
She took his cock into her mouth and heard him moan. So she licked, covered her teeth with her lips and bit down on him, and he thrashed underneath her against the restraints.
“Stop—” he gasped.
“Stop?”
“I—I can't—”
She took pity on him and slid her mouth off him. “Yes?” she whispered, breathing the s along his tortured cock. He wasn't licking her anymore and she wondered if she should punish him.
“Condom,” he said. “Bathroom.”
She lifted herself off of him and turned around. “Are you telling me you left the condoms all the way over in some bathroom somewhere?”
He nodded, eyes intense. “First door on the right,” he said. “My apologies. Stupid of me.”
After a moment weighing the possible punishments, Bonnie decided to be practical and just go get them as fast as she could. “Don't go anywhere.” She ran her hands down the side of his waist, past his hips and firm thighs as she drew away from the bed and strode away with as much dignity as she could manage considering how painful it was to leave him even for a moment.
She found the box, tore it open, and ran back to him.
“I've never been very good at this.” She fumbled the latex over his cock while he gritted his teeth. When she was done, she squeezed. “That right?”
He nodded, looking frantic. “Come back.”
She blinked, afraid to take too much. Push it too far.
“Please?” he said. “As you were?”
Hiding her eagerness, she gave him a haughty smile, straddled him again, and wiggled her way back up to his face.
His tongue attacked her ruthlessly and she sagged lower, too blinded to give his poor cock any attention at all. Delicate, accurate, relentless man. She'd never felt anything like it. Open and vulnerable, yet dominant. Making this powerful creature take care of her. His lust, at her mercy. Her own lust, in his skilled hands.
Mouth.
Oh, God.
She was spinning too high to remember what to do, and could only feel the building tension in her blood. Her arms buckled and she sagged against him, belly to belly, cheek to—
Suddenly two arms grabbed her thighs and pulled her harder into the wet, fast teasing of his mouth. He was free. She tried to get up on her knees, but he held her tight. He didn't stop. He kept licking.
He didn't stop.
“Paul—” she gasped.
His fingers were inside her now, spreading her wider for his tongue. The room fell away into black and red sparks. Vaguely she was aware of his hard, lonely cock next to her forehead.
The tip of his tongue was circling her clit with precision. With skill. Horribly wonderful skill, bringing her high and breathless, then stopping and letting her glide in unfinished agony at the heights he'd brought her.
“Paul!”
He was in control now. Her hips were locked in his grip, her lust was at his mercy, her foolish heart thought it was forever.
“Beg me,” he said.
“Fuck you,” she replied, and he laughed under her. Then stopped.
She was shaking.
“Just ask nicely,” he said.
He might have freed his hands, but she was still on top. She finally turned her attention to his abandoned cock and gave it an inadequate pinch over the latex. “You,” she said.
He let go of one of her thighs and reached down to touch himself. “When we're married I'm losing the raincoat,” he said, and she laughed.
Then he rolled her off of him, leaned down to untie his ankles in two quick seconds, then was on top of her shoving her legs apart with his knee. He was big and heavy and smelled thickly of sex.
She opened herself wider, still high, on the verge.
He thrust inside of her.
“Oh, Bonnie.”
Vaguely, she realized how much she loved hearing him say her name. From a distance. The rest of her was focused inwardly, captivated by nameless, wordless desire. This full stretching, aching feeling. Rich, sweet, hot.
He drew out and back in, falling into a firm and controlled rhythm. His hand reached between them and found her clit again and she spiraled higher. He filled her, again and again.
So much. So hard.
She dug her nails into broad, straining shoulders and cried out, then finally abandoned herself to the too-much sensation, shattering.
He followed after, with a few slower, harder thrusts, and finally collapsed over her.
“God,” he whispered. “Oh, my God.”
Bonnie was too wiped out to think. With her eyes closed, she mumbled something incoherent, smiling.
He brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, then gently pulled out and rolled onto his back. His fingers wrapped around hers, and after a silent minute, when their breathing quieted and Bonnie wished there was a blanket she could pull over their bodies, Paul asked, “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“I don't know,” he said. “There has to be a name for that.”
She laughed. “Great sex?”
“Is that it?”
The evening sun was coming in through the window, bronzing his skin. She turned over to rest her head on his chest, noticing the powerful smell of herself on him. Tracing her finger along his sternum, she sighed. “Really, really great sex?”
He stroked the back of her head. “Now can we get pizza?”
Her stomach growled at the thought. She nodded, still lost in the wordlessness of her feelings. His strong arm around her waist, the beat of his heart under her ear, the taste of salt on his damp skin.
Watching her lick his chest, his smile fell. “Bonnie?”
His nipple got hard too, if you bit it. “Yes?” she asked.
He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and was quiet.
She nibbled, licked, blew. “Yes, Paul?”
“All right, you temptress,” he said. “Cut it out. We're washing up and getting pizza. I fully admit you have total and absolute control over me but we're getting Zach's first. 'Kay?”
She grinned against his chest. “'Kay.” Whatever the word was for what they'd done, she'd had it and hoped to have it again some day.
Chapter 9
The entire time through dinner, Paul had to struggle to look relaxed and happy.
Because inside, he was in a panic.
What the hell had just happened? He should be thrilled. She wanted him, he wanted her, they had great sex together and now had shared the best pizza on Earth.
He led her down Solano Avenue in Berkeley to his car, making small talk.
Bonnie had showered at his place before they went out to eat and had left her hair down, damp and curly, and he couldn't stop reaching over to twist the soft strands in his fingers in spite of the anxiety building in his gut.
She was glowing and grinning and beautiful—because of him. With a hand under his shirt on his bare back, Bonnie leaned into him and sighed. “That was good. The pizza, too.”
At that moment, looking down into her sweet, upturned face, he hated himself. Because he was fighting the urge to run away and bury himself in his work and get shit-faced with the guys and call her in a few weeks when the intensity had died down.
His body reacted instinctively to her touch and his arm came up to stroke her firm, rounded arm. What was his problem? One thing for sure, he couldn’t think when she was near him, her softness under his hands, her scent scrambling his brains. He just couldn’t think. He’d thought that would be fun, to give himself up to love, sex, and romance, like some character in a movie, but instead he felt nauseous. Afraid. Like he had just stepped off the cliff and was staring down at the ground, waiting for gravity to notice him, pull him down to earth, shatter his bones.
He pretended everything was normal and told her about himself, about his software company and the guys on his team, about his sister and her annoying husband who kept her barefoot and pregnant, about buying the big house in Lafayette but not having much use for it.
“Why did you buy it then?” she asked.
He smiled and reached over to wipe a dab of tomato sauce off her chin. “My sister has four kids.”
“Yes?”
“And another on the way.”
She frowned. He admired the crease that formed slightly off-center, above her right eyebrow. “So?”
“So she needs the room.”
The look on her face made him laugh.
“You bought the house for your sister?” she asked.
“If she'll take it. I'm working on that. Her husband is a bit of a dork.”
Bonnie's incredulous face melted into admiration and she threw her arms around him. “You are such a great guy.”
Shit. He nearly pulled away, settling for patting her back instead.
She drew back. “What's the matter?”
“I'm not so great. Really. I was just lucky to graduate in CS at the right time, the right place. It was obscene, really, the money back then. She deserves it more than I do.”
Her arms tightened around his waist and she rested her cheek on his chest. “You're like me, aren't you? When I gave away my father's money, people thought I was nuts. But you—you can understand.”
He closed his eyes, frozen in her embrace. “Yes, I guess I do.”
Oblivious to his mood, she broke free and took his hand. “Look,” she said, pointing at the marquee of a small neighborhood movie theater. Something French lit up in old-fashioned black capital letters. “I'm dying for subtitles, aren't you? Let's see when it starts. You up for a movie?”
Grateful he could stop putting on a show of his own, he nodded and took her arm.
What was the matter with him?
The best sex in his life was three days ago and he still hadn't called her back.
Was it the power thing? Being tied up?
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