The Venture Capitalist by LaVie EnRose, L.V. Lewis Page A

doesn’t want me to go.
    I reach around her waist and down to circle her clit with my fingers and she jerks from the contact.
    “You’re so ready. I like that very much.” I say this against her skin, in the exact places where my lips and tongue were just seconds before, knowing that breathing against the stimulated skin carries a sensation of its own.
    I nuzzle behind her ear as I continue to use her own lubrication to massage concentric circles on her most sensitive flesh. She joins me by commencing a grind of her own forward against my fingers then backward against my cock. She does this with such abandon and without any shame that her sexuality has taken over, demanding a release that she will not be denied. Endorphins will do that shit to a person, and I’m inordinately pleased at her response to such intense sexual stimuli.
    “That’s it,” I say, with a mixture of both command and encouragement. I insert two fingers inside her, stroking her G-spot, knowing that my concentration here will elicit her release quickly and efficiently. She cums all over my hand and moans so loudly I’d be concerned the neighbors might hear her if I weren’t so confident that the soundproofing installed in the walls of this room wasn’t doing its job.
    I re-enter her on the heels of her orgasm, and begin a rhythm meant to exact every ounce of pleasure from her supreme responsiveness. She is exactly what I’ve needed, a relative blank slate sexually that I can train to respond in the way I desire. She moans again and I cover her mouth with the hand she came all over seconds ago.
    Surprisingly, she darts her tongue out and tastes the saltiness of her juices, and it turns me on that she doesn’t find it distasteful.
    “Good, huh?” I retrieve my hand and lick the rest of her essence from my fingers. “Mmm. When I’m done here, I’m going to eat you up. I might even fuck your mouth while I’m eating you,” I say, between thrusts.
    Keisha makes a guttural sound and I cover her mouth again with my hand. She bites my fingers. I hiss and she releases them.
    “You sure you’ve never been a Domme?” I rasp against her ear. My own words arouse me to the point of increased tempo, and I go as deep as her petite body allows me. Employing the Tristan White signature move, I circle my hips and move into her with an ardor I haven’t experienced in years. After more than a couple dozen of these moves, I feel a quivering from Keisha which clues me in that she’s nearing orgasm again.
    I halt mid wind-up. “I don’t want you to come yet.”
    “Please.” Withheld orgasms will make the proudest woman beg.
    “I want you to remember this as you think about my offer.” I move deep inside her again and stop.
    “Please, Tristan.”
    “What do you want, Keisha?” She groans in reply and I move within her again. “Huh? Tell me.”
    “I want you . . . to make me come,” she whimpers.
    “Your wish. My command.” I continue the excruciating rhythmic pace, re-doubling the intense, punishing assault on her severely underutilized body. I can feel how close she is to the culmination of that acute crescendo of sensation once again.
    “Let go, Keisha.” My words ignite a powerful orgasm within her that will not be denied. Her body convulses as she comes setting off a chain reaction in me. I execute a few more frenetic thrusts and ejaculate, shouting incoherently and burying my face in her luscious hair.
    I breathe hard against her neck. “If damn-near vanilla is like this, I’d love to see what total power exchange is like for us.” I slide the blindfold off her eyes, release the ribbons from her wrists, and pull out of her. Rolling her with me, we collapse onto the bed. I embrace her, holding her close against my chest. Her entire body is like so much putty as she lies in my arms with a look of utter astonishment on her lovely face.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    We shower together in my Grotto’s ensuite, another wholly uncharacteristic