by Zara Cox
A tiny scream unfurls from her as I rim her with my tongue. I want more of that sound, so I pile on the pleasure. Readjusting my stance, I slip one hand under and between her legs to massage her pussy as I lick her puckered hole. Her whole body shakes.
“Oh God…Q,” she pants.
“Come for me when you’re ready, sweet thing. No permission needed tonight.”
My words seem to open up a wider avenue of pleasure for her. Her body softens even more, her pussy grows wetter and I’m offered her heady deliciousness on a plate.
“Jesus, you’re unbelievable.”
I tune into her breathing, the jerky roll of her hips, the spasming of her hands on the table. I pick up the plug when I manage to fit the tip of my tongue in her tight channel.
When I feel her on the edge, I give her clit a few hard taps. Her head snaps up, and she gives a loud scream as she climaxes. I ease back and place the plug against her hole. The moment her ride starts to slow, I push it in. She bucks wildly against the pressure, then screams again as it slides home and another orgasm catches the tail wind of the first.
She gushes against my hand, and I nearly lose my mind. I drop my head between her shoulders, momentarily regretting the presence of my mask, and absorb her shudders through the metal barrier.
When she quiets, I remove my hand, coat my dick with her slickness, and arrange her face up on the table. Her breathing is still labored, but I’m done waiting. I pull her forward so her head hangs over the table, and move the chains aside to free her breasts. My stance widens to fit her head between my legs, and I trap her beautiful globes in my hand and slide my cock between her breasts.
The feeling is exquisite enough to make me pause for a teeth-clenching breath. My reeling senses puzzle what it is about her that fires me up so high. I’ve fucked more women than I can count. Each one, bar one or two, was a pleasure filled experience. I love pussy. Have done since my very first taste.
Lucky is something else. I sensed the anomaly the moment she lifted her gaze to the camera that first day.
I take a beat to ponder why.
Is it because she is the denouement in this fucked up play? The crowning glory in what I intend to be a rousing victory? Or is she, like my fucked up self, a version of her own anomaly, created to blend with mine?
She knocks my hands, and thoughts, out of the way, and cups her breasts around my cock. I want to berate her impatience, for the control-taking. But I’m too fucking turned on by the move. I stare down at her petite, perfect figure, her creamy skin against my darker one. The sight is unbelievably engrossing enough to draw a tight groan from my throat. I slide my hands down her sides to circle her waist. Using the leverage I pump myself harder, faster. Her moan tells me she loves it. I keep up the pace, feel my balls tighten in readiness for the wild ride to my black bliss. Her hips start to pump, the vibrator still doing its job. I slide one hand between her legs and she’s soaked. My eyes fight the urge to roll as the rush grows more intense. I want to see her body; addicted to her every movement. Her thighs clamp around my hand and she jerks.
“Q!”
“Yes, baby. Let it fly.”
She lets go and the sounds from her throat are the headiest I’ve ever heard. It connects straight to my balls. I pump hard once, twice, then grab her hands and lift them away. Her beautiful breasts are exposed to me. I stagger back, vision blurred, and blow my load all over her tits. The force of the orgasm weakens my legs. I brace one hand on the table and continue to spurt over her body. The sight of my semen on her skin does something to my brain. I want to stain her in it, make it so she’ll never be free of me.
I exhale harshly, my thoughts veering down a road I should leave alone. But the hunger for secrets claws through me. I want to know who Lucky is, what makes Elly tick. I need to know why she’s here beneath me, and why the potential of a million dollars makes her look fearful rather than ecstatic. Why she, a chance face and body in a sea of faces and bodies, has this effect on me.
I want to know everything about this creature.
I decide then, that’s a job for Quinn, not Q.
“I’m going to get a pink diamond for this pussy.” My fingers drift over her lips, eliciting a shudder from her oversensitive body. I rest my touch at the hood of her clit. “Same size, same color as your beautiful clit. I’ll rest it right here.” I ease my caress and she moans through another shiver.
“I don’t like piercings.”
My mouth twitches. “Neither do I. I’ll work something out.” I step back and adjust her on the table so her head isn’t hanging anymore. Bending forward, I place a kiss on her flat belly. “Stay.”
I zip myself up and head to the bathroom next door. I grab a couple of towels, run them under warm water and return to the dining room. Lucky is lying on her side, her lips caught in her teeth as she suppresses a moan.
The sight of her rings all my sexual bells. Loud and hard. Already, I want to fuck her again. I hit the remote to stop the filming and clean her up.
“Q?” Her voice is soft and languid.
“Hmm?”
“Can I take the vibrator out?”
My body is still recovering from my orgasm. I should give her time to recover too. “No. Not yet.” Told you I’m not nice. “But I’ll decrease the vibration.”
I lower the setting and she stops shuddering. “Thank you.”
I stare down at her. My cock is waking up again. I want to fuck her ass, like right now. But her soft body on the hard table also jars. “Would you like me to make you comfortable, Lucky?”
Her nod slides her silky hair over the table. “Yes, please.”
I look around. Tonight’s shoot was set to happen in here. But I can improvise a little. Sliding my hands under her, I pick her up, carry her into the living room and place her on the sofa. There are no lit lamps in here, but there’s enough light spilling from the dining room that I catch her shiver, despite the ambient temperature.
“Are you cold?”
She shrugs. “A little.”
The robe she was instructed to leave outside the dining room door is on the floor. I retrieve it and drape it over her shoulders.
“Would you like a drink?”
She swallows and a tiny moan falls from her lips. “Umm…Q?”
“Yes?”
“The…the vibrator—”
“It stays, firecracker. So does the plug. Drink?”
She nods.
I pour myself a whiskey in the dining room and fix her a light alcohol-based cocktail. From the way she reacted to the champagne on the plane, I can tell she’s a relative lightweight. I don’t want her drunk for the next session.
When she senses me coming toward her, she holds out her hand. She’s mastering adjusting to the deprivation of sight. Were I of the inclination or if I had the time, I would enjoy training her into my little slave. A smile twitches my lips and I choose to keep that morsel away from my firecracker as I place the drink in her hand.
I retreat to the end of the living room and take the armchair by the darkened fireplace.
She takes a sip of her drink, licks her lips. After a moment of silence, her hand drifts up to touch her blindfold.
My release has taken the edge of my savage anger, so I change tactics again.
“Do you still want to see me, Lucky?”
Her body stills. She’s probably trying to work out if it is a trick question. “This isn’t a you-can-see-me-but-then-I’ll-have-to-kill-you scenario, is it?” she ventures tentatively. There’s a throb of anticipation, but there are also many terrible emotions in that question.
“No. It’s far less lethal than that.”
“Then, if you don’t mind.”
I mind. And yet the alien need to give needles me. Enough so I remain silent, sipping my drink while I contemplate the emotion. The last person who triggered a need such as this was—
My thoughts screech to a halt. My inhalation is sharp and ragged enough to make her twitch.
“Umm, we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”
“Take off the blindfold, Lucky.”
I’m aware my voice is a frozen lake she risks falling into if she’s not careful.
“Q—”
“Last chance. The offer expires with your next breath.”
The breath in question catches, locks in her lungs as she contemplates the icy danger beneath her feet. Seconds tick by. Her free hand slowly creeps up to the back of her head.
I’m curiously anticipatory. Hell, my pulse is elevated in a non-sexual way, another peculiar first.
She releases the catch and draws the blindfold away from her face. Her beautiful green eyes blink and I realize I’ve missed seeing them. Not that I can see them to my satisfaction in the near dark room.
The moment her sight acclimatizes, she finds me. I know she only has the faintest impression of me, that my black pants will be near invisible, my unbuttoned white shirt marginally so. All the same sensation crawls over my sprawled body as her gaze pierces me in the dark.
“Lucky.”
She exhales in a burst of air, as if my saying her name has set her free. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”
I smirk cruelly. “Is it?”
Her laugh is a touch nervous, and her gaze searches harder in the dark. “Definitely. I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination.”
“Do all your imaginary men fuck you the way I do?”
The glass wobbles in her hand. Her gaze lowers and I imagine I see her face redden. But she doesn’t answer. I’m mildly stunned by the searing need to know.
“Answer me, firecracker.”
Her lids rise. “You’re my first imaginary man.”
Unsatisfactory. And yet not. I want to applaud the clever answer. I also want to punish her for it. “You’re no longer wearing the blindfold. Do you not believe that I’m flesh and blood?”
“I know you’re in the room with me. But your face…your voice… You’re still a mystery.”
“There’s a price to pay for being too curious. Are you willing to risk it?”
A shiver passes through her. I’m not sure whether it’s the effect of the device still wedged between her legs, or my answer. Either way, it’s vaguely stimulating, this game we’re playing.
She takes a large sip of her drink, licks her lips before lowering the glass. “No. But I think you are.”
Kitten-strength talons of surprise hook into me. Their presence isn’t disturbing, but they’ve grabbed my attention. “Is that an attempt to reverse-psych me, sweet thing?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m just going on what I feel.”
“And what is it exactly you feel?”
“You’re…getting off on this. Your privacy is extremely important to you, but so is the danger. You can probably go through this without letting me see you, but I don’t think you’ll be totally satisfied with that.”
“Why do you think that is?”
A shrug lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’t take risks unless I have to. So whatever secret you’re keeping, it’s safe with me. I…don’t think the price you’re talking about includes hurting me—”
“You willing to bet the farm on that?”
One corner of her plump mouth lifts. I want to kiss it. Why haven’t I kissed her yet?
“I don’t have a farm to bet. And you could probably prove me wrong. Are you going to?” Her jaw is thrust out in challenge.
My mouth twitches. So small. So fierce. “No, firecracker. Physical abuse doesn’t turn me on.”
She exhales. “Then, yes, I want to see you, and you have my word I won’t tell anyone.”
I reach for the controls that I always have to hand. My finger finds the appropriate button and tiny beams of yellow light overhead transform the room from near darkness to twilight gloom.
Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees and capture her gaze.
“Can you see me now?”
29
TILT
Lucky
Imagination is a wonderful, peculiar thing.
It makes up shit and furiously fills gaps to feed itself. From the first time I crossed paths with Q, I’ve imagined him in many ways. A god. A monster. A disfigured psycho. A withered octogenarian desperately clinging to the back door of the Playboy Mansion—okay, maybe not that. But my thoughts have veered between a few extremes.
None of them prepare me for my first sight of Q.
He’s…beautiful. Roman statue, fallen angel, prince of darkness, beautiful. And that is just from seeing his body.
Because, of course, his face is covered. I knew he wore a mask the first time he fucked me. And with all his talk of risks, my instincts told me a man like him wouldn’t reveal himself on a whim.
But even more than the visually stunning magnificence of his body, it’s the mask that commands my attention. It covers ninety-five per cent of his face, a masterpiece of bronze, gold and black metal that looks like it’s a living, breathing part of him. There are subtle inbuilt ridges that disguise the true shape of his face and jaw, and the only parts of his face visible are his eyes, and the inch wide slashes that extend from beneath his cheekbones down to his mouth.
His full, sexy mouth.
Between my legs, the vibrator and butt plug make their presence felt. A shiver twitches through me. I’ve only ever used a plug once. A version much smaller than the one currently residing in me. And even though the size is a fraction of Q’s cock, the feeling of fullness is overwhelming. I’m trying not to imagine what it will be like to have the man across the room from me inside my back passage.
The man with the ripped body and dark blond hair.
Dark blond.
For some reason that makes me frown. In every version of my imaginary guy, his hair was dark. Brown or black. But I’m not distracted from the splendor of him for very long. I already know he’s tall from our severe height disparity. But his body is sleek and rangy, his open shirt giving me a glimpse of a thick chest and hairless torso. Without seeing his face, I can’t guess his age accurately, but I can tell he’s young, either late twenties or early thirties.
“Lucky.”
My pulse jumps, along with my gaze, falls to his lips. Lips I haven’t yet had the privilege of kissing. My mind reluctantly lets go of images of kissing and devices, knowing what the thick murmur of my name means this time. “Y…yes. I see you. Even without the,” I indicate his mask, “I don’t have to imagine you. Thank you.”
He doesn’t move. Or acknowledge my response. Not for a full minute.
When my nerves get the better of me, I glance around.
“Where are we?” I ask. Something tells me to keep my voice soft, to not disturb the peace.
Nevertheless, he tenses. His head tilts like he’s weighing the pros and cons of divulging our location. “South Carolina,” he responds.
“Oh, okay.”
“You seem relieved. Did you think I’d taken you to the ends of the earth?”
I attempt a smile, but my mind is grappling with how he’s still doing that with his voice. Is there some sort of implant? “Something like that.”
“The end of the earth is beautiful this time of year.”
“I’m sure it is. But I need…I prefer to stay put for now.”
I sense him pondering my small slip, prodding at it like a predator prods its prey.
“To most people, a million dollars is literally a life-changing sum; the means to achieve a bigger and better lifestyle. That almost always means a geographical relocation. For you, I’m assuming an upgrade from homeless shelter to something else?”
I’m not expecting the direct volley of opinion. My mouth drops open a second before I collect myself beneath eyes of indeterminate color probing me. “Something else, yes. Not ends of the earth something else, though.”
Again he doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes remain pinned on me for another minute.
“Finish your dr
ink and come here, Lucky.”
He’s bored with talking. I feel his hunger rippling towards me, tearing the ground beneath my feet open like a devastating earthquake.
In direct response, my pussy and butt hole clench hard enough to make me moan.
He hears it. Exhales sharply. “Now, firecracker.”
I raise the glass and drain the sweet, tangy cocktail. The faint taste of rum and strawberries lingers, but the buzz in my veins as I drop the robe and rise shakily to my feet has nothing to do with alcohol. I’m still slippery from my earlier orgasms. The vibrator threatens to slip out. I slide my fingers between the fringe of the body chain and in between my legs to hold it in place.
“Fuck,” Q curses under his breath.
He tracks my slow approach with dark, sizzling eyes. They’re a dark grey or hazel, I can’t tell. Every few steps I take, he hits a button on the remote and the room grows darker. By the time I’m three feet from him, I can hardly see him. But I hear his rough breathing, see his gleaming eyes.
Up close the mask is even more magnificent. I want to touch it, feel its beauty beneath my fingers.
He reads me like a book. “You want to touch me, Lucky?”
“Yes. Can I?”
He contemplates me for a stretch. Then he nods. I take a cautious step forward because my instincts are clanging with enough force to tilt my world on its axis. He warned me about risks. I don’t know why touching him feels like I’m risking my very life.
I reach out and cup his jaw. The metal is hard and smooth, but not as cold as the first time against my back. It warms beneath my fingers as I caress upward. Over his nose, cheekbone, forehead. His breath washes over my wrist and I shiver. I should step back from the force threatening to consume me.
I step forward. His eyes unpin me, track greedily over my body. I sense more than see his hand lift. Warm fingers trail from my throat to my breast then lower to flick my nipple.
My full body shudder makes him exhale roughly again. My fingers sneak up and curl through his vibrant hair. When my nails lightly scrape his scalp he hisses under his breath.