“Please what?” Drawing her hands away from her chest, he pressed them into the pillow on either side of her head. “You don’t want me to play with your tits again? Are you sore? You’re not used to being handled like that, are you?”
“No, I, yes . . .”
He arched a falsely sympathetic brow. “Too many questions?”
“Yes.” She nodded and inhaled and something about her expression made him soften. Someday he’d be able to toy with her, torment her, torture her, but not today. Today he’d be as gentle with her as he could manage and still get her off.
“You want to try something new?”
“Please.” Please, Master, echoed in his mind. What he wouldn’t give to hear it drop from her sweet, compliant mouth. He wouldn’t force it, though. Besides, he’d learned long ago it wasn’t so much about the honorific itself but how his partner used it. “Master” could sound like an impudent insult, but in the right context, his name could sound like a prayer from the most devoted acolyte. But if Keyne called him Master? Maybe that wasn’t a good idea after all because his head would swell to the size of a hot air balloon and he’d float off and never come down.
But for now, fingers or mouth? He wanted her so fuck silly and blissed out that when he pushed inside her it wouldn’t hurt, that she’d be relaxed and soaking wet for him. One of each, then.
He let go of her wrists, wishing he had more hands. He liked how fragile her bones were in his grip. Slim, delicate, crushable. “Keep your hands by your head.”
She did as she was told and he climbed between her thighs, gripping the waistband of those goddamn sleep shorts. How many times had he fantasized about getting them off of her and now it was happening. She raised her hips and he peeled the shorts along with those stretchy lace panties she liked down her legs and tossed them away. He wanted to leave her shirt on—he liked it pushing up her small breasts, framing them. It made her look wanton. But he’d take it off. There’d be time enough to make her feel like a debased little slut. If that was something she liked, and given how things were going, it wasn’t impossible.
He urged her to sit up and pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her naked. She laid back, hands by her ears and it warmed him that she followed his instructions without a second thought. “Such a good girl.”
He stroked her thighs as his gaze wandered up and down her body, studying in reality what had only been a fantasy until now. Her face was flushed and blotches of pink formed on her chest and neck as she squirmed under his study. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful girl. I want to look at you.”
A soft huff of air went through her nose and he smiled. He ran his hands up to where her thighs met her hips and slipped his fingers under her legs, drawing them apart. The red hair covering her mound was darker than the hair on her head and carefully trimmed. If this wasn’t a dream, and if he didn’t end up in prison tomorrow, he’d keep her bare. She flushed a deeper pink as he studied her, but didn’t move. He moved his hands between her legs, pushed them further apart until she mewled.
“Does it hurt, Keyne?”
“No.” She shook her head, a tight, vigorous motion.
“Turn you on?”
The shake turned into a nod and she breathed faster. “Good. I want you ready for me. I want to taste you, touch you. Is that okay?”
He wanted to take the way her head dropped back and her eyes clamped shut as a yes, but until he could read her better, he needed to know. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He slid thumbs on either side of her labia and parted them gently, pulling them aside so he could see her, all of her. She was glistening wet and her clit was swollen. What kind of moron wouldn’t be able to find a woman’s clit? He lowered himself to his stomach, his shoulders bracing her legs apart and he leaned forward, breathing her in. She had a musky sweet smell he was sure would taste even better, and when he lowered his head and took a leisurely pass with his tongue over her center, he was delighted to be proved right.
Tallulah Tinker Bell was sweet from her head to her toes, inside and out. He licked her until she was frantic and then took her clit in his mouth, sucking on the hard nub until she was panting. “Jasper. Jasper, please.”
He smiled and hummed against her, heeding her begging and then sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh. Not hard, but tight enough she would feel the hard edges of his teeth closing around her. Drawing back, he let go and did it over and over again until she was shaking. He sucked hard, tonguing her and that’s when she lost it, her thighs pressing hard against his shoulders, his name on her lips, a pulse of moisture pouring out of her.
He stroked her thighs until she calmed down, lifted her head to stare at him where he rested between her legs. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am. You taste wonderful and your orgasms could measure on the Richter scale. What’s not to like?”
She giggled and dropped her head back on the fluffy pillow. “Nothing.”
“That’s right. And now you’re going to come for me again.”
Before she could argue, he slicked a finger through her wetness and found her entrance. He hadn’t been with a virgin since his first time when he hadn’t known what he was doing, but he did now. Keyne still had her hymen, for god’s sake. Which should have deterred him—maybe would’ve if he were a better man—but what it tripped in his mind was possessiveness, and a gut-level feeling that no one could please her, provide for her, love her like he could.
He eased a finger inside of her. She was so wet it was easy and she moaned. He moved in and out of her, testing the thin layer of skin. Women’s bodies amazed him. How their cunts could feel so tight and close around a finger but then take a cock. How did they do that? Mystical, magical creatures, the lot of them.
He added a second finger and she made a sound, half gasp, half moan and he lifted his eyes to hers. “Okay? Does that feel good? I’m not hurting you?”
“Yes, yes, no.”
“Smart aleck,” he scolded mildly, but it made him feel better. Keyne wasn’t so consumed by lust that she’d gone senseless, not if she could make a joke. He ran his fingers along her entrance, applying pressure to stretch her. She didn’t object or tense, so he pressed harder, the flesh yielding under his patient insistence.
He withdrew and she squeaked a protest, but he hushed her. “Don’t worry, I’m not through with you yet.”
Grabbing a pillow, he shoved it under her hips, raising her up and spreading her out. He pressed his fingers into her again and began to manipulate her clit with his thumb. It wasn’t long until she was making soft needy noises and tossing her head. At a particularly hard thrust, she moaned, a noise deep and true that came from her core. Jesus. He kept it up, his fingers pistoning in and out of her, her hips canting up to receive him, take more, and when he laid the heel of his hand over her clit and the buck of her hips brought her into contact, he knew she was on the downslope.
A few more thrusts and she cried out. His name, a few expletives, but mostly his name. He wished he had a recording of her saying his name. In any tone she used with him, really, but especially this one. God he loved making her come.
When he’d wrung the last of her orgasm from her body, he discarded the pillow and lay down beside her to cuddle her. He surrounded her with his body, hers small and slight, his big and blocky. She looked like he could snap her in two. And was that— Yes, that was a goddamn freckle in her ear. Why such an insignificant detail would tug at his heartstrings, he wasn’t sure, but at the moment, everything about her called to him. Sweet little siren.
Four times. Four times he’d made her come this morning and it wasn’t ten o’clock yet. God help him, he was never letting her out of the bed. He’d keep her chained here, his little sex slave to do with as he pleased.
His little virgin sex slave. Not for much longer, if that was something sh
e wanted. She pressed against him, taking the fabric of his shirt between her fingers in small fists. He didn’t know why she did that, but he liked it. Made him feel a hundred feet tall.
“Jasper?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Why are you still wearing clothes?”
He laid his cheek against the top of her head and rubbed her back, loving the silky skin. “Because I can.”
“Okay.”
Her sweet acquiescence made him want her even worse. The fact that he’d managed to keep his cock out of her so long should’ve earned him a fucking medal. And he’d wait longer if he had to, teeth gritted and strung out with want, but he’d do it if she asked. Not with the guilt-tripping, self-congratulatory smugness of some guys, either. He would be patience embodied if that’s what she needed.
“Jas?”
He snorted. So many questions. He’d answer every single last one. “Yeah?”
“Will you . . . will you make love to me?”
He held her close, then squeezed her tight before drawing away to see her face. Pink blossomed on her cheeks and she looked so happy. He hadn’t seen her look this happy since . . .
“I will, Keyne. I will.” As if a herd of wild horses could stop him now that she’d asked.
He sat up and stripped off his shirt, laid back down beside her. She trailed her slim fingers over his chest, tentative at first and then braver. “Go ahead, sweetheart, I’m yours.”
Her answering smile was so shy and pleased, like she couldn’t believe her good fortune. It killed him. And he meant it. She explored him, running hands over his chest and his stomach and his arms, marveling. Well, sure. She’d never been with a man before. Gavin had been tall, but lanky and who knows if he would’ve filled out to resemble Jasper’s broad build.
Keyne’s fingers wrapped around his biceps—more like tried to, they were nowhere close to touching. “You’re so strong.”
He grunted noncommittally. Before Keyne, he’d been able to lift, bench more. But she was a bit of a distraction and he’d gone soft. It was a sacrifice he was happy to make. Delicate fingers stroked the hair on his chest, followed the trail down to his waistband and danced along it, making him grit his teeth with want.
“Will you keep me, Jasper?”
“Keep you?” Something ugly clutched at his heart. Did she think he would send her away? Use her and discard her? Jesus. The way her top teeth sunk into her bottom lip before she released it and spoke again made him wonder what on god’s green earth he could’ve done to make her not question that, not even for a second.
“I want to be yours.”
“You are mine. You’ve been mine. Since you got here. You belong to me. Yes, I’m going to keep you.”
“Promise?” The way she looked at him, it was as though she was serving her heart up on a platter for him to do with as he pleased. That he’d earned her trust and her love so deeply she’d be willing to hand it over slayed him. As if she was the one who had to worry about being rejected, turned away. Why should she want a grumpy, strict, old man like him? But it appeared through some miracle, she did.
“Cross my heart.” He took up her hand, wrapped it in his own and used both their fingers to trace an X at the spot over where his heart beat. She smiled. Sometimes she looked so sweet, innocent, and he could believe she was still in high school, barely eighteen. And then sometimes . . . A sharp intake of breath scalded his throat as she palmed his cock through his shorts.
“Make me yours, please, Jasper. Please.”
Who could say no to that face? Who would want to? He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away gently. “Lie back, sweetheart. Relax. I’ll be right back.”
He fetched a towel from the bathroom and drew it under her hips. He wasn’t expecting her to bleed, but just in case, he didn’t want her to worry about it. Not that he’d care. Some caveman part of him would want to fly the sheets from his window but that was such a cretinous thought he smothered it. He pushed his shorts down his legs and kicked them away before digging in the drawer for lube and a condom.
It’d been so long, he had to check the date on the foil. Thank god they hadn’t expired yet. If they had, he might have died. But good for another couple of months. He tore the packet and rolled the latex over his cock, wincing at how sensitive, how filled to bursting he was. Relief was lying right in front of him.
He climbed onto the bed and sat back on his heels between her thighs. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I don’t want to do this with anyone else. I trust you.”
The easy way she laid there, waiting for him, the hungry look in her eyes as she watched him stroke himself, it was all so goddamn charming. He grabbed the bottle of lube and put some on his palm, slicking it over the condom. He would do anything in his power to make this good for her.
He used his slick hand to press into her pussy where she was still soaking wet. Good. He pressed against the membrane, stroking her with gentle pressure and then leaned forward, lining up his cock with her entrance and resting his elbows on either side of her head.
“Tell me if you need me to stop, Keyne. I won’t hurt you.”
“I will. I know.”
He nipped her neck for her sass and then pressed his hips forward. Fuck was she tight. He stroked her hair and kissed her. “Relax, Tinker Bell. Be a good girl for me and let me in.”
She breathed deeply underneath him and he pressed against her. She whimpered when he got to the broadest part of the head, but he hushed and petted her, soothed her until she lifted her hips and drew him inside with a gasp, grasping at his shoulders with her slim hands.
“Are you all right?” His brows pinched in concern as he studied her pale face.
“Yeah. You’re just . . . big.”
“Are you ready for more?”
She nodded and licked her lips and it took every ounce of self-control for him to not drive into her with everything he had. Instead, he pressed in a little ways and drew back out, two steps forward, one step back until he was balls deep inside her.
“You feel good.” Her walls squeezed around him as she stroked his biceps, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from coming.
“So do you, Keyne. You feel like fucking Neverland.”
She laughed, a small giggle, and shook her head. “Fucking Neverland: The Jasper Andersson and Keyne O’Connell Scandal.”
He bent down to kiss her forehead and eased out and then back in again, faster, harder. “Hush, you. Lay back and enjoy. I’m going to make you come while I’m inside you.”
She squeezed around him again and he took her hands in his, intertwined their fingers and pressed them into the pillow. Something about that small act of restraint made her eyes go glassy and her shoulders slump. Fucking lighter. He was going to enjoy the hell out of this. Out of her.
He started fucking her, harder with every thrust until she was moaning and begging and shaking, but she still hadn’t come. He was going to lose it any second so he shoved her hands together and grabbed her around the wrists and eased a hand between them to find her clit. When he located it—hard, slick and swollen—he rubbed and then pinched, not stopping his thrusts.
“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me, come on my cock, I want to feel you come on my cock.”
And then she did. The convulsive tightening of her walls around him and her cries of ecstasy made him lose his fucking mind and come incredibly hard. Like he hadn’t come for years, maybe ever. This was what it had been like the first time he’d held a girl down in bed, the first time he exerted dominance over a woman. He hadn’t had this animal satisfaction in years, but here it was, pouring into Keyne O’Connell’s sweet, hot cunt.
Chapter Nineteen
June
The way people talked about virginity, she’d thought she’d feel far different after hers was gone. Everyone was always saying thin
gs about losing it, or giving it up. Making it sound as though it were some kind of sacrifice. But she didn’t feel that way, not at all.
If anything, she’d gained something, something Jasper had given to her. Ridiculous amounts of mind-blowing pleasure, yes, but something that went far deeper than that. Acceptance. Attentiveness. Tenderness.
It confused her some that being held down, being controlled, pinched, and bitten could make her feel that way, but it had. And Jasper had said there wasn’t anything wrong with that. He had seemed to like it, too, and the way he looked at her, it was all the things she loved about Jasper all rolled up into one.
So no, she didn’t feel like she’d lost anything at all. On the contrary, she wanted more. More control, more pain, more pleasure, just . . . more. And though he hesitated for a split second of what might have been misgiving, he gave it to her. Oh, yes he did.
On Sunday, after they’d gotten back from her lesson with Alice, he stripped them both and followed her into the shower. While the water poured over them both, hot and soothing after her workout, he washed her hair and she thought she might die from how good his fingers felt massaging her scalp, urging her under the water to wash the suds down the drain. And as he soaped up her body, directing her to stand with her hands clasped behind her neck, it felt . . . reverent. But also high-handed in a way that made her need to remind herself to breathe deeply so she wouldn’t pass out. Though he was so focused on her, she had no doubt he’d catch her if she fell.
After she was squeaky clean and dried to his satisfaction, he brought her back to his bed and laid her out. Full daylight, and she was lying naked on a man’s bed. He showed her the sash from a robe he’d snagged from the bathroom. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to tie your wrists to the bed with this.”
“Okay?” It would be awesome if that hadn’t come out as a questioning croak.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to. Or if you change your mind. You can always change your mind. So if you’re willing, I’d like to restrain you.”
His Custody Page 18
