by Eden Bradley
“Duff, no.”
She pulled the makeshift blindfold from her face and spun around, question in her eyes. Fear, maybe. But it only drove the need higher.
“This won’t be gentle. It won’t be easy. This is the time, Layla, and I’m sure you know what I mean. Give yourself over. Or tell me to go.”
Her lips parted, formed a small O of surprise. But then her features slowly settled even as a blush rose in her cheeks, and she gave a small nod. He couldn’t help his grin, and he was certain it looked as wicked as he felt.
Taking the scarf from her, he tied it over her eyes, her silky curls falling all over his hands. He wanted to feel her hair on his skin. On his hard cock. But first things first.
Yanking her dress down, he paused a moment to admire the pretty red lace lingerie underneath it, and the small lotus inked in what looked like the delicate lines of a henna tattoo over her right hip before reaching behind her and unsnapping her bra. And Lord, her breasts were beautiful—full and round with dark, dusky nipples, which were already hard. Desire was a hot surge in his body. Electric. Sharp. He had to draw in a breath.
Get ahold of yourself.
Then he was on her, taking those gorgeous nipples into his mouth one at a time, licking and sucking, biting and tasting, while she gasped and moaned. When she reached for him he pulled her arms behind her back, holding both slender wrists there with one hand, his grip tight enough to hurt. Her body immediately stilled.
“Ah, yeah, now that’s where I want you, princess. Yielding under my touch. I will make you pliant, you know. Pliant. Bending to my will. Bowing under my hands. My mouth. Under the pain. And fuck, but I’ll enjoy it.”
“I—”
“Shh. No talking now. You know what to do. What I will require of you. Just do it, Layla.”
Reaching down, he squeezed one full breast hard, and she gasped in pain, her brows drawing together under the silk blindfold. He filled both his hands, her flesh firm, her nipples two hard points against his palms. He squeezed again, felt her wriggle, and took her down to the floor, putting her on her back. Straddling her, he used his knees to press her legs together, holding her still while he kneaded her tits, pressing and pulling the sweet flesh of her rigid nipples, working her hard. She was panting, but she didn’t make a sound, even though he understood he was hurting her. Meant to.
Good. She could really take it. And he needed to hurt her. Needed to let the beast inside him out.
He bent and took one nipple into his mouth again, rubbing the hardened tip with his teeth, then bit down.
“Oh!”
He chuckled. “Now, that I don’t mind you saying, lovely.” Grinning, he bent and did it again, sucking that reddening tip in between the edges of his teeth. And smiled to himself when he felt her hips trying to undulate. “Do you need something, princess? I think you do.”
Shifting, he shoved her thighs apart, pushed them wider as he settled his knees in between them, pausing to take in the sight of the sheer black lace against her lush pussy lips. His cock gave a hard jump.
No.
He tucked his fingers under the edge of the lace and tore them off.
“Ah!”
“I’ll replace them, not to worry,” he told her. Then his voice stuttered in his throat as he looked at her lovely shaved pussy.
So damn beautiful. So damn hot. The lips were plump, a little duskier than her gorgeous caramel skin. And between them the flesh was pink and wet, so wet he had to bend down and taste her.
He stroked her with his tongue, drinking her in, then pushed his tongue inside her as her body shook. And nearly came.
He sat up, wiped his mouth with the back of one hand while pressing down on his rigid, pulsing dick with the other.
Jesus. Fucking. God.
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“You test me, woman,” he told her. “We’re both going to pay.”
Grabbing one of her thighs, he pressed down, putting some of his weight behind it, his nails digging into her skin. She struggled against him, but he only held on tighter, dug his nails deeper. When she couldn’t seem to stop squirming he used his other hand to pry her pussy lips apart, and shoved two fingers into her all at once. And had to bite the inside of his mouth to hold his orgasm back.
Figure this shit out, man.
He started a hard, punishing stroke, pressing deeper and deeper inside her, watching her clit swell. Silently cussing at himself.
Don’t you fucking do it. Hold it together. For her. Do what you’re supposed to.
But soon she was grinding her hips against his hand and he couldn’t help himself—he bent and put his mouth on her once more, sucking on that hard little clit, using his tongue, then his teeth. And she was groaning and panting and writhing and his poor, tortured cock was going to explode. He bit her clit hard, if only to keep himself from coming, to shift his focus.
“Ah, fuck!” she yelled.
Iron. Fucking. Control.
He sucked harder, thrusting his fingers into her. She was shivering, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. His cock was pressing so hard against the front of his jeans he couldn’t take the friction.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he flipped her over onto her stomach, pulling her over his knees. He started to spank her gorgeous ass right away, and when she struggled, her legs kicking, he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled tight, pulled until her back was arched, her throat elongated. He had never seen anything more beautiful.
Not helping.
In frustration he picked her up as he got to his feet, tossed her roughly onto the big white suede couch, knocking the piles of brightly colored throw pillows onto the floor.
“Stay,” he ordered, keeping his gaze on her lovely little body as he told himself he wasn’t going to fuck her even as he started to pull his zipper down.
She pulled in a sharp breath. Was she excited? Was she afraid? He was good either way, and hoped for both.
He looked around the room, decorated in Bohemian style, all brilliantly colored silks and brass lanterns, candles on an old steamer trunk, the windows draped in red velvet and ivory lace. And a tall vase in a corner filled with slender bamboo poles.
“Stay,” he ordered again, getting up and taking a handful of bamboo from the vase.
“Duff, I . . .” She stopped, biting her lip.
“Thought better of it, did you, my lovely? This is not the time to question me. But I’m sure you know exactly what this is.” He snapped one of the canes against his thigh. It stung even through the heavy denim, but the pain helped to center him.
Her hands were working nervously, her fingers in a tight grip on the blanket draped over the sofa cushions. He paused, breathed her in, the scents of her perfume and her desire blending like some intoxicating cocktail.
“Spread for me, Layla.” When she hesitated, he added harshly, “Now.”
When she didn’t move quickly enough for him, he reached down and did it for her, until he could see her luscious pink flesh once more. She tried to draw her thighs back together, but he used one booted heel to hold her down. Her body calmed, and he was aware that him taking total physical command of her body was what seemed to help her.
He raised the bamboo cane, pausing for several moments, allowing her body, her mind, to fill with anticipation. Then he struck.
“Fuck!”
Smiling to himself, he leaned down to run his fingertips over the red welt rising on her inner thigh. “Not yet, lovely. We haven’t allowed ourselves that yet.”
But even as he said it he knew it was probably a lie. He didn’t know how he could prevent himself.
Just hurt her. Bring her pain. Bring yourself back to that place of control.
An impossible task, perhaps. But he could do what he needed to for her, at any rate. And he knew she liked the pain. Oh yeah
, that he could deliver.
He struck the top of her thigh, waited a half-second while she breathed through the pain, then did it again. He struck the other thigh, then made a regular, steady strike zone of her inner thighs until her cries were a strangled sob in her throat. He stopped and dropped the cane, ran a hand between her gorgeously welted thighs, found her soaking wet.
“Ah, you do like it, lovely girl. The harder I hit you, the wetter you become. It’s a beautiful thing.” He pushed his thumb inside her, and she was so slippery inside, her hips arching. His dick throbbed, hot and needy. “Yeah, a beautiful thing,” he murmured. “Time to reward you, and m’self, too. I can’t fuck you, but I can have this. And I want you to watch.”
• • •
HE STRIPPED THE blindfold off her, and Layla blinked as Duff paused to pull his hard cock from his jeans, gripping himself in his hand. God, he was huge. Huge and beautifully formed, the shaft so thick, the head so dark and swollen it made her sex ache with the need to have him inside her. Her mouth was actually watering. She licked her lips, and spread her thighs wider.
He chuckled. “Oh, you tempt me. Bad, bad girl, Layla. But tonight bad girls get rewarded.”
When he stroked the seam of her damp pussy lips with his fingertips, her whole body filled with pleasure—even more when he squeezed his cock in his fist, the head going darker. She’d always loved to watch a man handle himself. And now, when her brain was in that light, floaty space, she loved it even more. Loved it all even more—being spread out for him, wanton, wanting. Loved his touch, which was making her crazy, making her need to come. Loved the wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.
“Oh, yeah. If I can’t fuck you, princess, I will fuck you with my hand. And I’ll stroke my hard cock—hard for you—and imagine it’s your sweet, tight pussy.” He pressed his fingers inside her, spread them, opening her up. “But I’ll bet it’s even better to be inside you. So, so much better.”
He gave a few hard thrusts, making her gasp.
“Oh!”
“You like it, do you? Tell me.”
“I . . . I like it. Oh . . .”
He gave his stiff cock one slow stroke, his big fingers feathering over the head. “I can see that you do, but I love to hear you say it. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you want.”
She licked her lips once more, and for several moments she was frozen, struggling against his command, some part of her feeling that Duff ordering her to say these things was too submissive an act for a woman like her. But she’d never had a problem talking to her lovers. Why should this be any different? And she liked to say the words, liked to talk a little dirty.
“Mmm . . . I’m so, so close to coming I can barely stand for you to touch me. But don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I want you to fuck me with your hand. I want you to tease my clit, but I want to come with your hand inside me. Hell, I want to come with your cock inside me, but I know, I know . . . we have to talk about that another time. Damn it. Because . . .” She had to stop and draw in another gasping breath. “Because watching you touch yourself is so damn hot. And I want to suck your cock so badly. I want to feel you in my mouth, in my throat.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman.” He gave his cock a few savage strokes, his dark brows drawing together, his mouth going loose with pleasure. “You are going to be the death of me.”
His words reverberated like a shaft of desire deep in her body, in her brain, making her spread her legs wider.
Letting out a hard, rasping chuckle, he told her, “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not making me come before you do.”
He started a hard, punishing stroke, his fingers plunging inside her, working her G-spot so hard that pleasure and pain were one sensation—she could find no dividing line between the two. And as he worked her, he worked his cock just as mercilessly. As her climax bore down on her, as heavy as a thundercloud and just as powerful, she saw his throbbing cock go absolutely rigid in his hand, then his face twisting in pleasure as a raw scream tore at her throat and sensation knifed into her, rending her with pleasure.
“Ah, God! Duff!”
“Fuck, Layla . . . fuuuuuuck!”
His hot come spewed onto her stomach, her breasts, and his pleasure drove hers on as his plunging fingers took her to new heights. And she was coming again, or still—she couldn’t tell. Even as the last waves rippled through her system and his hand slowed to a sweet, even stroking, then to a whispering touch, she wanted more.
He drew his booted foot from her thigh, but she grabbed at it, her fingers clumsy.
“Duff, please don’t.”
“I’m not going anywhere, lovely,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
She ran her tongue over her lips. “Duff? Please don’t stop.”
He grinned, released his softening cock and leaned over her, then bent and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was soft against her, lapping at her clitoris, and it swelled instantly.
“Mmm . . .”
He began to lick faster, flattening his tongue and pressing hard against her clit, and at the same time he pinched the lips of her sex with his fingers.
“Ah, God, that hurts!”
“Mmm,” he rumbled against her, the vibration of his voice going through her.
Pushing his fingers inside, he surged gently into her while he licked her, knowing somehow to keep just the right tempo and pressure on her sore, used flesh. Very quickly the pressure built, and at that lovely moment when her body was ready to fly, to spiral into the eye of the storm, he pinched her again, the pain driving her over that keen edge, and she was falling and flying all at once. She called out his name, pleasure shimmering over her skin, deep into her belly, into her sex.
“Duff!”
When it was over he rolled onto his side on the wide sofa next to her. They were both panting. Her muscles were warm and loose, and her mind was still trying to rebel against her own yielding, but it was too damn late for that. She’d done it. And loved it.
“Well,” she said finally, “at least you didn’t come on my face.”
He let out a guffaw. “Ah, I do like you, princess. Princess with a filthy mouth.”
“It’s probably a good thing you like a filthy mouth or this would never work out.”
He stroked one finger through the come drying on her stomach. “Dirty girl, too.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“I’d say it’s yours.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you would.”
“It wouldn’t have happened without you being here.”
“Hmm. Good point. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I’d argue the point that if you were at home you still might have left this lovely mess somewhere,” she said, “but I’m too exhausted.”
“Now, that’s definitely your own fault, since you begged me for that last orgasm.”
“I did not beg,” she protested. “I simply asked.”
“Sassy wench, too.” He lifted her hand and bit the palm.
“Hey!”
“Quiet, wench. I’m about to be nice to you.”
“I’m not so sure I can take any more of your ‘nice’ tonight.”
“Ha!”
He got up and disappeared, and she really was too tired to do anything more than lie back and enjoy the postclimax buzzing in her body and the view of his retreating denim-clad ass, which really was superb. He returned a few moments later with a damp washcloth in his hand, and to her surprise he used it to gently wipe the come from her body. She looked up at him as he ran the warm cloth over her skin, amazed at his tender touch. At the way he focused so closely on his task, as if it were the most important thing on earth at that moment.
Don’t get too used to it.
She wouldn’t have thought she’d want to. This was nothing more than an experiment, wasn’t it? W
ell, wasn’t it?
That’s sort of how it had started. That’s what she’d been telling herself, anyway—or trying to. But the fact was, she liked him. Not the way a sixteen-year-old liked a boy at school, even if that was sort of what it felt like when she looked into his eyes and saw the shades of gray and gold and green there. No, this was a much more grown-up thing. More grown-up than maybe any interaction she’d had with a man in her life. He was a really good guy. A good man. Kind and responsible, smart and funny. And if tonight was any indication, a great player. And he’d be killer in bed.
Am I going to bed with him?
Damn right I am.
She would have right then and there if it hadn’t been beyond the scope of their negotiations.
Duff stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “What’s going on in there, lovely?”
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking about sex.”
He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. “Excellent.”
She turned to grin up at him. “I like how you assume it was all good thoughts. No insecurities in you, Duff.”
“Eh? I think someone would have told me by now. Anyway, I’ve always believed sex is something one should make a study of. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t know my way around a woman’s body? Or at least make a damn good effort to learn.”
“I totally agree. I don’t understand women who feel they have to pretend not to like sex, but do it anyway, usually using alcohol as an excuse. I feel like it’s nothing more than a way to get around having to admit they like it, God forbid, or a reason to be lazy.”
“Right?” he agreed. “Men, too. Like charts of the female anatomy aren’t readily available, never mind videos on how to make a woman come sixteen different ways. There’s too much information for men to rely on porn for lessons in how to please a woman.”
“Because we all know how accurate porn is.”
“Even I know, big lug that I am. No excuse for a really smart fellow not to know.”
She searched his face, unsure about how serious he was. Reaching up, she traced a finger over his collarbone. “You’re plenty smart, Duff.”