The King of Bourbon Street

by Thea de Salle

  “My mother wants me to go home tomorrow,” she continued. “I’m sure she’s read Vaughan the same riot act, and I doubt he’ll want to leave, but I can’t discount it as a possibility, and if he goes, I . . . well.”

  She didn’t finish.

  He didn’t want her to. His grip tightened on her foot. She must have felt the change, from soothing rub to an insistent clutch, because she straightened on the couch, the puddle effect evaporating. A frown distorted her pretty mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He forced a smile, hoping it didn’t resemble a grimace, but he’d never been very good at faking pleasure when he didn’t feel it.

  “I’d miss you, cherie.”

  “I’d miss you, too. Here’s your dildo.”

  Another one-eighty, from thought A to thought Z with no steps in between. She slid the toy out from between her bouncy bounties, the surface no longer as pristine as when he’d given it to her. Fingerprints. Sweat. Her body’s juices.

  He eyeballed it. “Go wash it, kitten, and we’ll talk about what happens next.”

  She did as she was told, shuffling toward the kitchen, casting furtive glances his way every few steps.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “I think I’ve upset you? Or, well, I feel like I have.”

  “You have, but not for the reasons you think. Come to me when you’re finished.” He repositioned, sitting on the ottoman, watching her work: water, soap, paper towel. She offered a tentative smile but he didn’t return it. He did, however, feel a pang of regret when her brow creased with worry.

  She’s legitimately upset. Don’t be a bastard.

  “It’ll be fine, kitten. Just another lesson.”

  Just like that, she relaxed—his reassurance was enough to soothe her. She was such a demonstrative thing, so plainly wearing her heart on her sleeve, that a single glance was all he needed to gauge how many clouds threatened her sunny skies.

  Whatever weight she’d carried, he’d exonerated.

  She eased his way, toy extended across her palm like a peace offering. He took it from her to place it on the end table before patting his knee.

  “Across.”

  She moved to sit astride his lap, but he maneuvered her easily enough, taking hold of her hips and swinging her around as if to say, No, you don’t get to look at me this time, kitten, you’re going ass up.

  She squeaked as he settled her, her belly against his hard thighs. Her breasts dangled one way, legs the other, her rump delightfully curved beneath that frilly dress. He placed a flat palm over it, rubbing in slow circles until her breath hitched.

  “I really am sorry,” she repeated for the umpteenth time.

  “But do you know why?”

  “I didn’t call. I didn’t do the right thing when I came. I . . .”

  “Wrong. You exceeded my expectations, kitten. You did as you were told, you were honest, you came to me when you couldn’t carry out an instruction. I’m going to spank you because, if you insist on apologizing for imaginary offenses, I’m going to insist on punishing you for imaginary offenses. Pull your dress up over your hips if you’re amenable.”

  It was weak reasoning for a spanking, but he wanted to see what she’d do, and frankly, the idea of turning her pink ass red ground his gears. He withdrew his hand and waited. This was another angle to their play, the introduction of light correction to the control game, and if anywhere there was going to be a hitch, it would be here. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, especially if she was leaving tomorrow afternoon.

  She craned her neck to the side. He expected apprehension or maybe even disgust on her face, but there was only curiosity and something that, on first glance, looked like fondness.

  Please be fondness.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Her hands gripped the sides of the dress and pulled up, exposing the most jiggly bare ass he’d ever had the pleasure of beholding. His cock twitched despite its earlier flogging, responding to her sweetness, to her trust.

  To her . . . complete lack of panties.

  Holy shit.

  His hand caressed the bare skin, acquainting itself with her plumpness and how it settled over her bones and muscle. He followed the swell of the cheeks to the small of her back, retracing his route until he found her thighs, which were—oh sweet Jesus—still moist from her toy play.

  He lifted his hand, hovering it over that inviting curve of fat.

  Almost. Almost!

  But before bringing it down, pink flashed in the corner of his eye. The discarded tie. His fingers thrummed to touch her, but he forced himself to stop, to breathe, and to reach for the golden opportunity a foot and a half away.

  Hands or eyes. Hands or eyes.

  Eyes.

  Definitely eyes.

  He brought the silk around to show it to her, letting the thick end dangle an inch from her pert nose.

  “I’m going to blindfold you, kitten, and then I’m going to spank you, and if you’re extra good, I’ll make you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. If you’re leaving me, you’re going to do it with a fond memory.”

  “Yesssssss.” She hissed it, more snake than woman, writhing in his lap, that delicious ass up and presenting and waiting for whatever indecency he’d thrust upon it.

  For fuck’s sake. No one’s supposed to be this good.

  Chinese silk over her eyes, as soft and delicate as a butterfly’s wing yet as strong as steel, too. He tied it behind her head, tight enough that it’d hold, but not so tight it’d pinch. Her hands braced on his shins, his slacks bunched up in her fists like she was holding on for dear life.

  “ ‘Yes’ what, kitten?”

  “Spank me. Please.”

  His hand arced up only to swat down, striking that sweet ass with an audible crack. She gasped, back dipping low, and he ran his palm over the pink spot, rubbing away the sting before reaching between her legs. His fingers trailed inward, across humid thighs to a more humid honeypot of swollen labia and drizzling crevices. His middle finger swam through the wet until he found her clit, so eager inside its bed of spongy flesh. He flicked at it, working it fast—there was no need for buildup. She was soaked from their earlier play. Manipulating her, getting the blood to flow and flare and welcome him, was as easy as one, two . . .

  Smack!

  His left hand rose and fell, this time on the other cheek, granting each side of her ass matching kiss marks. He worked her pussy with his right hand, hearing the wet, sloshing noises it made as he rubbed her, furiously abusing her sweet spot with his fingers, left and right and back again.

  Smack, smack, smack!

  She groaned, tugging at his pants hems, every crash of hand against her met with a shudder. It rocked her against his lap, forcing all hundred and some odd pounds of her into his dick, the friction of bodies colliding a delightful torment he never wanted to end.

  “Are we done apologizing?” He croaked it, his nostrils flaring at the smell of sex in the air.

  “Yes. I’m done.”

  “Do you like your spanking?”

  He braced his left hand on her red ass and doubled down on his finger work, his thumb gliding right up into her snatch to slither around her hole.

  “Y-yes. Yes, thank you.”

  He hadn’t planned to fuck her yet, but faced with what he’d done to her—the sweltering cunt, the blushing ass, the beads of sweat on her pink brow—it was far too late for both of them. His hand lifted to the tangle of blond curls at her nape and fisted in it, forcing her head back, forcing her body to bow beneath his touch.

  “I think it’s time you took my cock.”

  TWELVE

  ONE SECOND SHE was across his lap, the next she was pressed against a couch gripping a soft leather back, her knees splayed. She
couldn’t see anything, the tie across her eyes cutting off one of her senses, and yet her others thrived. Her mouth was dry, all her wetness down, down, down between her trembling thighs. She could hear the rustling of his clothes and his quietly muttered oath as he tugged open his pants. Sex perfumed the air, her own smell in her nostrils, reminding her of his utter command over her body.

  Her ass tingled, flank burning where he’d spanked her raw, from one side to the other.

  Pain wasn’t something she’d ever associated with pleasure before, and yet as he worked her, her body responded to his touches, both hard and soft alike. She’d never been more aware of how everything felt—the contrast of slap and stroke. Of cool, air-conditioned air against near-radiating skin. The pain element enhanced the pleasurable elements that much more. It proved how wonderful, how amazing a soft touch really was when the body is conditioned for something else entirely.

  I liked it, I think.

  “Yes or no, kitten, or forever hold your peace,” he rasped. His knee wedged her legs wider, forcing her back into a tight arch, his hands roaming all over her body.

  “Please? Oh please. Yes.”

  She expected a glib reply but there was none, only fingers on her ass, sliding down, warm thumbs parting her innermost heat to the far cooler air. There was a hot poke. Cock. His cock, finding her, slithering over her wet lips and jabbing before he slid home.

  Spreading. Stretching. For him.

  “Oh God. Please fuck me,” she croaked, and that was it. He was in, hard, shoving at her and bottoming out, his cock parting her and penetrating her and owning her body. Her ass nestled against his still-clothed front, her dress hiked up around her waist, her cheek smushed into the back of the sofa. He nudged forward. Big, yes, huge no, certainly enough and then some and filling her better than she’d ever been filled before. His hands settled around her waist, gripping as he tugged a few wet inches from her body, halfway, and then slammed home again.

  This was not going to be gentle.

  She didn’t want it to be.

  She pressed her face into the couch, stifling a moan.

  Push. Pull. Shove. Retreat. The sex was savage, made all the more so when he leaned forward and twined her hair around his fist, yanking her head up from the cushion.

  “No. Your noises are mine.” And they were, every one, from the lewd pants to the hard slap of bodies colliding to the wet slurp of well-plundered cunt.

  Over and over again.

  Climbing. I’m climbing.

  The angle was remarkable, his dick raking over that sweet patch of nerves along the topside of her tunnel. She’d heard about the G-spot, and he kept pumping at her until he’d found it, and in finding it, milked more music from her.

  “Is that it, sweet girl? Right there?”

  He pistoned his hips forward again and she saw stars.

  “Yessssssssss.”

  I’m going to die. I’m going to die impaled on his cock.

  It was too intense, the way he forced her to completion, the way he circled his hips just so to ensure every pump into her sent pleasure ricocheting through her body. Her wet creamed her thighs. Her voice broke, hoarse sobs bellowing forth until that perfect, pivotal moment when his body drove her to her finest come. To a loud, sodden, filthy orgasm that made her buck and writhe on the couch before him, unintelligible proclamations pouring from her mouth as she sobbed out her satisfaction. She humped her ass back at him, forcing his grip on her hair to pull at her scalp, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered beyond how good him being inside her felt.

  Nothing mattered but the shivery sound of his low groan from behind her, his shuddering body, and the hot splash of his pleasure painting her walls.

  The crash was hard. She’d gone up so far, the down was inevitable, and the immediacy of it hurt. Her lungs burned like she’d swallowed lava. Her heart twitched inside her chest, furious and terrifying, like every second could be her last. Her skin was a blanket of sweaty flesh over quivering nerves; the brush of his pants against her flank sent her scrambling forward, her spine dipping as she heaved herself over the back of the couch to give her overworked body respite.

  “Oh. Oh,” she panted, found that articulating anything but a plaintive whine was beyond her, and gave up trying.

  She slumped, gasping, her cheeks wet with tears. It’s too much. It’s too much. Her fuck-addled brain made a vague parallel to the story of Icarus who flew too close to the sun with his wax wings. One second she was high on bliss, the next she was rudely thrown back into a body she wasn’t sure she entirely controlled anymore.

  “Kitten. Oh, kitten. Shhh, now. I’m here. You’re all right.”

  The tone was quiet and sweet and loving and in complete contrast to what she’d known seconds ago. She was drowning in a deluge of sensation, but then he was there, pulling her back toward him. He unsheathed himself from her and pulled her into his arms, against his chest, her back to his front. She whimpered at the jostling, the forced contact, her body bowing, but he whispered quietly to her, his long fingers stroking her hair.

  “You’re safe. With Sol. Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

  Breathe.

  In and out.

  Breathe.

  “My God.” She collapsed against him, shivering because she wasn’t sure if she was too hot or too cold or both. He crooned into the side of her neck, his breath a special torture sending agonized pleasure through her body. She went rigid in his arms, but he stayed with her, pressing his cheek to her temple.

  “Close your eyes. I’m going to take off the tie.”

  She followed instructions because that’s just what she did with him. The silk glided over her face, the daylight stabbing her sensitive eyes.

  Everything hurts now. Why?

  The calm rolled in, and with it, a strange despair. She didn’t understand it, and she turned her body, her legs swinging across his lap. One of her arms looped around the back of his neck, the other reached for his hand. Their palms met, fingers locked tight as she buried her face in his shoulder, still twitchy, still messy, and now very, very vulnerable.

  “Let’s take a bath. What do you think of that?” he asked quietly.

  She licked her lips, her eyes shut tight, and nodded.

  He gently moved her aside, depositing her on the couch and walking . . . somewhere. Away. She wanted him back so she could touch him, could anchor herself to him while she rode out the aftershocks of her orgasm, but he was running a bath. That was good, wasn’t it? Clean?

  The rush of water from the adjacent room. She dared to open her eyes. The room swam.

  It had been overwhelming, and now, without the pleasure, the soreness came into focus, her backside feeling like she’d sat in a fire pit. Her insides were gooey ache, but she didn’t mind that so much. Her overwrought muscles were a much bigger inconvenience.

  “But that’s what the bath’s for,” she murmured to herself.

  She slumped, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag.

  That was amazing.

  So many conflicting emotions. She didn’t know if she should laugh or weep, so she did both, quietly, until he returned from the bathroom to collect her, gathering her up and helping her to her feet, his hands holding her under the arms until he was sure she could stand on her own. She swayed in his grasp. He was flushed, his hair tousled, that glorious mouth quirked up into a half smile.

  “You look beautiful.”

  She wanted to respond but no words would come.

  He led her to the bath. Marble, gold fixtures, a bidet. The walls were gold, impressionist paintings with rich jewel tones decorating all four walls. Shutters across the floor-to-ceiling window allowed for privacy.

  “Arms up.”

  He stripped her, losing the dress and bra and draping them over the toilet seat before removing his own clothes. He was almost completely hair
less beyond the thatch above his now-limp cock. She stared at it as he tested the steaming water with his toes; it looked so harmless in the wake of what they’d done together.

  Yet he’d robbed me of thought with it.

  He settled in and motioned her close. She joined him, sliding down, his legs on either side of her body, his arms wrapped beneath her breasts. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, nuzzling at her and crooning softly.

  “You could stay,” he murmured.

  “Hmmm?”

  “You could stay for a longer visit if you’d like. Two weeks isn’t enough time to fully appreciate you. I rather like fucking you, kitten.”

  “I like you, too, Sol. Fucking you, I mean. You’re neat.”

  Neat? That’s the best you could come up with? Neat?

  “Great. You’re great, too.”

  “Neat, huh?” He smiled against her ear. “Well, then. If I’m neat and great, it’s obvious you should stick around.”

  He made it sound so simple—to just stay there and . . . what? Be his pet? Fuck him until he moved on to someone else?

  Maybe he’s not like that at all, but even if he is, is that so bad? The sex is amazing.

  “Maybe.” She smiled and sank low in the bath, letting the warm water calm her body and Sol soothe her uncertainty.

  THIRTEEN

  SHE WAS TIRED and confused and weepy. Sol knew the dance, had experienced it firsthand when he and Maddy had been together, and he knew what best helped him to get over the postendorphin anxiety. A hot bath. Tea and chocolate cookies. A rub and a nap in a comfortable bed with good linens.

  He provided all these things gladly, because he wanted to see where this yellow brick road led. It could be nowhere, but it could be the Emerald City, too, and it’d been too long since he’d had something to look forward to.

  It’s stupid to get involved with a girl from Connecticut.

  Good thing I’m stupid.

  Sol sat in the corner chair of the bedroom, watching the lump of female swathed in blankets like a human burrito. An arm rested across her face, her head tilted to the side. With her golden curls and gently parted lips, she looked like an angel. His eyes strayed to her rumpled, cum-stained clothes. Putting someone so pristine in something so foul seemed wrong.