by Wicked Ties
“You’re wet.”
Morgan said nothing, just stared with wide blue eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea, dilating more with each second.
“Acknowledge my comment, Morgan. Yes or no.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes, what?” he prompted.
“Yes . . . sir.”
It didn’t roll off her tongue yet, but it would. He’d keep at her until it did. Softly and harshly. Alternating, keeping her off balance. Keeping her aroused and uncertain. It would be his pleasure.
“Good. I like that you’re wet. I plan to keep you that way all night.”
She absorbed his words, tensing slightly. Her eyes dilated further. Her areolas puckered tightly around the nubs of her nipples. She slicked her tongue over her full bottom lip. His cock jerked in impatience.
“Jack—”
“You don’t call me that in the bedroom. If I have to remind you again, I’ll paddle your pretty ass.”
A mutinous frown furrowed her brow. Her jaw tensed. She wanted to snap some acid comment back at him. Instead, she swallowed it.
He kept his smile to himself. She was learning. Slowly, but surely . . .
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Take the camisole off.”
Morgan complied almost without hesitation. Almost. Not perfection, but progress.
The gentle chastisement that rose to his mouth died as she exposed the lean line of her torso, a taut belly, graceful shoulders, the full curve of her breasts. Jack hadn’t thought it possible, but his cock stiffened with a fresh surge of blood.
“Hand it to me,” he demanded.
Again, a bare pause before she complied. Satisfied for now, he tossed the garments in the chair. When he turned back to Morgan, he saw her tongue swipe across her pillowy mouth again.
Damn it, the woman tested his patience and self-control. Now, this first time under his domination, he had to take total charge of Morgan. There could be no vacillation. He could show no weakness, no lack of control, only a reassurance that brooked no refusal.
Asserting his dominance was key to persuading her to listen to her body. It was the only way he could take her from that bastard Brandon. Then, after a hard fuck, after her complete surrender, after she admitted she needed a dominant man and left her backstabbing fiancé, he’d be satisfied.
“On your knees, cher.”
Her gaze flew to his, her blue eyes filled with an interesting mixture of panic and lust. She was processing his request, trying to discern what he wanted . . . but she knew.
Just as he knew she might use the safe word rather than take him in her mouth. The thought chafed him. He wanted—needed—to feel her tongue caressing his cock, her lips stretching wide to take him. To see her bowing, submissive, accepting, aroused.
“Sir?”
“I didn’t give you permission to speak. Either follow the directions or use the safe word.”
A pinched mouth and the downward slant of fire-red brows told him without words that she was rebellious and frustrated. But her eyes, still sharp with desire, told him she was torn.
That expression encompassed everything he loved about looking at her, being with her. Her dichotomy—an innocent’s experience with a wanton’s needs—drove him to dangerous lust. A consuming desire he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. This went beyond the psychological high of controlling, beyond the pure physical ease of a woman’s body. In this moment, he wanted to own her, inside and out, rule her body and seize her soul.
Suddenly, Jack wondered if he’d be able to fuck Morgan enough to get her out of his system before he let her go.
Finally, she cast her gaze down—and dropped slowly to her knees.
She was so close, Jack could feel her exhalations on his jeans-covered cock. It took every ounce of self-control not to rip at his pants and toss them away so he could feel her breath, her mouth, on him. Lust throbbed even harder through his erection at the thought.
“Better. As a reward, you may speak. What is it, Morgan?”
“I don’t know much about oral sex.”
“How do you know that’s what I want?”
“I assumed. If that is what you want, I think you should know, the one time I did it, he didn’t . . .”
“Come in your mouth?”
A fresh flush stole up her cheeks. “No.”
The information blasted Jack in the gut like a prizefighter’s punch. So even straitlaced Brandon hadn’t availed himself of this beauty’s sin-inspiring mouth. He knew from this morning’s encounter against the door that the idea excited her. He wanted Morgan to experience acts that aroused her. But the notion of being the first man to fill her tongue with his seed made his balls draw up even tighter, the lust crashing through him even more urgent. It was primitive and possessive and illogical, but something in him responded violently to the knowledge that no other man had ever taken her in such a way.
A glance down told him that Morgan wasn’t repulsed by his demand, but uncertain. Her anxiety made her lapis eyes stand out in her pale face. She chewed her bottom lip nervously.
“My responsibility in dominating is not just to order you around. It’s to pleasure you. To guide you. It starts with trust. You must place yours in me, cher. I will see you through, provide whatever you need. Do you understand?”
Morgan’s gaze left his face, traveled down his torso, then rested on the insistent erection pushing against his jeans, right in front of her face. Her tongue peeked out to smooth over her bottom lip again.
Jack drew in a sharp breath, reeling back the thoughts that, soon, her pretty pink tongue could be laving the head of his cock. Lust twisted his gut, turning it into unbreakable knots of need. Merde! He was testing her as much as he was torturing himself.
“Yes . . . sir.”
He barely managed to mumble a reply before he unsnapped his jeans and eased down the zipper. His cock sprang free, into his hand. He slowly stroked the length of it for her gaze. Morgan zeroed in on his hard flesh, her expression uncertain and hot. She wanted to touch him; her expression, like a kid with her face pressed against a candy store window, told him that. Fisting his cock, he waited, watching her greedy eyes follow his hand.
When a drop of moisture beaded on the head of his cock and she licked her lips at the sight, Jack eased his free hand around her head, anchoring it under her hair. The soft strands fell over his fingers like silk as he cupped her nape. He thumbed the soft skin at the side of her jaw and slowly urged her forward.
“Suck me, Morgan. Take me deep.”
Closer, closer, her mouth came to his cock. Her gaze flew up to his, connecting, locking with his own as she edged in. Jack held his breath. God, he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop watching those sensual red lips part to take him inside. Felt a fucking fever rage through him as he imagined how hot and silky her mouth would be.
Finally, she enveloped the swollen head, still seeping moisture. Her gaze never wavered as her lips closed around him and her tongue swept across his sensitive underside, sending a blinding jolt of pleasure screaming up his spine. He gritted his teeth to capture the moan threatening to spill.
She stilled, pulled back a fraction. He allowed it but tightened his hand at the back of her neck in warning. That pretty pink tongue laved the head of his cock, then wet her soft lips again. He watched it all, scorched by the sight, by her hot gaze drilling into him, innocence and wonder and the desire to experience everything finally overshadowing her fear and doubt.
At the sight, it took every bit of Jack’s control not to start pumping wildly into her mouth. He drew in a sharp breath.
“Deeper, cher. All the way to your throat.”
She nodded, her head bobbing, her tongue stroking the blood-engorged tip of his cock. Morgan opened wider, leaned in. The hot, slick heaven of her mouth enclosed half his length, cradled by her exploring tongue. He hissed. She shook her head, going down, trying to take more.
The feel of her all around him, the si
ght of her trying to fill her mouth with his flesh, combined to push him dangerously close to the edge. His fingers again tightened at her neck as he pushed another inch of his cock into the sweet depths of her mouth.
Morgan pulled back a fraction, then slid her lips even farther down his length—nearly to the back of her throat. She punctuated the motion with a moan. The sound vibrated inside him. Pleasure streamed up his dick, wrapped around his balls like a vise. It doubled when she raised her hand to his dangling testicles and cupped them with gentle fingers.
Damn, she had good instincts.
He tensed, again fighting the urge to unleash his lust, to fuck her mouth in a mindless pursuit of pleasure, let go of the come boiling in his scrotum. Her slow exploration was killing him, breaking him down. His toes curled against the hardwood floor. How the hell could he stay in control with those swollen lips and tight mouth slowly sucking out his sanity?
The head of his cock finally bumped the back of her throat, adding a new dimension to his pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he closed his eyes and groaned, an admission of his need.
“That’s it, cher. That’s right. Suck me deep.”
Opening his eyes again, Jack found Morgan bowed over his cock, eyes closed. She was damn near reverent, the way she held him, took him so far inside. Then she eased back with a leisurely swipe of her tongue. Slow. So damn slow, he’d lose his mind, his control, before she fastened her mouth around his length again.
And he was leaking, fluids escaping his body in a desperate rush to orgasm. Every muscle in his body tense now, trembling, he shoved both hands into her hair and demanded more.
“Faster. Put that sweet tongue on me. There you go . . .”
With his prompting, Morgan established a more rapid rhythm but still slow enough that he swore he could feel every groove and bump on her tongue. Still slow enough to completely rob him of his ability to think, to remember his own damn name.
Not fucking her mouth was no longer an option. His hands fisted in her hair. He thrust past her wide, sleek lips, bumping the back of her throat each time.
“Swallow,” he demanded, voice broken. “When I’m at the back of your throat, swallow on me.”
Amazingly, she did. Every time he sank deep. Perfect rhythm, as if she were a fucking pro. Nothing had ever felt this amazing.
Hell, the woman was going to shatter him with this orgasm.
Sweat broke out at his temples, across his back, as he tried to resist the growing pressure in his balls. He couldn’t deny the pleasure for long. The wave built into a dark, sharp ache, demanding he give in. He held it back, gritting his teeth every time her candy tongue danced over the flared purple head, every time her flushed cheeks hollowed as she sucked him in.
Jack wanted to stop the roaring rush toward the cliff, live in this honey-thick throb a bit longer. He withdrew from her mouth, fighting to get a breath without her scent on it, needing a moment that wasn’t totally bombarded with the silk of her tongue bathing his cock.
When he left her mouth with a soft pop, she whimpered. Licked her lips. Turned a hot gaze up to him that pleaded and dared.
“Please, sir . . .” She fixed her hungry stare on his cock, mouth open wide.
He took his erection in his hand, swiped a thumb over the weeping head, then pushed the wet digit into her waiting mouth.
“You want more of that?”
Her breath came hard and she swiped the moisture from the pad of his thumb. Her eyes stood wide in her rosy-cheeked face. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to suck you, sir.”
“What part of me?” he barked, still torturing them both with long strokes of his hand up and down his length.
Her hungry little gaze was about to eat him alive.
“Your . . . cock, sir. Let me suck it.”
“You haven’t followed my instructions particularly well so far.”
“I will, sir.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Morgan.” He anchored his hand at her nape again. “Now suck me.”
Le ciel m’aident, he thought as he gave in to the urge to thrust into Morgan’s mouth again with a loud moan that should have shaken the cottage’s rafters. Heaven help me.
Again, he couldn’t resist the urge to fuck her mouth. His deep, insistent rhythm filled her, demanding she take and take. He watched her, lips swollen, cheeks rosy, eyes half-closed as if savoring him. Her nipples were harder than ever. The sight of her burned into his brain, shredded his control.
He stiffened again, the pressure in his balls nearly painful as he held in his breath and held back his climax. Delaying the earth-shattering inevitable.
Morgan’s eyes opened, gaze lifting to him, asking and seducing at once. She wanted reassurance, sweetly begged him to let go, tempted him with the promise of ecstasy like he’d never known.
With that look, his control broke. The peak of rapture raced from the base of his spine, burned through his balls, up his cock, until he exploded. Pleasure ripped her name from his lips in a hoarse cry. It became a chant as he repeated it over and over while the sharp edge of bliss seemed to last forever, pounding his body with one relentless pulse of ecstasy after another.
Faintly, through the haze of his roaring heartbeat, he heard Morgan gurgling.
“Swallow,” he rasped, rubbing one of his hands along her neck. “Swallow, cher.”
Sweetly submissive now—for the moment—she did. But Jack didn’t kid himself. That smile breaking out across Morgan’s face told him about her rush of excitement at breaking him down, stripping him of his iron defenses.
He pulled away from the sweet depths of her mouth and shucked his pants completely. Satiation lazed through him and control reasserted itself. Now, he could mow down her barricades and return the favor. Now, he could capture her surrender, strip her soul, and make sure that having sex with Brandon Ross would never be on her wish list again.
STILL panting, tired yet flying, Morgan stared at Jack as she rose to her feet. He tossed his pants aside and turned back to her with burning eyes. The short military cut of his hair only accentuated his angular face, his strong jaw dusted with a dark five o’clock shadow, his cleft chin. The gorgeous sights didn’t stop there.
She let her gaze wander down the powerful bulk of his shoulders, the solid bulges of his pectorals, the tight abs that showed the delineation of every muscle . . . and made a treasure trail down to his groin.
Even soft, his penis was big. When hard . . . he’d put most men to shame.
And she had conquered him. Big, bad Jack had totally succumbed to her. Was that sense of being mighty and compelling the reason he liked to dominate?
Morgan licked her lips, high on power. Despite a personal first, she wasn’t pausing to examine. Wouldn’t ask if it was right or wrong—plenty of time for that later. Now . . .
She sent him a kittenish smile. She’d survived his challenge to submit with nary a scratch. It hadn’t felt like being a mindless blow-up doll and taking orders; it had been more like following his clues until she learned exactly how to seize control and unravel him.
“You look happy with yourself.”
Morgan tried to wipe away the smile, but she just couldn’t suppress it. She didn’t want to gloat; that would only spur him on. Instead, she just shrugged.
“You’re thinking this is a game, Morgan. That you won, and I lost, and we can call it a night. You think we’re done and that you can forget the fear that you might enjoy submitting to me.”
His soft laugh gave her the first clue that she’d misjudged the situation. Her smile faltered.
“Cher, we’re just starting. I promise, you’ll give me complete control before we’re done.”
His whisper struck down to her gut, reawakening uncertainty. They weren’t done? Every other guy she’d been with . . . well, as Andrew put it, after he came once, he needed eight hours of sleep and a bowl of Wheaties before he was ready to go again. He’d called himself a sprinter.
Did that mean Jack was like a marathon runner?
The thought struck an uncomfortable chord of lust in her belly.
“Kneel on the bed.” His voice startled her from her ruminations.
“Wh-why?”
Any hint of postorgasm softness or relaxation in his expression vanished. “Because I said. I dominate, you submit. If you ask me one more question or hesitate again, I will paddle your ass.”
Ticktock, ticktock. Suddenly, Morgan could hear each impatient second between them lapse by. She glanced between the rumpled bed and Jack, whose even breaths and steady gaze told her he was completely serious.
She didn’t want this; she didn’t. But the ache between her legs had become a throb. The salty taste of him still lingered on her tongue, taunting her. Remembered pleasure from their fevered encounter against the door earlier bombarded her brain. She wanted that feeling again, of being taken, of experiencing an orgasm almost bigger than her body.
Worse, there was something about Jack himself. His commanding presence, alternating with his teasing smiles. He reassured her in the oddest way. She felt protected, which made sense. He’d helped her escape a shooter. The fact that he often seemed able to read her mind, as if he understood her, didn’t fit. He was trying to cast her as a submissive. And she wasn’t.
Jack’s hands curled into fists, then relaxed. “Morgan . . .”
He took a menacing step toward her, shadows of a reprimand burning in his eyes.
In the end, her desire ripped the choice from her. She would submit. Just for tonight. Just as an experiment. Once couldn’t hurt, right?
She scurried onto the bed and knelt, facing him.
“Turn around. Face the headboard.”
In other words, turn her back to him. Knowing she only had seconds to decide, Morgan scrambled through her thoughts. What would he do? He wouldn’t hurt her. Jack had protected her when her sicko had started shooting. He’d managed to sneak her out of Lafayette in one piece, but—
“My patience is wearing thin,” he barked. “Turn around.”