by J. A. Huss
Which only bolsters my confidence. So I extend my hand to Emma and say, “Shall we then?”
Emma looks at my hand, then my face, then glances at the closed pocket door where Miles disappeared.
She’s all bright berry pink again.
Man, I almost feel guilty.
Almost.
She left me hanging last night. And that shit cannot stand. I got in her stupid Lamborghini, I got in her stupid jet, and I’m going along with her stupid date.
But I’m only doing it to prove who’s in charge here.
Me. And she’s about to figure that out real quick.
“What’s wrong, Ms. Dumas? Afraid you’ll like it?”
She huffs, then takes my hand and stands up. “Well, people don’t come back for seconds if they didn’t enjoy the first plate, Mr. Boston. So I’m happy to give you another shot at pleasing me. It’s the least I can do after ruining all your best-laid plans to control me today.”
“Oh, honey.” I laugh. “I’m just getting started.”
I turn before she can respond and lead her to the back of the cabin. I admit, I have never seen a bedroom on a jet this small before. And then I have an unreasonable surge of jealousy, wondering if she takes all her bossy men on impromptu control-freak dates like this.
I step inside, maneuver around the double bed so she can enter behind me, then pull the door closed and press her up against it. “Ready?” I ask.
“Let’s play,” she quips.
But before she even gets that very short retort past her lips, I’m kissing them.
Both her hands come up to my chest and for a moment I think she’s going to push me away.
She doesn’t.
She kisses me back and I swear to God, a tingling sensation runs through my whole body when her mouth opens and her tongue begins twisting with mine.
I grab her hair, realize she’s got it up in those adorable, but ridiculous pigtails, and drag the elastic down one of them, tossing it aside.
Now I can really kiss her. I slip my fingers through her hair and hold her in the palm of my hand.
Unexpectedly, my heart begins to race inside my chest. And my cock, which was semi-hard from my little display back in the middle cabin, becomes ready in an instant.
Then her hands do come up to my chest. She flattens them out, pressing me backwards.
But oh, no. Oh, no, Little Miss Control. Not this time. I’m the bossy one here, not you.
I turn my body, taking her with me, and a moment later I’m pushing her backwards. Her knees hit the bed and she falls, breaking our kiss.
She laughs, quickly sits back up, and begins unbuckling my belt.
Wasn’t expecting that, but OK.
I watch her fingers pull the leather out of the buckle, and when she tips her head up to smile at me, I maybe even get a little lost in her brown eyes.
The ripping sound of a zipper going south redirects my focus on what she’s doing and then—
“Holy fuck,” I mumble.
—she pulls my cock out and gives it a nice, tight squeeze.
I close my eyes for a second, feeling a little unsteady and lost, wondering why this woman makes me feel this way, then forget about that when she begins jerking me off.
“Like that?” she coos. Pumping harder, squeezing tighter, and scooting forward so her breasts are pushing against my thighs.
Oh, but I see her evil plan. I’m on to her now. She thinks she’s gonna jerk me off and then say, Thanks, but no thanks.
I think not, you little tease.
“I will be fucking your pussy,” I say. Then realize I didn’t actually mean to say that.
“You sure about that?” she asks, easing her face forward, gearing up for her next move.
Mmm-hmm. Gonna take my mind off the endgame with a blow job, are ya? Get me all worked up, maybe let me come on your tits, then walk out and tell Miles to bring you some pancakes and a coffee?
I’m one step ahead of you, lady.
I push her head away and bend down. Two seconds later I’ve got her tight little cut-offs unbuttoned and unzipped and I’m dragging them down her legs. Two seconds after that I’m tossing them into the corner.
I grab her thighs, push them forward, and lick her pussy through her panties.
Take that, Emma.
She groans and pushes my head down. “Yes,” she mumbles. “Just like that.”
I pull back, suddenly realizing I just gave up a blow job to eat her out, and say, “Oh, no.”
“No what?” she innocently coos.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Less talking, more licking, Jesse. Chop, chop.”
I stand back up and run my fingers through my hair. “You’re totally doing it again. Forget it,” I say. “I’m not eating you out.”
She slips a hand between her legs and her fingers take up where I left off. “I offered you a blow job,” she reminds me. “You wanted to do this, Mr. Boston. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’re going to get off and leave me hanging. Again.”
She stops playing with her pussy and instead leans back, propping herself up with her elbows. “Wow. You really give yourself a lot of credit, don’t you? You’re not even that good. I only came so fast last night because my vibrator broke two weeks ago and I haven’t had time to replace it.”
“Is that right?” Then I point at her. “And fuck you. I’m not gonna fall into that pathetic trap and try to prove you wrong.”
“Jesse?” she asks.
“What?”
“Do you want me to suck your cock or not? Because I’m totally willing.” She pauses for an answer, but I don’t know. I just don’t know what the right move is. “OK,” she says. “So you wanna keep licking me?”
“No.”
“So we’re done here?” she asks, rolling over on the bed to retrieve her shorts. She lies back on the bed, bends her knees, and pulls them back on. And the whole time I stare at her wet panties until her shorts obstruct my view. “Good. I’m hungry and I’m dying for some bacon.”
She stands up and heads towards the door behind me, but I slip in and block her.
“Now what?”
I shake my head.
“Use your words, Jesse.”
I point my finger at her face and say, “We’re fucking or nothing.”
“Or nothing?” She laughs. “Then I choose nothing.”
“I’ll turn this fucking plane around,” I threaten.
“I’d like to see you try,” she growls.
We lock eyes and glare. Daring the other to blink first.
“Get back on the bed and take off those shorts,” I command.
She lifts her chin and narrows her eyes, then runs her tongue across the edge of her top teeth and grins. She only has one pigtail at this point, so the whole display is absurdly cute and horrifyingly hot at the same time. “So you can continue?”
“So you can continue,” I say.
“You choose blow job, then?”
“Fine,” I say. “I choose blow job.”
She taps my chin once with the tip of her finger and laughs. “I win.”
“Hey, I’m the one getting a blow job out of this.”
“You sure are.”
“And I will fuck you later,” I say.
“You think so?” she adds.
OK. I’ve had it. I’m taking charge of this woman right now. I lean forward and kiss her mouth, one hand tugging on that stupid pigtail. I press her back into the pocket door and slip the other to the button of her shorts, repeating all my hard work from two minutes ago.
“It’s a promise,” I whisper into the kiss.
“Challenge accepted,” she whispers back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - EMMA
Hate fuck, round two.
Except there’s no fuck. And there won’t be later, either. He even knows this. He called me out just a few moments ago. But look how quick his mini-man brain forgot what was happening.
I don’t even feel guilty about this. I won’t. I refuse. Jesse Boston has this coming.
My hand finds his cock just as our eyes meet. He’s grinning when I squeeze him.
You arrogant prick, I muse, just as I begin sliding my palm up and down his shaft.
“Do you like that, Jesse?” I coo. Plumping my lips a little, the way the models do it in the glossy magazine cover ads for our lipstick.
“Oh, I like it,” he growls. “But I like this more.”
He places his hand flat on the back of my head and urges me to kneel.
I don’t even resist and my hand never stops tugging on his dick as I lower myself down and settle in front of his legs.
My smile creeps across my face as I tilt my head up to lock eyes with him.
“I’m telling you,” he says. “You’re not gonna win. You know I’m better at this than you are. You’re about to give me what I want. You’re on your fucking knees with my cock in your—”
He doesn’t get any farther. Because I take my pouty little mouth right up to the tip of his cock and plump my perfect lips around his head.
He closes his eyes for a moment. Then opens them real fast like he didn’t mean to do that.
But he totally did that.
It takes some concerted effort on my part not to laugh.
Was this my plan when I came up with the idea to out-power-date him today?
No. But so what? He put me here, he’s refusing to back down, he’s being cocky—so this is what he gets.
A little blow job is a small price to pay to see the look on his face when this is all over and he realizes—this is all over.
I take him a little deeper. My hand still working its magic. In fact, I double-hand him. Two fists around his fat cock.
Hmmm. I lower my eyes from his to get a better look at it.
It is kinda fat. Nice and thick. And long.
I’d forgotten how nice and thick and long, actually.
But so what? That’s just good for me, isn’t it?
Wait, no. I’m not going to fuck him. Eye on the prize, Emma. And the prize is…
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Jesse moans. He’s got both hands on my head now and he’s rocking his hips with the rhythm of my motion. Pushing his cock a little bit deeper with each forward thrust. And I have to admit, this is kinda hot.
Wait, what was the prize again?
Yeah. I remember. I’m the boss here. Not him.
“Put your hands on my legs,” he says.
I glance at his legs. Notice the muscles of his thighs through his tight jeans. Jesus, he’s got nice thighs too.
“Do it,” he says.
I don’t do it because he tells me to. I do it because I just want to feel those muscular thighs for myself.
Oh, God.
“Yes,” Jesse says. “Rub them. I like that.”
I am rubbing them. His jeans are soft, but I suddenly wish he wasn’t wearing them.
He fists my hair and starts to thrust forward with a little more determination. And now that my hands aren’t in charge of how deep he enters me, he takes advantage of his newfound power and makes me gag.
I press on his thighs, pushing him back a little to give myself some space. But he doesn’t yield to my subtle hint and I just barely gain enough distance to stop his cock from sliding down my throat.
OK. Fine. I see what he’s doing. It’s hard to get the upper hand when you’re giving a blow job, but certainly not impossible.
I might not be a blow job expert, but I’m no amateur.
My eyes lock with his, daring him to give me what he’s got.
“Oh, you’re going to regret this,” he says, smirking like the bossy baby Boston brother he is.
“Mmmm-mmmm,” I hum, letting my vocal cords vibrate around his cock. We lock eyes again and if I didn’t have his monster dick practically down my throat, I’d smile.
But he gets the idea. Bring it, my look says.
He grips my hair, pulling on the one pigtail I have left, then forces my face all the way to his stomach.
I gag hard this time.
Fucking asshole.
But I refuse to give in and let him win. I will not. I take it like a champ. I open my mouth as wide as I can, let him push himself inside me as far as he wants, and I will myself to hold it together. Staring up at him. Daring him to try it again.
He doesn’t relent. Just holds me there. Doing his best to force me to give in.
But I don’t.
I breathe through my nose and narrow my eyes.
“Oh, fuck,” he says. Glaring down at me. “Fuck.”
Take that, you cocky asshole.
He eases up first and I suck in a huge breath as saliva spills out over my lips.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. And I’m pretty sure he’s impressed. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t expecting me to be so adept at this blow-job stuff.
But I don’t even take a moment to relish his surprise. I swipe the spit off my chin and slap it on his cock with both hands, then give him a two-fisted hand job as I ease my head forward once more.
I don't wait for him to make me do anything.
I take him deep. I take him deeper than I’ve ever done before.
I make myself gag this time. But I hold it in. Breathing through it.
He’s moaning things like, “Fuck.” And, “Jesus Christ.” And, “Emma, my God. My God!”
I come up for one quick breath and then dive back in, giving it my all. I bob my head back and forth, both hands still pumping, my lips, my mouth, my chin all slick with the wetness of my own saliva. His belt buckle jingles with the motion of my take-charge attitude. He bends his knees a little and his cock suddenly hits the back of my throat.
But I hold that gag in. I refuse to give him that kind of control.
I will win this little blow job battle, my friend. You just watch me.
I reach for the hem of my tank top and whip it over my head and suddenly my nipples bunch into tight peaks and pull my spectacular breasts up right along with them.
“Holy fuck,” he groans.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I hum, still working him with my mouth. That’s right, motherfucker. Enjoy them while you can.
My hands are really getting into it now. I squeeze, and slide, and pump, and tug and—
“Fuck!” he yells.
I’m pretty sure Miles heard that yell all the way up in the front cabin, over the thrumming jet engines, with two closed pocket doors between us.
And I do not care.
I am about to win!
His cock slips out of my mouth and I jerk it hard. Looking up into his eyes. And I say, “Come on my tits, Jesse. Come on them right now.”
He doesn’t want to.
I mean, of course he does. But he knows. He now knows just how bossy I am. Just how out of control he is.
Because he grits his teeth. Clenching his jaw. Trying his best to hold it in.
But my hands. Oh, my hands are magic right now. And his dick is slick with my saliva so they slip and slide along his shaft. Gripping tight.
“Do it!” I say. “And next time I’ll let you come on my face.”
Shit. That kinda slipped out. There’s not going to be a next time. But whatever. It works. Because he opens his mouth, and pulls my hair, and the next thing I know his milky-white come is spurting all over my breasts.
I bite my lip to stop the smile.
He bows his head and closes his eyes. His cock still jerking and trembling from his release. His come still spurting out in small bursts.
I lean forward, grab a fistful of his shirt, and wipe my mouth.
He doesn’t even care.
Not now, anyway.
But he will.
Take that, you arrogant bossy brother.
“Fuck,” he says, sitting down on the bed and flopping backwards.
This gives me a really nice, long look at his cock. Because it’s still hard and it flops back with
him. Flat against his stomach. Lying to the side a little, accentuating the cut muscles of his hips.
Damn.
Why does he have to be so hot?
“Emma,” he says, extending a hand.
I squint my eyes at that, but his are closed so he doesn’t even see it.
“Come here,” he says, when I don’t speak or move.
“Why?” I ask, standing up so I can look down on him.
He’s unbuttoning his shirt.
“Oh, no, motherfucker,” I say. “We’re not—”
“Shut up,” he says, eyes still closed. “You fucked up my shirt already.” He says this as he twists and turns to take it off. “Might as well use it to wipe your tits too.”
I frown.
He throws it at me. Still, those eyes are closed. Like he’s beat.
I catch it and shrug. It’s probably a two-hundred-dollar shirt. So what the hell. I wipe his come off and throw it back, making sure it lands on his face.
He laughs, fucking eyes still closed, and tosses it aside. “Come here,” he says. This time his fingers do that little beckoning motion. “I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to hold you.”
“What?” I snap.
He opens one eye. Grins. “That was amazing. I honestly—fuck. Was not expecting you to be so…”
“So what?” I growl.
“Just come here.” He sighs. “I’ll get you off while I doze.”
“You asshole!”
But a moment later he sits up, grabs my wrist, and pulls me so hard, I land on top of him.
“There,” he says, humming the words into my neck as he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. “See. That’s better.”
And even though this is not what I was expecting or wanting, and being wrapped up in his arms implies I’m under his protection and that’s not what I was going for…
I relax and let him hold me.
Just for a moment, I tell myself. Just a few moments. Then I’ll get up, put my shirt back on, and walk out the winner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - JESSE
The rumble of waves and the sweet, rocking motion of the yacht wake me up from a deep, heavy sleep. Damn. I sigh. It’s so great to be back on the yacht.
“Are you awake, Mr. Boston?” an unfamiliar voice asks.
I crack open one eye, realize I’m lying face down on a bed, have a moment of panic that I’m not on the yacht and actually have no clue where I’m at. Then spy the portholes in the side of the cabin and relax.
