Taking it slow and easy wasn’t easy at all. She’d said she didn’t always want choices when it came to him. While that might be the natural Dom and sub stuff, if she didn’t understand she could choose, he was going to make extra sure he wasn’t doing anything she didn’t want, even if she couldn’t express those wants.
“You don’t have to question if what you’re doing and feeling is right or wrong, Daralyn. If you’re following my commands, it’s my will you’re obeying. Is my will wrong? What I want?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. I feel better, when I listen to you. Your voice…”
He continued to knead her breasts, her fingers in between, so they squeezed together, teased her nipples. As he flicked over them with his stronger touch, she jerked, gasped. She was going to kill him.
“What about my voice?” he prodded.
“It’s deep…it echoes…resonates. New word. Resonates, so when you’re talking to customers, it fills the room. When you were here the other night, it filled the space, and stayed...like warmth from the space heater. Fire.”
She could humble him. Fortunately, his desire was keeping him on point, its demands not letting the softer emotions take over before it was time.
“Rory…” The cry came as her body jerked. Her hands fluttered, turned and clasped his, his wrists. Her wide eyes went to his, and he realized her sex had spasmed with the beginning of an orgasm.
“Easy, girl. It’s all good. I’ve got you. It gets better.” He wouldn’t let anything into this space with them. It was just him and her. Nothing connecting to the world beyond them, or the past. As her hands stayed hooked on his wrists, he cupped her breasts, full flesh-on-flesh, and began to play, knead, flick, lightly pinch. “You haven’t done something I’ve asked. Spread your legs, Daralyn.”
“I’m not supposed to feel…”
“You can feel anything you damn well want to feel,” he told her, low, his eyes burning into hers in the mirror.
Too much. Too much anger. She shrank against him, and he reined it back, made a soothing note. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
She slowly did. Pushing the robe back, then parting her knees, adjusting her feet out. There. The lips of her sex, nestled in dark brown, silky hair that gleamed with moisture. Keeping one hand on her breast, he slid the other down, to the mouth of her sex. He had to lean forward to do that, which shifted his center of gravity, but he had the upper body control and strength to allow for it. Plus, he was leaning into her, a pleasant counterbalance of soft woman and the scent of jasmine.
He played his fingers over her and, as she shuddered and shook, his other hand slid upward, adjusted, closed over her throat. Her back was pressed to his legs, her shoulder blades against his knees. As she arched against his touch, her small breasts thrust out, the pink tips aching for a man’s suckling mouth. His mouth.
There’d be time for that later. Now he just wanted this.
“Look at my eyes in the mirror, Daralyn.”
She did, and when they skittered away, he made a harsh noise. They came back. “You’ll keep your eyes on my face, no matter what happens in the next few minutes. Don’t look away until I tell you that you can. See how much I enjoy watching you when you’re feeling like this.”
He’d delivered the command with the strength he’d felt it. More moisture slipped out of her, making her labia glisten, wetting his fingers. “You like it when I tell you what to do,” he growled.
“It makes me feel safe.” Her voice was strained as she delivered that gift to him. Her breath puffed along his skin because his head was bent close over hers. “Like everything’s okay, when you say it is.”
“It is.” He massaged the wetness into her swollen flesh, flicked lightly over her clit.
“Feels like…butterfly. Dancing over a flower.”
Male heat made his smile look almost dangerous, but that was because there was a glorious kind of pain fueling it. His striking girl, and her gift for words. Her love of using them in amazing ways.
“Rory…oh…”
Her back arched further, hips twitching. He tightened his grip on her throat, and the spasms grew stronger. “Is it okay…please…is it…”
“Yes. It is. It is so okay.” He squeezed that slender column lightly even as he kept his other hand moving between her legs. He sensed the strength of the orgasm he might be summoning, and he wanted to see that. He wanted to see her completely shatter from the bliss of it. But intuition told him to reinforce who was in control. “But not until I say it is.”
He put his burning gaze on her face in the mirror. “Hold your breasts in your hands like I was doing, Daralyn. Run your fingers over the nipples. Squeeze them, flick them.”
She complied, even as she made a desperate little noise in her throat that became a chain of those kinds of sounds, needy moans. He answered with rough growls of approval, and words he offered back, in a hundred different versions. “Love seeing you excited like this. Want to push you over and make you scream…”
Her eyes stayed as wide as saucers throughout all of it, every act and sensation obviously new to her. So he saw the final wave coming in those hazel depths, even before her body’s movements went from sinuous to hard jerks, deep shudders. Those wide eyes got wider, her mouth opening, seeking air.
“Now, baby. It’s okay. Let it happen.”
A cry of relief burst forth, but he saw the moment when the war started, inner defenses kicking in, a self-protection. She was trying to obey him, even as her body fought the climax like a drowning swimmer. He wouldn’t let it win.
He let the movements of her body push his fingers inside her, his thumb firmly massaging the outside. At the same time, he pressed his face to the side of hers, his lips moving down to her collar bone, her throat, below his grip. He nipped her, then a stronger bite. With it, he demanded all her attention, inside and out, past and present, be on him, on what he was requiring of her. No one else.
She lost the battle. Or won it, from his fiercely satisfied perspective. A cry became a wail, and her body lifted and fell against his grip, a wild, strong, magnificent creature. Her hair rippled over his knuckles, cascading over her back, head tipped back against his shoulder.
At the height of it, the orgasm seemed to pull from something far deeper than the body. A good orgasm did, especially for women. Her eyes wheeled around as if she was lost at sea. He pressed his hand firmly against her cunt, a sealing in of that feeling, and she rode it, her hips pressing forward, pushing her sex into his touch, body still bucking.
She almost toppled the stool once or twice, but he was firmly planted in his chair now, his core drawn tight to hold her steady, even as he kept his hand moving on her wet, spasming sex.
Only when she seemed to have experienced all the aftershocks she could did he shift that hand. He banded his arm over her chest, moved the other hand from her throat to overlap it. He held her close, cocooned against him as she slowly came back to earth.
He’d never wanted to be inside a woman more, with full feeling in his cock and every inch of the body attached to it. But this was enough for now. More than enough.
“Rory,” she whispered. Her voice was raspy. Hoarse. “Rory.”