inside my mind and pick out whatever information they chose. He smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks.
“Good evening, Sir.” I smiled back, relieved and giddy that he was here.
“So you wish to watch tonight, then,” he said, coming to stand in front of me.
He put his hands on the wall either side of my head.
It reminded me of last night.
He was close. Hemmed in as I was, I wouldn’t want it any other way. He dominated the space now, and it seemed everyone else in the room had disappeared, leaving only him and me, enclosed in our bubble.
“I do, Sir,” I said, breathless and loving it. How was it he could affect me this way, where I changed from what I thought was a relatively mature woman to one who, for a moment after meeting up with him, couldn’t function on all cylinders? “Although that might change the longer we’re here.”
“I rather thought it might. It always does.”
He dipped his head and kissed me, lips warm and soft, his tongue delving inside to erase every thought I’d ever had and any that had a mind to come in the next few seconds. That was what he did to me with his kisses—rendered me totally senseless, with my focus only on what he was doing and how he made me feel.
I adored him. Far too much for my own good in such a short space of time.
He eased away but remained close enough that mere inches separated our faces. “Dinner last night was good, wasn’t it.”
“Yes, Sir. But dessert was better.”
* * * *
He moves me up against the brick wall outside the back of the restaurant, a large wheelie bin keeping our liaison private. Hands clamp on my shoulders and he pushes me down, down, down, until I’m on my haunches, the bulge of his cock inside his trousers level with my face.
I want to see it without material covering it. To lick it from root to tip then plunge it into my mouth and listen to him groan. I want so many things with him I’ve lost count of what they all are. Everything—I want to try everything.
“Take my cock out, pet,” he says, sifting his fingers through my hair. “Take it out and suck it.”
I obey, at first circling my finger and thumb around his base, then sliding my mouth over him. He fills me nicely, his cock wide. The taste of him is musky. His flavor spreads onto my taste buds, and I curl my tongue to create a tight suction.
“That’s it,” he says. “You suck me just like that.”
* * * *
He smiled then chuckled. “Yes, dessert was wonderful.”
“I could indulge in the same right now, Sir.”
“I’m sure you could, but I think I’ll be the one eating this evening.”
He traced one of my cheekbones with the pad of his thumb, looking at me intently again, searching for something—what, I didn’t know. He’d recently had his hair cut into a style that suited him, shorter back and sides with a longer fringe that he waxed to one side. It gave him a debonair look, someone from days gone by, him Rhett Butler to my Scarlett O’Hara. He’d once said he adored my 1940’s look—how that, as well as my golden shoes, had snagged his heart. I’d melted, of course I had, and he, in turn, had snagged me.
“What had your full attention before I came in?” he asked.
“The men at the cross, Sir.”
“Because?”
“It’s clear there’s more to them. The way they look at each other.”
“I see. And you like emotions worn on sleeves, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, you do, which is why I like to wear mine there. For you to see. For anyone to see.” He took his thumb from my face and stroked lightly over my coiffed curls. “Will you ever realize quite how lovely you are?”
“I’m trying to, Sir. Trying to.”
It had been hard to adjust to Master Red, as he was known, who lavished praise and endearments on me as easily as scattering confetti. They sailed down, covering me, filling me with awe, and at first I’d wondered whether that was just his way. But lately, that look he gave—the same as the
“Good evening, Sir.” I smiled back, relieved and giddy that he was here.
“So you wish to watch tonight, then,” he said, coming to stand in front of me.
He put his hands on the wall either side of my head.
It reminded me of last night.
He was close. Hemmed in as I was, I wouldn’t want it any other way. He dominated the space now, and it seemed everyone else in the room had disappeared, leaving only him and me, enclosed in our bubble.
“I do, Sir,” I said, breathless and loving it. How was it he could affect me this way, where I changed from what I thought was a relatively mature woman to one who, for a moment after meeting up with him, couldn’t function on all cylinders? “Although that might change the longer we’re here.”
“I rather thought it might. It always does.”
He dipped his head and kissed me, lips warm and soft, his tongue delving inside to erase every thought I’d ever had and any that had a mind to come in the next few seconds. That was what he did to me with his kisses—rendered me totally senseless, with my focus only on what he was doing and how he made me feel.
I adored him. Far too much for my own good in such a short space of time.
He eased away but remained close enough that mere inches separated our faces. “Dinner last night was good, wasn’t it.”
“Yes, Sir. But dessert was better.”
* * * *
He moves me up against the brick wall outside the back of the restaurant, a large wheelie bin keeping our liaison private. Hands clamp on my shoulders and he pushes me down, down, down, until I’m on my haunches, the bulge of his cock inside his trousers level with my face.
I want to see it without material covering it. To lick it from root to tip then plunge it into my mouth and listen to him groan. I want so many things with him I’ve lost count of what they all are. Everything—I want to try everything.
“Take my cock out, pet,” he says, sifting his fingers through my hair. “Take it out and suck it.”
I obey, at first circling my finger and thumb around his base, then sliding my mouth over him. He fills me nicely, his cock wide. The taste of him is musky. His flavor spreads onto my taste buds, and I curl my tongue to create a tight suction.
“That’s it,” he says. “You suck me just like that.”
* * * *
He smiled then chuckled. “Yes, dessert was wonderful.”
“I could indulge in the same right now, Sir.”
“I’m sure you could, but I think I’ll be the one eating this evening.”
He traced one of my cheekbones with the pad of his thumb, looking at me intently again, searching for something—what, I didn’t know. He’d recently had his hair cut into a style that suited him, shorter back and sides with a longer fringe that he waxed to one side. It gave him a debonair look, someone from days gone by, him Rhett Butler to my Scarlett O’Hara. He’d once said he adored my 1940’s look—how that, as well as my golden shoes, had snagged his heart. I’d melted, of course I had, and he, in turn, had snagged me.
“What had your full attention before I came in?” he asked.
“The men at the cross, Sir.”
“Because?”
“It’s clear there’s more to them. The way they look at each other.”
“I see. And you like emotions worn on sleeves, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, you do, which is why I like to wear mine there. For you to see. For anyone to see.” He took his thumb from my face and stroked lightly over my coiffed curls. “Will you ever realize quite how lovely you are?”
“I’m trying to, Sir. Trying to.”
It had been hard to adjust to Master Red, as he was known, who lavished praise and endearments on me as easily as scattering confetti. They sailed down, covering me, filling me with awe, and at first I’d wondered whether that was just his way. But lately, that look he gave—the same as the
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