Her hand slapped against my shoulder with her command. I didn’t know what to think of her paternalistic line, nor the whole empress thing, but carrying her did something for me. It might have been the feel of her body pressed against mine, the sensation of her weight, it might have even been some sort of fondness of the tradition of it, but I was already rearing to go.
The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows in her bedroom. She’d only occupied it for a week but the spicy scent of her perfume hung in the air lightly. I stepped up to the perfectly made bed and lowered her slowly.
Fingers slid down my arms as I stood. She clasped my wrists, holding me close. Her eyes darted to the unmistakable and pronounced bulge in my pants. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin aristocratically.
“Since you were so good to your empress, I suppose you deserve a reward.” She spoke in a snooty British accent.
I opened my mouth to respond but my jaw snapped shut a moment later. Her hand grasped me through my suit pants. She slid her fingers up and down, thumb pressing firmly against me. Her other hand worked at my belt.
Even knowing the don required a pregnancy, or at least the attempt at one, during the first year of marriage, I’d never expected Olivia to want that kind of relationship with me. Had she given me a chance on our wedding day to explain, I would have told her I was fine with artificial insemination.
If someone had told me a week ago that she’d go down on me, I would have laughed them off. Hell, I kind of figured a woman like her, one who valued her independence and power more than most, wouldn’t have been a fan of the act in the first place.
Any further thoughts on the subject fled my mind after she undid the belt. A hand on either side of the button, she tore them open. My zipper shot to the bottom, exposing the black boxer briefs that were not built to contain me.
Her touch felt electric with only the thin cotton between them and my cock. Her free hand looped under the waistband and jerked them down. Her head nodded as she followed the spring back of my freed member. She licked her lips and dove in.
Just as I suspected when she’d sucked my thumb a few moments ago, that warm mouth of hers was heaven. Her tongue took a tentative taste, a feather light lick against the underside of its head. Her eyes narrowed but then the tongue returned, its licks longer.
I sucked in a breath, eyes wide. In our first encounter, I thought her an jumpy animal, sure if I made one false move, she’d run away. The way she took the initiative now surprised me just the same, kept me in the same frozen state, but the pleasure melted my worries.
Her hand grasped the base and she dove down, taking more of me inside that mouth that had only thrown curses at me a week ago. Her eyes fluttered and with a tilt of her head, shot up to meet mine.
She wasn’t the first girl to use her mouth on me, far from it—not that I planned to share that last tidbit—but locking eyes with her in the middle of the act hit me differently. It had felt almost perfunctory with the last girl I’d been with. She was one of the ‘masseuses’ at a spa I’d taken over from the Triad when they got taken down. It was expected of her because the customers liked it, tipped more.
When Olivia’s hungry eyes rose to mine as she pulled out until just the head of my cock remained in her heavenly mouth, it wasn’t out of a desire for a bigger tip, but of a desire for me, to please me. It made me want to return the favor.
“If you don’t… don’t stop soon, I’m going to come,” I breathed.
Her eyes narrowed, giving off a look that said, ‘I thought that was the point.’ Those eyes left mine, closing and her rhythm sped. The hand on the base squeezed tighter, shifting with each bob of her mouth.
My hand fell to her shoulder. I needed some stability as my breath quickened. It hadn’t been a lie, she was about to take me over the edge. The pleasure rose to a crescendo. My hand tightened around her shoulder.
She never stopped, her tongue darting along my shaft even as I came. After that first spurt, she pulled away, her plump lips around the head. Her tongue lapped at my seed. If the orgasmic high hadn’t been ebbing, I would have had the ability to be dumbfounded. My new wife seemed full of surprises.
“Now that you’ve had your reward,” she whispered once my softening organ fell away from her lips. Her tongue licked a little dribble from them. “I think it’s time for the slave to serve his empress.”
She fell back on the bed, legs spread wide. Her skirt rode up, exposing the flesh of her smooth and tanned thighs. I understood her game, not that I planned on complaining. She wanted a little tit for tat.
I dropped to my knees between her legs. Instead of giving in to the almost overwhelming desire to dive right in, I let my fingers dance over her knees. The tips just brushed her skin with the faintest of pressure. I’d make her beg and mew for it… if I could hold myself back.
A huff of air blew out of her mouth. Her legs widened. My fingers inched up her thighs. I held my head high, eyes off the prize. The longer I let them linger on the scarlet red panties, the only thing blocking my access, the more I wanted to turn this into a sprint and not a torturously delicious marathon.
I’d already driven Olivia crazy. Her hips bucked, trying to bring us together. Her feet kicked close to her thighs. They found purchase on the bed. She used that to throw her hips up even higher. My fingers moved with them, keeping their slow and steady pace up to the ultimate goal.
“Come on,” she pleaded with a whine, “stop teasing me!”
“Now why would I do that?” My fingers retreated back toward her knees. “Anticipation will only make it better in the end.”
I left unsaid how much I enjoyed seeing her like this, keeping her in this needy position. Call it a reaction to her initial rejection or maybe a facet of my personality, but I strived for control. You had to in my line of work. By slowing down, making Olivia wait, I’d snatched the initiative.
“Waiting is overrated,” she huffed. A sigh escaped her lips, blowing a raven lock of hair from her face. “An assassin took a shot at me last week, a lot of shots. People like us don’t have the luxury of waiting.”
Her eyelids fluttered, eyes glistening with unshed tears. I froze. Any desire to tease her disappeared. Olivia wasn’t the type to admit to vulnerability. Peas in a pod, there. A vulnerability was a weakness and knowledge was power. If our enemies learned about a weakness, they’d exploit it.
She’d survived the attempt on her life physically unscathed, but not mentally or emotionally. Callous of me to not expect it. She wanted to be in the game, take the reins of her family, but her father had kept her safe and apart from it. He’d asked me to see to the former, knowing the latter was impossible with him gone.
“Olivia, you know I’ll do anything I can to protect you,” I whispered, unflinching eyes looking up to hers.
