by Suz deMello
And she did, her throat muscles working overtime to swallow, flexing around him to prolong the rapture. Then she ran her tongue along his limp shaft, licking every inch before she finished the gelato.
Every muscle limp and sated, he dropped back against the sofa and closed his eyes, letting himself drift. He sensed her get up and leave before hearing the shower run.
He joined her. “Baby, you’re a marvel.”
Rinsing her hair, she turned and laughed. “Your bed slave has pleased you, Master?”
He slapped her ass, which made her yelp. “Silly girl. Now scrub my back and I’ll do yours.”
“With what?”
“Just a moment.” He reached over her shoulder and turned on a second showerhead, and then a third, his favorite, a big round one set in the shower’s ceiling. Its flow replicated a waterfall or a heavy rainstorm.
“Woo-hoo!” She threw back her head, bathing her face in the fall.
“You’re such a wonderfully sensuous woman,” he murmured in her ear. “Now, try this.”
Nestled on a glass block shelf were a row of oils, scrubs, shampoos, and conditioners. He picked out a plastic tub filled with a salt scrub. “This is for me. It’s pretty abrasive, and you don’t want it on your butt ... yet.” He leered at her. “But scrub my back with it. Actually, you can do me all over. Just be nice to my prick, okay? I’ll want to put it in you later.”
Liza opened the plastic tub. The citrus’s sharp scent must have tickled her nose, because she sneezed. “What is this stuff?”
“It’s sea salt in lime oil. Very invigorating. Keeps skin real smooth.” He watched her through narrow almond eyes. “Veronica introduced me to it.”
She stiffened, obviously jealous, and he liked that.
Liza clamped her lips together and tried not to get upset. But she couldn’t help being jealous. That was stupid, wasn’t it? He was a pimp. He had to have been with hundreds of women, if not thousands. To keep up the quality of the goods offered in his houses, he’d have to try them out, wouldn’t he?
What exactly did that mean? During her bust of his Chinatown house, she’d learned that he employed men as well as women. Did James swing both ways? Would he expect her to do the same?
She shut those weird-ass thoughts out of her head in favor of enjoying the moment, shoving a finger into the oily scrub. “Bend over,” she told James.
“Excuse me?”
“You want me to do your back or not?”
He raised his brows. “As long as it’s not my back door.”
She chuckled as he bent over and rested his palms on the tiled bench built into one end of the shower. She started at his neck, digging into his developed trapezoids, where a dragon tattoo done in red, black, and gold curled around his left shoulder halfway down his back. Though partly obscured by the rising steam and flowing water, it was still gorgeous. “Awesome tattoo,” she said, appreciating that he’d apparently loosened up on his “seen but not heard” rule. She couldn’t help it; she was a chatterbox from day one.
“Thanks.” He glanced behind at her. “You’d look good with one, too.”
“Ya think? A dragon?” She brushed her wet hair out of her face, enjoying the lime oil’s bracing fragrance.
“That’s up to you. Does it call to you?”
She examined it. “I’m not sure. Suits you, though.” She worked her way down to his taut buttocks, wanting to play with his asshole but not daring to probe deeply, not after what he’d said. She ran a finger along his crack, following the water that streamed along the lines of his magnificent body.
His breath whistled between his teeth. “Stop.”
“Too much?”
“With the salt, yeah.”
“Okay.” She took another palmful of salt scrub and did his legs. When he turned around and sat, she picked up one foot and then the other, rubbing between each toe and around his heel. His feet were as well-kept as his hands, and she wondered if he got manicures and pedicures. Must be nice, she thought. For weeks, she hadn’t found the time to have her hands and feet properly tended.
She slid her oiled hands up the front of his body, bypassing his swelling cock with regret. But orders were orders. She fluttered her tongue along his stiffening length just to tease, then ran her fingers over his six-pack and arrived at his chest. She rubbed his flat pecs, finding them solid as brass plates.
She wanted him again, and she wondered, how? He’d been inside her more times than she could count in the past twenty-four hours. She’d come over and over again, wept, pleaded from need, fainted from exhaustion and sheer sensory overload, and still, her pussy longed for his cock.
She met his eyes as she pinched his pierced nipple, which hardened into a taut, dark bead.
His breath again hissed through his teeth. “Oh, baby.” Reaching for her, he said, “Wrap your legs around my waist and sit on me. Now.”
She put down the scrub and climbed around him as best she could with slippery hands and the water cascading around them. He helped, pulling her onto his cock with frantic haste. She stuck her hands underneath his armpits and over his shoulders to anchor herself. When she was seated on him with his arms around her, holding her fast, she laid her head onto his chest and licked his nipple, flicking the ring and its charm with her tongue, then nibbling on the hard point.
His breath quickening, he bucked beneath her. He hit her cervix, and she winced, then adjusted. She pushed forward with her hips, grinding her clit into his pubic bone, chasing pleasure. Reaching down, she separated her labia for fuller contact, then swung her pelvis from side to side, rubbing her most sensitive parts against him. Pleasure jolted through her.
She threw back her head again, glorying in everything: the hard cock inside her, his fingers plucking her nipples, the torrents of warm water flowing over her, over him, over everything.
James wanted to come, and wanted her to join him. He banged her harder, lifting her up off his lap at the end of every thrust. She screamed as she came and he followed her, slapping her rear, enjoying her delighted, surprised shrieks.
He gave her sweet, round butt five hard swats. She yelped and came harder. He caressed her bottom and shoved a finger into her ass, pushing her higher.
In up to his second knuckle, he kept still, feeling her flex and relax, flex and relax around him.
“Yeah, baby,” he breathed into her ear. “Just let it happen ... It’s okay.”
She buried her head in his shoulder and came again while he held her tight. Neither moved until the hot water ran out, turning first tepid, then cold.
Chapter Six
Wearing James’s robe, Liza sat on his bed, combing her hair. Outside, night was beginning to drape San Francisco in gray, foggy shadows. Inside, a naked James bustled around the room, opening wardrobes to remove clothes. He laid out his choices on the bed: one of his dark suits, a red tie, and a crisp, French blue shirt with white cuffs and collar. Silk boxers and socks.
She watched him, trying to sort out her feelings. If her butt weren’t still sore, if she weren’t his slave, the scene would be similar to one she’d played out many times with men in the past.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.
“We are going out to dinner at my Oakland house.”
“We? Why?”
“You may get weekends off, but this is prime time for my businesses. Oakland tends to get rowdy on Saturday night, and I like to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
She fidgeted, not sure it was wise to tell him what was on her mind. “Umm, I probably shouldn’t be seen with you.”
He turned and nailed her with a glare.
She nibbled on her fingertip but decided she had to hold her ground. “I’m sorry, but I have a life after Sunday night. I’m a cop. I can’t keep company with James Li. I won’t have a career.”
“Are you sure?” He arched a brow. “All kinds of people come into my houses. Trust me, no one will give you a second glance, at least not above your
chin.”
She flushed.
He crossed his arms over his torso. “I’ve been too nice to you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You need a lesson.”
Blood drained out of her face, leaving her light-headed.
“Not the whip,” he said. “Been there, done that. Drop the robe and lie face down.”
What did James have in mind? His kit of dirty tricks was apparently inexhaustible. Her fingers shook as she placed the comb onto one of the nightstands with care.
He pushed her shoulder. “Faster. You’ve forgotten lesson number one. When I tell you to do something, do it immediately, no protesting, no negotiating, no bullshit. You gave yourself to me for this weekend, remember?”
She did as he demanded, spreading out her arms and legs into an X. Without wrist or ankle bands, she wondered how he was going to restrain her for whatever punishment he planned.
“I’m going to ask you do something that will ... challenge your commitment.”
She tensed, her butt cheeks tightening.
“You’re going to take what I give without being tied down. Voluntarily. Do you understand?”
Oh, my God. “Yes.”
“Good.” He patted her fanny, caressed the healing marks.
She moaned. In a way, obedience without physical force was worse. Knowing she was bound only by her word, that she chose enslavement, was more humiliating than being overcome by James’s brute strength, which, despite his lean frame, was much greater than hers. She wasn’t a weak or stupid woman -- far from it -- but he was more than her match in many ways.
He leaned over and picked up his robe from the foot of the bed, fumbling in one pocket and then the next. He took out the piece of ginger he’d carved during the blow job. It was now shaped like a penis roughly half James’s length and girth, with a notch at one end before it flared out wider. He pushed it into her pussy. “You’ll find this interesting.”
“Hmm.” It felt cool, not uncomfortable at all, and she wriggled, wondering what kind of punishment this could be. Then an unexpected heat pulsed through her walls and into her clit. She moaned and tightened around the ginger stick, wondering if this was some kind of arcane Chinese sex magic.
He slapped her butt and took out the ginger. “Don’t come.”
She panted, and he slowly thrust it into her ass. This felt distinctly different. The entry wasn’t easy, the burn starting fast. Her hips jerked, and she clenched her fists into the bedclothes. She wanted to come, but she couldn’t without more stimulation, which he might or might not provide.
Her pleasure was totally in his power, not hers.
He plunged in the ginger stick until the notch sat in the tight ring of muscle at her entrance, stretching the opening. The flaring crown he’d carved held it in place. A peculiar cold-hot fire surged through her, a piercing flame that ignited her from the inside out. She groaned with unfulfilled need, pounding her fists onto the mattress. Her body shook with pent-up energy, energy she was expending just staying in place, face-down and submissive, as he demanded.
“How do you feel?” He stroked her back.
She thrashed. “Good. Sexy. I didn’t know --”
“There’s a chemical in ginger that stimulates. You’ll swell, tingle, burn a little bit while it’s opening you up. Are you hot?”
Her breath came short and fast. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to come?”
“Oh, yeah.” She tried not to whine.
“But you’re not begging.”
“I’m begging!”
He smacked her bottom. “Don’t try to fake me out.” He spanked her again, and she gasped.
“I’m not, I’m not. The more you do that, I’m not,” she blurted. Realizing she spoke the truth, her mind shorted out.
She, Eliza Blue Bowman, was a masochist. She liked being spanked, found the sting and the burn sexy. It made her hot.
Or was it James?
Now her captor leaned over her, enveloping her in his warmth. “Do you like being mine?” he murmured in her ear.
“Yes,” she whispered, trying not to sob.
“Good.” He nipped her earlobe, then rotated the ginger stick in her ass.
She whimpered and bucked, clutching the sheet in desperate fists.
He stopped. “Not just yet, love.”
She released a sigh that trembled from the heart of her.
“Now sit.”
Blinking away frustrated tears, she rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, leaning forward so the ginger stick wouldn’t push in further. The slash across her thighs ... yes, James was right. She was reminded of him when she sat. Her back sheath flamed with an icy fire she didn’t think she could stand.
He again licked and kissed away her tears, finally reaching her mouth, first gently touching his mouth to hers, then probing the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened to him, and he slid his tongue inside, searching for hers. Responding in kind, she caressed his shoulders, delighting in his smooth, satiny skin underlaid by solid muscle.
She dared to stroke the dragon, gloried in his strength and mastery. Her fire and desire built, raging through her white-hot and uncontainable. Craving release, she reached for her clit.
He slapped her hand away. “You know better than that. Do I have to tie you up again?”
She shook her head.
“Good girl.” He played with her hair.
Damn him, he praised her as though she was an obedient puppy. And she’d asked for this, accepted it. Liked it.
James went to a bureau and took out a pair of black thong panties. He knelt beside her. Kissing her ankle, he slipped the loops over her feet. “Now stand.”
She managed to obey him, but she didn’t know how. He pulled on the panties, tugging the sides high, so the tight, stretchy fabric held the ginger stick in place.
“Perfect. Now don’t move.” With the silver and cloisonné knife, he scored a neat slit into the thong’s crotch over her labia.
Her clit popped out, and he helped by pressing his lips to her mound and sucking on it. She swayed, grabbing a bedpost. Her butt clenched around the ginger. The mingled pain and pleasure were uncontrollable. Her emotions in a confused frenzy, tears filled her eyes.
He raised his head to look at his handiwork. The slit was small, and where he’d licked, the flesh thickened, pushing out until her clit looked like a pink tongue protruding from the black material. “Nice,” he said. “It’s like a clit clip. You’ll stay turned on all night. But don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”
She swiped away her tears and scrabbled at the thong’s waistband. They were tight and small ... A shock of recognition cut through her erotic fog. “These are -- these are mine!”
“Of course. I wouldn’t give you someone else’s panties. That’s gross.” He stood and stretched, raising his arms above his head.
“You broke into my house and took my panties?” Her voice rose with outrage. She knew she was courting another brutal punishment, but she didn’t care. “That’s not just gross, that’s a freakin’ felony.”
“Dammit, Liza, haven’t you learned anything?” He turned and threw the knife into the doorjamb. It struck with a loud thwok, embedding halfway down the blade. “I am not a criminal.”
The fury on James’s face stunned her. And did she see hurt shadowing his eyes?
He shook her by the shoulders. “While you were sleeping, I took your keys and went to North Beach. I rode your bike to your apartment, where I parked legally. I went into your home and got some clothes for you. I won’t apologize for that.”
She clapped her hands to her embarrassed, burning face. “James, I --”
“Shut up. Just shut up and listen. Stop thinking like a cop, okay? And stop acting like an abandoned, distrustful child. Stop making me and every man you meet pay for what your father did.”
His words slashed her scarred heart. “I don’t --”
“Yes, you do. Have you ever truly
loved a man?”
She paused to think. She’d first had sex when she was fourteen, with a local gang wannabe, but that had turned out worse than badly. After she’d been scared straight, she’d screwed around a lot, but ... “N-no.”
“At your age, that’s a little odd. And you know I was right when I said that you prefer to fuck white men. Why do you think that’s true?”
She swallowed. “Are you saying I want to fuck my father?”
“Your white lovers are surrogates, little girl, nothing more.” He shook a finger in her face. “Grow up, get over it, or fuck around forever and never find love. Is that what you want?”
She stuck her chin into the air. “Love has no place in my life.”
“That’s because you don’t make a place for it to grow.” His bitterness startled her.
“What do you care?” she snapped.
He didn’t answer, instead picking up a phone and punching some numbers. “Hey, lady,” he said into the handset. “Come on up here and get her. Fix her up for tonight, the full scale treatment, hair up, lots of makeup. I want her ready at seven-thirty, sharp.” He glanced at Liza. “Play with her if you wish, but don’t let her come.”
Without another word, he went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving her standing in the middle of his sumptuous, silent, empty bedroom.
Loneliness stabbed. So did guilt. She’d misjudged him, and she could have sworn she’d seen hurt in his eyes, hurt as well as anger.
What the hell was all that about her father? How could she miss someone she’d never known? Wasn’t she better off not knowing the slimeball who’d knocked up her mom and walked away without a single backward look?
That LaDonna Bowman had led a full, successful life was a tribute to her, not to the nameless white trucker who’d left her his seed and nothing else. James was flat out wrong, wrong about Liza and her feelings, and wrong to hurl that accusation at her.
But she wouldn’t let it bother her. She’d just survive this weekend, go back to her life, and sort it all out later. She couldn’t think with her butt cheeks flexing around the blaze in her rear, her pussy soaking her panties and her clit throbbing for release.
