“Is that how a queen pleasures herself, so timidly?” he admonished. “Show me how you really touch yourself, pet. All those nights when you were alone in your bed, wishing it was Wednesday. Thinking of me just on the other side of the door and how I ought to have been in your bed instead, filling you with my hard cock. Taking away the ache in your cunny that your hand could only partially satisfy.”
Her breath panted from her lips, desire and shame a combustible mix. How had he guessed what she’d done? Yet the glint in his eyes wasn’t one of disgust but hungry desire. Her gaze dropped to the front of his trousers, where his enormous erection tented the fabric. He was aroused by the thought of her touching herself. Of her finding wanton pleasure.
Heady with wanting, she began to stroke herself. Slowly at first, then with increasing confidence, she explored her aching flesh. Finding the center of her sensation, she rubbed there, using that covert rhythm and friction that had eased her lonely nights. Only now she wasn’t alone, she was with her master, whose dark, lustful encouragement propelled her rapidly toward her peak.
“That’s right, pet. Diddle your pearl, rub your sweet cream all over it.”
Gasping, she moved her fingers faster and faster, the muscles of her pussy clenching…
“Come for me,” he commanded.
She moaned as her release washed over her, a tide of bliss that made her toes curl against the mat. She would have stumbled had he not caught her against him. His iron-hard cock pressed into her belly.
“So beautiful, my queen,” he growled.
He took her hand, the one she’d used to stroke herself, and brought it to his lips. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, the warm, wet pull releasing a fresh wave of need.
“Delicious,” he said thickly. “I’ll have more of that after.”
“After what?” she asked breathily.
“After I enjoy the pleasure of your mouth.”
His words from several nights ago flashed in her head.Another time, I’ll put you on your knees and wet my cock between your sweet lips.The idea had intrigued her, stimulated her, touched upon a nerve of longing that made her lick her lips now.
He caught that movement, his eyes turning darker than midnight. He cupped her shoulders, pressing downward even as her knees bent of their own accord. Kneeling at his feet, she looked up as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the glory of his muscle-paved chest, all that rippling sinew dusted with hair. His long, clever fingers unknotted the colorful sash at his waist. It occurred to her that a sultan wouldn’t disrobe; he’d have his slave do it for him.
When she touched his hand, he stilled.
“May I do it for you?” she asked softly.
Her courage paid off; his eyes flashed with approving hunger. At his nod, she went to work, pulling the belt from its loops. She found the fastener behind his waistband, undoing it with trembling eagerness. As she tugged the garment down, her thumbs tracing the steely arcs of muscle on his hips, the fabric caught on his rampant erection.
He shivered as she freed the material from his jutting member. She worked the trousers over his knees and down to his large, bare feet. As he stepped out of them, she was treated to an erotic view of his swaying cock, a long, heavy branch that defied the pull of gravity. His balls hung like a succulent plum, swollen and ripe with juice.
Naked, standing like a proud king, he wrapped his fingers around his mighty scepter. He stroked himself almost thoughtfully as her anticipation spiraled higher and higher. She waited, her eyes automatically finding his as she awaited his pleasure…and her own.
“Have you sucked my cock before?” he inquired.
“No.” Her throat convulsed with desire, curiosity...and regret.
All these years, she’d been hiding, choosing to live in a cupboard when her marriage was a palace waiting to be explored. When room upon room of dazzling pleasures had awaited her. How she wished she’d had the courage to discover this intimacy sooner.
“An oversight I intend to rectify immediately.”
His forceful scrutiny banished her thoughts of the past, anchored her in the scorching reality of now.
“Take my cock in your hand and stroke it.”
With quivering enthusiasm, she obeyed. He leapt at her touch, the feeling of holding his hard vitality giving her an indescribable rush. He strained against the limits of her clasp, her fist barely fitting around him.
“Use both hands to frig me,” he said.
Loving the guttural edge in his voice, she did as she was told, using two hands to work his meaty stalk, to drag that velvety skin up and down over the iron core. When her fists descended, exposing his purplish tip, a drop of liquid leaked from the slit at its center. The urge to taste him was a visceral need.
“Lick it off.”
His dark permission banished any lingering uncertainty, cocooning her in the present. There was only her and her sultan, the all-encompassing passion between them. She leaned in, swiping her tongue across his burgeoned crown, his essence affecting her senses like a drug. She couldn’t help drawing on him, her lips fitting around his thick dome, trying to coax out more of his salty male elixir.
