Rogue Master – Qwillia Rain
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“And what about your fiancé?” He needed to know how much she was aware of the situation. Injecting this hint of reality could diffuse the want. The need. Even if it wouldn’t change the outcome.
There was a hint of hesitation before she asked, “Are you going to tell him?”
Rick took a deep breath, tried to push down the desire. The truth wouldn’t help, but the thoughts going through his head could sway her decision. Could scare her away. Still, she had the right to know. He slid his left hand beneath her hair to cradle the back of her neck while he tipped her face up to his with the other. The spiced rose scent of her arousal teased his nostrils. “No, I wouldn’t tell him even if I knew who he was.” He leaned close, his gaze trapping hers, the soft wash of her unsteady breath warm against his lips.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because you don’t tell a man how hard you get at the thought of fucking his virgin bride.” He watched her eyes go wide, the pupils dilate until the dark blue was a thin ring around the black center. “How the idea of hearing her scream herself hoarse because you’ve made her come so many times occupied half your mind every day while the other half tries to figure if that same tight, untouched pussy creams more for a cock or a tongue.” He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. “Or both.”
“A virgin?” Rick chuckled, infusing the sound with the wicked imaginings he’d kept bottled up for too many years. “Don’t lie, Becka. You can’t lie to me.” He moved his hand down her throat, passed her breasts, and over her belly until it hovered over the linen covered apex of her thighs. “We both know the only touch this soft honey pot has known has been yours. Until now.”
Her body swayed, pressing against him. The pounding of her heart clearly visible in the fluttering of the skin at the side of her neck.
He brushed his lips over hers then eased back. “Shall I tell you what I will do to you, Boo?”
She blinked and lifted her hands to clutch at his waist, fingers scraping over the cotton of his t-shirt.
“I’ll spread you out on your desk and drown in your taste. After you’ve creamed on my tongue, you’ll do it again on my cock. Then, I’ll turn you over and paddle your ass for disobeying orders by working late. And while your crying and your sore bottom is all hot and red, I’ll fuck you again, doggie style.”
Rick didn’t wait for her response before he settled his lips over hers. He delved deep, sweeping through her mouth reacquainting himself with each dip, nook, cranny, and hidden spot that set her body on fire. He savored the taste of blackberries and honey unique to her. The feel of her body against his, the taste of her, the soft give of her flesh beneath his touch, and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Needed to feel the clench of her pussy around his cock; the sting of her nails leaving trails of fire down his back as he fucked her hard and long.
Taking her, marking her body as his possession became his paramount thought as he crowded closer to her, pinning her against her desk. Eyes closed, he felt her fingers release his waist, stroke up his chest and grip his shoulders. She used his jacket to tug him closer, the heat of her smaller frame cushioning and warming his chest. The scent of rose and honey and summer fruit filled his head as her need escalated.
The firm tips of her breasts teased him through their layers of clothing. Through the delicate silk blouse, he explored the soft strength of her back before curling his roughly callused hands around her hips, and pulled her close. The throb of his engorged cock increased with every undulation of her body against his. Her tongue responded to the thrust and parry of his; her mouth opened allowing him unrestricted access.
He needed to feel her beneath him, taking him in, the soft cushions of her breasts and belly cradling his body as he filled her; fucked her.
Mouth locked with hers, Rick shoved the box off her desk and lifted her onto it. He separated his lips from hers and stepped between her thighs, pushing her skirt up. Becka gasped, the look in her eyes was one of excitement rather than fear. He waited a heartbeat, two, for her to tell him to stop. She reached out for him. Pulled him to her.
A groan rolled out of him the moment he looked down and spotted the silky suspenders holding up her stockings. Damn it, now he’d never get the image of her in stockings and heels and nothing else out of his head. One more bit of temptation he couldn’t resist. He claimed her mouth again.
Soon the need for oxygen overrode his desire. Rick pulled back, noting Becka’s flushed features, her half-closed eyelids, the excited rise and fall of her breasts as she gasped, her breath ragged and warm as it washed over his face. Something more than simple arousal glittered in her eyes. He clamped down on the primitive urge to establish his ownership of her. Not yet. He had to play the hand out no matter how the dom within him growled and protested at having to wait. At least, this time, he didn’t have to walk away, but she had to think she’d made the decision.
Part of his conscience pinched at the fact that he knew the outcome. What her sacrifice would be and how Fate was a cruel, vindictive bitch. He’d always known he couldn’t have her the way he wanted her. At least he could protect her. Keep her alive. That had to count for something.
“Why did you contact Dane?”
The change of subject took her aback. Becka blinked. “Wha-what?”
Rick stroked his fingers over her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. “A Master’s Gift, what did you want to learn there? Domination? Submission? Bondage? Which kink turns you on, Boo?”
The flush in her cheeks deepened as her gaze darted to the side. Toward the vase of bamboo. The thrum of blood through his cock increased. There was no damned way Becka could possibly want—Rick forced the fantasy aside.
Leaning close he drew her focus back to him with a soft tap to her cheek. “Look at me.”
Becka’s eyes met his, a blend of fear, surprise, and want clearly expressed in the depths of her blue eyes the lean of her body toward him, the heat radiating from her body.
“What did you want to learn from Dane?”
“I—I don’t know. Nothing specific,” she stammered, dropping her gaze again.
Reaching out, Rick gripped the taut nipple on her left breast between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. “Don’t lie to me.”
She gasped and reached up to stop him.
He slapped her hand aside and tightened his hold. “Answer me.”
Pain flared in her expression then she narrowed her gaze and glared up at him, the light of battle clear in her eyes. “Nothing specific,” she snapped, then added, “Besides, it had nothing to do with you.”
Apparently, playing nice wasn’t going to work. “You know what happens to pretty little liars, Becka?”
She reached up and gripped his wrist as his fingers tightened on the hard bud. “Do I care?”
“You should.” Rick released her breast and grasped both sides of her blouse. “Because pretty little liars, Boo, don’t get to choose how they get fucked.” With a quick yank, he sent buttons flying and shoved the blouse off her shoulders, binding her arms in the silky fabric.
Tied and Twisted (Best Bondage Erotica Anthology) : Jodie Griffin
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Ropespace. I love it, and Mason knows it.
“Here we go, love. Lift your arms.” Mason’s low words were murmured. There’s not much talking when he’s working his magic. He lets me zone out, his touches sure but gentle, his hands directing me where he needs me to go. He began wrapping rope around my body in a harness —my shoulders, my chest, my waist, my hips—and I swayed along with his movements, my eyes closed.
“Fucking beautiful.” His words came from behind me and landed in my ear. I smiled, in my happy place. Then he pinched my nipple and bit my neck and I shivered, leaning back against him. His hands continued to touch me, adjusting rope, teasing skin.
I heard him say thank you—to the safety monitor, I guessed— and then he maneuvered me a few steps forward. I still had my eyes closed, but I felt him attach my harness to the suspension ring, and then a bunch of tugging as he shifted me horizontal, my feet coming off the ground. He pulled harder and lifted me higher, then tied the ropes off.
I was face up, floating on air. I let my head drop back and my arms fly to my sides, my bones and muscles shifting to settle within their rope bounds. I gasped as part of the harness, ropes that ran between my legs, came to rest in the crack of my ass. The knot Mason had tied in them was at exactly the right spot to press against the fat plug he’d teased and tortured into my ass this morning.
It felt so damn good to be outside, naked, swinging from a tree in a very adult, very kinky twist on a favorite pastime. September was the perfect time for this. Not too hot, and most of the mosquitoes were gone. The sun was warm on my body, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees.
Mason bent my leg and wrapped rope around my thigh and calf, binding them together. Apparently I wasn’t going to be allowed to simply fly free today. My muscles screamed for a moment, but when he finished the tie, they relaxed. He moved to the other leg, doing the same. This time, though, he tied it off to the ring, so one bent leg was up, and the other was hanging down, not suspended by anything but gravity. Air blew against my core, making me shiver, and then I realized it was Mason, not a warm late-summer breeze. He licked me until I thought I’d lose my mind, twisted the butt plug and then, when I groaned, bit the inside of my thigh.
His hands coasted over my skin, between my legs, inside my body, touching me as though he had every right to, and he did. I’d given him that right the day I’d accepted his collar, and again when we’d said our wedding vows. And I loved it, more than I’d ever be able to describe to anyone. Mere words couldn’t measure what being dominated by my Master did for me.
The bite of the rope and the scratch of his skin melded into one long stream of sensation, but he still wasn’t done. Again he worked silently, allowing me time to bask in the quiet in my head. He cuffed my wrists together behind me with more rope, then tied them to the leg that was hanging free.
I heard murmurs around me but they were just white noise. I was focused on the touch of Mason’s hands and let out a gasp when his mouth sucked hard at my nipple. He clamped one and I groaned. He laughed and did the other, then tied them off to the suspension ring, tugging at the clamps, causing a delicious ache between my thighs. I made some noises but couldn’t form any words to beg him to stop—or do it harder.
I’m not sure how long Mason let me drift there, but it was long enough for my mind to empty of clutter. It was a gift of time from my Master, the one man who knew every chaotic inch of my heart, body, mind and soul.
I felt free, and safe, and loved.
Soon other things began to filter in, though I was still floating in ropespace. Mason’s hands supporting my head, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Open, baby,” he murmured in his deep, deep voice. I did, and he pushed his cock inside, gliding against my tongue. I licked him and sucked, but a flick of the rope attached to the nipple clamp had me moaning.
He bent over me, whispering in my ear in a sing-song way. “Mason’s got Addie strung up from a tree, they’re f-u-c-k-i-n-g.” On each letter, he took the opportunity to withdraw and plunge deep, pushing into my throat. I was at exactly the right angle to ease his way, and each time he pressed into me it jiggled the nipple clamps, making me gasp around his erection.
Need unfurled inside me, drawing me out of ropespace and back into the moment. I peeled my eyes open, blinking at the bright sun beaming through the leaves of the tree above me. “Please, Master! I need to come. Oh, please.”
“Not quite yet, my sweet little slut.”
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