his
tongue retreated, only to curl around her clit.
He played there. Sucking the little button into his mouth,
rolling it over his tongue, kissing it deep and hot.
He blew against it, he moaned against it, and then he
licked around it, next to it, close to it, but never
enough. Never enough.
"Please . . . oh please, Ian, don't let me lose
it." She was so close. So close she knew she was going to
lose it. That she was going to be pushed to the point that
it fizzled and left her with a violent ache that
couldn't be satisfied.
Not again. Oh God, she couldn't bear it if Ian did that to
her. If he brought her so close, only to push her
past the point where she could come at all.
Her body was weird. Her sexuality was weird. It would kill
her. She couldn't handle it.
"Ian, it's been years." She twisted in her bonds.
"Oh God, it's been so long. Please. Don't let me lose
this. I have to come. Please, Ian."
She was desperate. He kept licking around it, building it
higher. She could only go so high, then, phfft ,
it
was just over. A violent ache that lasted for days and no
relief. She would kill. She swore she'd shoot
him with his own gun.
Then two fingers slid into her pussy. Not just slid in,
thrust in, filled her, fucked into her with deep, hard
strokes as his mouth covered her clit, sucking and licking, right there .
She screamed into the pillow. She bucked and jerked,
twisted and exploded with such force she swore
she felt her mind dissolve. It was exploding, melting, heat
was lashing at it and disintegrating it, as the
most deliriously violent orgasm of her life ripped through
her.
She was dying. She had never known why the French called it
the "little death" until now. She was dying.
Done in by the most exquisite orgasm in her sexual history,
or so she thought.
Before she managed to come down, before the first agonizing
shudders had finished with her, Ian,
diabolical lover that he was, pushed her higher.
He slid from beneath her, his fingers retreating. A second
later the iron-hard length of his cock was
tunneling inside the gripping, spasming muscles of her
pussy with hard, heavy thrusts.
Gripping the material of the curtains that bound her hands,
Kira pulled herself up, her muscles tightening
through her body as she tried to breathe. Just one good
breath as the first orgasm continued to tremble
through her body even as he lengthened it and built the
next.
The feel of his thick erection working inside her as his
hands gripped her hips, held her in place with
dominant force, was her undoing. She had never been a
submissive, either sexually or in life, but oh God,
she could definitely see the benefits at this moment.
"Ian . . ."
"I'm here, Kira." His voice was so rough,
guttural as he moved heavily behind her. "I have you, darlin'. I
won't let go."
One hand cupped a breast, his fingers working her nipple as
the other moved between her thighs,
playing her clit with just the right amount of pressure.
It was violently sensitive, but he knew how to touch, how
to stroke. Just as he knew how to fuck her.
He didn't go easy on her. He made pleasure and pain
combine, thrusting hard and deep inside her, flesh
slapping together, their moans mingling.
She couldn't bear this. Kira wasn't certain when she
realized the line she had just crossed, when she
realized that pleasure and emotion were comingling. She
knew she couldn't bear it. She knew it was too
much, too soon. She wasn't ready for this.
She tightened in his arms, fighting to pull back, to hold
on to that measure of control. She shifted, mind
and body, pulled on her training, on what she had become.
She would give him the illusion she gave
everyone else.
"Oh, no you don't." He bit her shoulder. Bit her.
Again. "Do you think it's that easy? That I'll let you
draw back now? By God, I won't take the Chameleon. I'll
have the woman."
"Please." She shook her head, her upper body
falling back to the bed, leaving her rear up, her pussy
open
tongue retreated, only to curl around her clit.
He played there. Sucking the little button into his mouth,
rolling it over his tongue, kissing it deep and hot.
He blew against it, he moaned against it, and then he
licked around it, next to it, close to it, but never
enough. Never enough.
"Please . . . oh please, Ian, don't let me lose
it." She was so close. So close she knew she was going to
lose it. That she was going to be pushed to the point that
it fizzled and left her with a violent ache that
couldn't be satisfied.
Not again. Oh God, she couldn't bear it if Ian did that to
her. If he brought her so close, only to push her
past the point where she could come at all.
Her body was weird. Her sexuality was weird. It would kill
her. She couldn't handle it.
"Ian, it's been years." She twisted in her bonds.
"Oh God, it's been so long. Please. Don't let me lose
this. I have to come. Please, Ian."
She was desperate. He kept licking around it, building it
higher. She could only go so high, then, phfft ,
it
was just over. A violent ache that lasted for days and no
relief. She would kill. She swore she'd shoot
him with his own gun.
Then two fingers slid into her pussy. Not just slid in,
thrust in, filled her, fucked into her with deep, hard
strokes as his mouth covered her clit, sucking and licking, right there .
She screamed into the pillow. She bucked and jerked,
twisted and exploded with such force she swore
she felt her mind dissolve. It was exploding, melting, heat
was lashing at it and disintegrating it, as the
most deliriously violent orgasm of her life ripped through
her.
She was dying. She had never known why the French called it
the "little death" until now. She was dying.
Done in by the most exquisite orgasm in her sexual history,
or so she thought.
Before she managed to come down, before the first agonizing
shudders had finished with her, Ian,
diabolical lover that he was, pushed her higher.
He slid from beneath her, his fingers retreating. A second
later the iron-hard length of his cock was
tunneling inside the gripping, spasming muscles of her
pussy with hard, heavy thrusts.
Gripping the material of the curtains that bound her hands,
Kira pulled herself up, her muscles tightening
through her body as she tried to breathe. Just one good
breath as the first orgasm continued to tremble
through her body even as he lengthened it and built the
next.
The feel of his thick erection working inside her as his
hands gripped her hips, held her in place with
dominant force, was her undoing. She had never been a
submissive, either sexually or in life, but oh God,
she could definitely see the benefits at this moment.
"Ian . . ."
"I'm here, Kira." His voice was so rough,
guttural as he moved heavily behind her. "I have you, darlin'. I
won't let go."
One hand cupped a breast, his fingers working her nipple as
the other moved between her thighs,
playing her clit with just the right amount of pressure.
It was violently sensitive, but he knew how to touch, how
to stroke. Just as he knew how to fuck her.
He didn't go easy on her. He made pleasure and pain
combine, thrusting hard and deep inside her, flesh
slapping together, their moans mingling.
She couldn't bear this. Kira wasn't certain when she
realized the line she had just crossed, when she
realized that pleasure and emotion were comingling. She
knew she couldn't bear it. She knew it was too
much, too soon. She wasn't ready for this.
She tightened in his arms, fighting to pull back, to hold
on to that measure of control. She shifted, mind
and body, pulled on her training, on what she had become.
She would give him the illusion she gave
everyone else.
"Oh, no you don't." He bit her shoulder. Bit her.
Again. "Do you think it's that easy? That I'll let you
draw back now? By God, I won't take the Chameleon. I'll
have the woman."
"Please." She shook her head, her upper body
falling back to the bed, leaving her rear up, her pussy
open
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