He grabs a bottle of water from the side table and opens it.
“Drink.” He sets the bottle to my lips. He doesn’t let me take it from him, just holds it for me, giving me small sips until I’ve had half the bottle. And I’d be lying if I said that his controlling behavior didn’t make me weak. “More?”
I shake my head.
“Good girl.”
I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long, and they sound better than I imagined. I melt. My limbs are boneless when he shifts me onto the couch and tucks another towel around me. “Now don’t move.” He stands up and heads to the sauna room, presumably to get us two robes.
It takes a second for me to figure out how to use my legs, and when I do, I’m as wobbly as a new colt. But I make a break for it. I don’t know what the Dread Lord is up to, and I have no power to resist him. I need to escape!
He catches me before I get to the stairs.
And that’s how I find myself tossed over his shoulder and carried upstairs like a sack of grain.
“Put me down!” I kick my legs, and he claps a hand to my ass. Not hard, but he has a big hand, and any more force and it would sting.
“No. I told you not to move, and you disobeyed me. Bad girl.” His voice has the perfect amount of growl to it, and his hand rubs my bottom, soothing me. He’s the Dread Lord of all my fantasies come to life. But not even Fantasies Number One through Seven Thousand, Six Hundred and Twelve prepared me for how I respond to him. If he sets me down, I’d fall to my knees and beg for his cruelty. There’s no way I can fight him.
So I give up, going limp and letting my head and wet hair hang down to the floor.
He carries me through the house, up to the top floor. From my upside-down position, it takes me a moment to recognize my bedroom. He carries me into the bathroom, right into the shower and leaves me dangling while he turns on the warm spray.
Finally, he sets me down. “Let’s get you clean so I can dirty you up again.”
Santa, save me!
The shower is one of those fancy glass-enclosed ones. It’s enormous, with a stone bench for sitting, but no amount of space is enough because the Dread Lord is in the shower with me. Not only is he hanging around, but he takes the hand sprayer down and uses it to rinse me off. I turn to grab it away from him, and he flips me around so my back is to his front. His dick pokes me, but he clamps his arm around me so I’m trapped.
And then he directs the spray between my legs. I cry out, writhing, trying to get away, but he holds me tight and uses the jet right above my clit. It really is like being fucked by a waterfall.
Sweet Santa, I thought I had elaborate Dread Lord fantasies, but I never imagined this. This blows even Fantasy No. Sixty-nine away.
It’s not just the pressure pummelling my sexy bits. It’s also Piers, his muscles bunching as he grips my neck and holds me fast, making me take it. He knows just how to direct the sprayer, too, so it doesn’t hit my clit directly. Not too much, just enough to drown me in pleasure. My muscles clench, cramp, and release. Did I come? I think I just came again.
Piers’s cock is a club in my back, a promise. A threat. But he’s ignoring his own needs, still pummelling me with the spray, driving me toward a third climax.
“Oh my god,” I whimper. “Oh my god.”
“I told you, darling, you can call me ‘Piers. ’ Or Milord if you’re feeling medieval.”
I laugh despite myself. “Shut up.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” He maneuvers me to the wall and presses me against the tile. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’m still in charge.” Too late, I realize there are more jets built into the wall. Now, I’m caught between Piers and a hard spray. I try to fold in half, to see if I can slip away, but he clamps a hand on the back of my neck and keeps me pinned, cheek to the tile. The spraybatters my clit. I scrabble at the slick marble, and he presses harder into my back. “Be still. You can’t escape me.”
Oh fuck, I’m going to come again. My poor battered clit is tender, overstimulated. But my pussy throbs, and my insides ache, needing to be filled.
“Please,” I beg. “Please fuck me.”
A sharp inhale.
“Not yet. You have to earn that, my sweet Wellesley.”
I whimper. He sounds like all of my fantasies rolled into one.
“Now be a good girl and reach back. Hold your ass open for me.”
He’s not going to show me mercy. My breath hitches on a sob, but I do as I’m told and reach back, parting my ass cheeks so he can direct the spray onto the tender pleats of my asshole. He teases me, circling my rear hole, getting closer and backing off, until I’m shaking. My fingers are slipping on my wet skin, and my face is smushed to the tile, but I don’t want him to let up and let me go, never, never, never. I want it all, and I want him to make me take it.
