“Lie down on your back.” She gestured with the handcuffs.
He turned away from her so she had a view of his high, tight butt and muscled thighs; she wanted to sink her teeth into them.
He glanced over his shoulder at her and there was suddenly a flash of humor in his expression; it threw her off guard, just for a second, that a man had moods as mercurial as the Florida weather.
“What?” She tilted her head.
He shrugged, throwing himself on the bed, even bouncing a little before he settled with his legs spread.
“I was just thinkin’ that I should take a photo of ye like that, in the pub’s shirt, with your hair all tangled and handcuffs in hand. The lads would thank me for it, for sure.”
Lille smiled thinking of Charlie and the boys and what they would say about such a photo.
“I’m sure they would,” she agreed, but as she gazed at the length of him sprawled across the bed, she murmured, “I’d like to take a photo of you like this.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, lass, I don’t trust any woman that much.”
Lille raised an eyebrow. “But paintings are okay?” she asked, referring to the painting that Mary had shown her, one she’d apparently done right before fucking him.
He grimaced. “It’s different, but I didna care much for that, either.”
“Hmm, I think you cared for part of it.” She slapped the cuffs against her palm. “All right, gorgeous, hands up.”
He put his hands up, just where she wanted them, on either side of the rail. She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and snapping first one cuff and then the other into place on the other side of the wooden rail, tightening them just enough, before sitting back and up.
He didn’t say anything, just flexed his wrists as if they already hurt, his eyes narrowed a little.
When she pulled her shirt over her head and threw it by the door, his erection, which had softened a little, was once again full and throbbing. She gripped it in one hand, giving him a few quick pumps. He arched into her hand, cursing, and she laughed, delighted with his response.
Letting him go, she removed her bra and sent it in the general direction of her shirt. She scooted down, enjoying the feel of his hairy legs on the soft skin of her inner thighs—hell, yeah—she rocked a little, just because it felt good, before squeezing her breasts together around his dick, sliding him through her cleavage before rubbing her nipples against the head of his dick. He was enjoying himself, if the noises he was making were any indication, though he occasionally let out an “Oh, fuck” of appreciation.
She sat up again, then leaned back in a bridge pose, arching her body as she reached for the cock ring that she’d thrown at the end of the bed.
She held it in front of him. “I’m going to suck your dick till you come. Then I’m going to put this on you. I promise to be really careful, but if I hurt you or you want me to stop, you need a safe word.”
“Pandora.”
She paused. “Like the mermaid at the Box?”
“Exactly like.”
“Okay.” She shrugged and tossed the ring on the bed next to him.
She put her hands on his hips and contemplated him for a moment, feeling the taut skin drawn tight over his hip bones, then gently tracing the tattoo inked there with her nails. His chest was covered with medieval dragons and knights on horseback as well as creatures like those described in Greek mythology. He was the most literary canvas she’d ever seen and she’d seen many painted men during her time in San Francisco.
He watched her, his eyes on her chest. She looked down; her nipples were hard. She wished she’d brought some clamps with her, but maybe next time. She pinched one . . . hard . . . and saw his cheekbones flush.
“I’m going to bend over and put my nipples in your mouth. I want you to lick them slowly, trace them with your tongue. They’re not very sensitive at first, so it’ll be like I can’t feel it at all. Then I want you to pull away and blow on them.”
He nodded, almost as if she’d put a gag in his mouth. What a good idea, she thought idly, but didn’t think it was necessary this time.
She shifted and bent down so that the nipple she’d just pinched was brushing his lips. He did as she asked, licking gently around the areola with his tongue. Because she was anticipating it, because she watched him do it, she felt every slow motion of his rough tongue.
She moved so that the other breast could get the same treatment, and he obliged, licking her gently. When he was finished, instead of stopping as she’d ordered, he caught her nipple between his teeth and rolled it gently, biting down just a little. She wasn’t expecting it, had actually begun to pull away, so her nipple was drawn through his teeth, causing a sharp pain that made her gasp and tighten in pleasure.
She sat back, glancing down at her abused nipple, which was dark red and distended.
“That was naughty, darling,” she crooned. “Now you’ll be punished.”
“Give it yer best shot, love.”
She curled her lip at him. “Oh, I will.”
She turned around so that she faced away from him and forced his thighs apart with her arms. He tensed and tried to stop her, but she glanced back at him with an arched eyebrow.
“Fine,” he grumbled, and spread his legs.
“Good,” she praised him, turning back and petting his thighs.
She ignored his dick and instead coaxed his balls, which were drawn tight toward his body, and cupped them gently at first, weighing them in her hands, before licking first one and then the other. He tasted salty and the smell was the earthy smell of a human, the musk of nature and the undeniable desires that inform every action. He was a man and she felt, for a moment, like she was just woman, called to this very moment again and again through time.
He shivered all over and arched his hips restlessly, but she continued, sucking first one and then the other . . . just for a few seconds, just long enough to make him forget that he was to be punished.
Then, when she knew he had forgotten, when his words were praises of encouragement, she sucked just this side of too hard, hurting him, just a little. She stopped when she heard a strangled gargle and the rattle of the handcuffs, sitting up and twisting to glance over her shoulder.
He was red-faced and sweating a little, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Yer not boring, I give ye that.”
She twinkled her eyes at him. “Why, thank you.” She slid her hand down as she spoke, gripping his erection. “Are you ready for me to suck this?”
“Fuck, yes.” He nodded. “Please. God. Yes.”
“Okay, then.” She smiled at him and turned back to the main event, which was throbbing and eager in her hand. She squeezed, very gently, then bent and licked the tip, where a small droplet of fluid had gathered. He was soft against her lips, soft and so hard at the same time. She kept her lips tight, trying to mimic how it would feel as he slid into her tight, wet depths. He pushed up with his hips and she punished him by pulling back until he learned his lesson and lay still for her ministrations. She pressed down again with her mouth, letting him slide inside until he touched the back of her throat, just for a second. It had taken her years to master that; she had a pretty strong gag reflex. Hard to be a femme fatale when you were choking and gagging and coughing.
She teased him a little longer, sliding up and down slowly, while she kept one hand on the base of his shaft, massaging it slowly. He moaned and encouraged her with soft nonsense. When his hips were twitching and the muscles of his thighs were flexed and rigid, she began moving up and down faster and faster, sucking a little as she came up, then pressing back down, before she quit playing and just mouth-fucked him.
He came, roaring and arching, and though she removed her mouth, she continued to work him with her hands until the last drop had escaped his tumescence.
She g
ave him a moment to rest, moving to sit next to his hip with her legs dangling. She removed her boots while his breathing calmed. Standing, she used her thumbs to wiggle out of her leggings again, working them over her hips and down her legs. Left wearing nothing but her tiny black satin thong, she crawled back onto the bed and, facing away from him, looking toward the door, she straddled his hips and picked up the cock ring.
Max looked at the smooth back of the woman on top of him and—not for the first time—asked himself what kind of a fine mess he’d gotten himself into. He felt her hands cup his balls gently and he sucked in a deep breath—he just couldn’t help it; he’d never let a woman put a cock ring on him before. He’d done it himself, once or twice, but he’d never been helpless like this.
It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? She wasn’t exactly a stranger, as was the case with most of his encounters, and while he still didn’t think he liked her much, she was the hottest fucking woman who’d ever sucked his dick and that was saying something.
She eased one ball through the ring, which was adjustable, and then the other, before fitting it over his shaft. It was a good thing she worked quickly, as just the thought of her handling his balls, the danger explicit in what she was doing, had given him a partial erection, and her slow stroking of his shaft only encouraged the fucking half-wit.
“That’s nice.” She twisted to look at him over her shoulder again and, seeming satisfied with what she saw, turned around so that she was facing him again.
He thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than her gorgeous peaches-and-cream body sitting smooth and perfect on his abdomen, her large tits, swaying gently as she moved forward, her green eyes bright as they surveyed his chest and the tattoos that covered it. He made sure that he ran often and worked out at the gym so that his tats showed to their best advantage. He knew it was stupid; he knew that the tattoos were just that, tattoos, but to him, they were part of who he was.
She slid those manicured hands over his body, tracing the lines and curves of the tattoos, her eyes following the motion of her fingers.
When she reached his neck, she glanced up at his face and met his eyes. Her pupils were wide; her lips were full and deep pink from her magnificent blow job. He could smell the hot musk between her legs and knew she was aroused; just from looking at him she was aroused, and he couldn’t help but get turned on. Knowing she was turned on by him, knowing that this beautiful woman—however exasperating she might be—was about to ride his dick was enough to bring him back to a full erection.
“You’re gorgeous,” she told him, running her hands restlessly over his shoulders. “I like having you helpless beneath me.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Enjoying yourself, are ye? I am as well.”
“Would you like to taste me?” She leaned in close to his jaw and whispered near his ear.
Max would’ve loved nothing better than to have this woman’s shapely thighs—1950s-bathing-suit thighs—covering his ears.
“I would,” he managed, gasping a little as he grew even larger and the cock ring felt even tighter at the base of his package.
She climbed up, gripping the top of the headboard as she placed her knees on either side of his head.
The satin triangle of her thong covered her, but she didn’t move it aside, so he assumed she wanted him to tease her through the thin fabric. Well and good; her smell—sweet and salty—turned him on even more.
He lifted his head and traced along the seam of one smooth thigh and then the other; she tasted of roses and suntan lotion. Sliding his cheek along the smooth satin of her panties, he felt the bristles of his five o’clock shadow tug at the smooth fabric, no doubt abrading the swollen flesh beneath. He continued, using his cheek and nose to rub gently at the sweet spot that begged for his attention.
Her breathing came in soft, rapid pants, and down in the humid warmth of her, he knew she was close to breaking.
“Ye want my tongue, yes? Best move the panties now, darlin’.”
She chuckled a little, sounding breathless. “You’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”
He imagined she thought he’d be a selfish ass, since that seemed to be her opinion of him, and she’d be right for the most part. He’d realized quite early on that women tended to fall in love when they enjoyed themselves in bed, and even when they didn’t, but he’d had enough tears and upset to last him a lifetime. He figured it was best to just let them know early that he intended to get off and get out, though half the time that didn’t stop them from coming around the pub.
She moved her panties aside with two fingers and all thoughts of other women floated out of Max’s head. She was pink and wet and glistening, with just a small landing strip of hair right at the top of her pussy; he wanted to taste her on his tongue.
He did, using just the tip at first to trace her sensitive little folds. He licked deeper, using the flat of his tongue only when she moaned and shuddered. He pressed on her clit, holding his tongue hard against her until he felt her throb, then he lapped and swirled his tongue around that sweet clit until she was crying out, holding herself for his ministrations, her thighs trembling as she reached higher and ever higher for that peak.
Just when he thought she was about to come, he pulled away and demanded, “Ride me now.”
Her eyes flashed, just a little, and those gorgeous tits were heaving, but she did, sliding back and moving him into position. He was so hard he didn’t think he would last long; the pressure of the cock ring squeezing him, keeping him hard, had made his shaft so sensitive that the first push of her wet flesh had him gasping. He looked down, watching as she lowered herself onto him, feeling it at the same time. Her tight, wet flesh was a revelation; he’d never felt anything quite so good; she was a hot, squeezing madness, almost like the first—
“Shit. Condom.”
She froze. “Fuck.”
She sat up, reaching back to the end of the bed and grabbing one of the foil packets, ripping it open with her teeth and tossing the wrapper aside.
She was in a hurry, rolling it onto him while he cursed in about-to-come distress, and then she was on him again, and he was pressing deep inside her, and it wasn’t quite as good, but still, the sight of his dick disappearing inside her, knowing that this goddess was riding his cock, feeling the growing pressure along his shaft as he slid deeper and deeper inside her, had him cursing.
“Fuck, ye better come now,” he demanded, “because I’m about to.”
She ignored him, putting one hand on his chest to hold him down while she slid up and down, up . . . and then down . . . grinding herself at the end, working her tight, wet flesh with his dick, until he was chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and then she was coming, crying out and shuddering, her muscles squeezing him, making him come in an abrupt spasm of pleasure that was so intense it hurt, not ending for several moments, moments in which his chest felt as if it had seized up, as if from a fall, stunning and dismaying him as he lay beneath her.
They were both breathing hard, bodies stuck together, when Lille started laughing.
Max eyed her; confident that she wasn’t laughing at him and feeling amiable enough that he didn’t find her—quite—as annoying as usual. He used his hips to roll her off him. She lay on her side with her head in her hand and looked at him.
He rattled the handcuffs impatiently and she sighed and got up to fetch the key from the nightstand, unlocking the handcuffs and setting them on the nightstand drawer. She climbed back on the bed and lay down, watching him with one hand, propping up her head.
He rubbed his wrists and sat up, using one hand to efficiently remove his condom and drop it in the trash can next to his nightstand. He was more careful removing the cock ring. His balls felt sore and a little abused. He checked everything, very carefully, and massaged himself a little. He looked over his shoulder and glared at her, just a little.
&nb
sp; “I’m sore as fuck.” And he needed to piss.
She smiled at him.
“What?” God, he needed a damn cigarette. A piss and a cigarette and probably his head examined.
She shrugged. “For someone who just got laid, you sure are bitchy.”
“Bitchy.”
“Yeah.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Bitchy.”
Shit. He was bitchy. “I’m going to take a piss. Need something? Water?”
“No, but that’s very sweet of you.”
“Just trying to get your ass out of my bed so I can get some sleep.”
“Maybe I’m not done with you yet,” she threatened, and he left because, shit, he didn’t think he could take any more.
CHAPTER Nine
Lille left while Max was still sleeping, sprawled out across the mattress. He was gorgeous in the early light, jaw dark, hair disheveled, tattoos glowing in the dim light filtering through the blinds. Lille considered waking him, but the poor man had earned his sleep. After she’d thoroughly fucked him, he’d gone for a smoke and she’d fallen asleep in his bed. She guessed that bartending had tired her out more than she’d thought.
She’d woken when he came back to bed smelling like the sea and cigarettes, a not unpleasant smell, actually. She’d thought about getting up and leaving then, but rather than going to sleep himself, he’d pulled out a book thicker than her forearm and a pair of reading glasses and had begun to read. She was so surprised that she’d gone still, her heart pounding. He’d been so ridiculously hot, with his crazy sex hair and gorgeous face and reading glasses, of all things, that she’d pretended to stay asleep. She hadn’t wanted to leave while he was still awake; the smooth sheets and the sound of the wind in the palm trees lulled her back to sleep quickly, and she hadn’t woken again until morning. It was early, though, and his bed looked warm and inviting, especially with his big naked body sprawled in it.
The Fetish Queen, Part One: Reborn Page 8
