His hands clenched in her hair, a message for her to hold still. She did, and his hips lunged, his cock pressing forward. Pulse racing, she widened her mouth for him, welcoming the strange sensation of him entering her this way.
“Breathe through your nose, love,” he said through harsh breaths. “Mind your teeth and relax your throat as much as you can. Give me the gift of your beautiful mouth.”
She moaned around the turgid flesh pushing deeper and deeper inside her. Her hands clung to the hard trunks of his thighs as she served him with her mouth the way she had with her pussy. As he owned this part of her along with the rest. She was an eager servant to his desires, his grunts of approval building her excitement. Her cunny wept with need even as she parted her lips wider, wanting more, everything he had to give. She lost herself in the beauty of their perfectly aligned bodies, hearts, and minds.
He reached the end of her, butting the silken wall of her throat, causing her muscles to flex involuntarily. She choked, and he withdrew, panting heavily. His thumbs dashed the tears of strain from her cheeks, tears she hadn’t known had fallen.
“I’m fine,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—”
“Lie back and spread your legs for me.” His gaze glowed with savage hunger. “I want to fill you with my seed. Want you to pull it from my cock with your greedy little pussy.”
The moment her back touched the mats, he was upon her. Driving into her with a possessive force that made her scream with pleasure. Her orgasm came abruptly, a thunderclap of rapture that began in her cunny and reverberated in the deepest part of her soul. Slinging her knees over his shoulders, her master continued to ram into her, his stones pounding against her sensitive folds, his eyes burning into hers. He took her higher and higher until she was suddenly poised upon another peak.
“Come now,” he said. “Take me with you.”
Her pussy convulsed at his command, milking his hardness, pleasure bursting in her womb. He threw his head back, groaning as he shoved into her, inundating her with his scorching heat. He collapsed upon her, their bodies still joined, and she wrapped her limbs around him, welcoming his weight. For long moments, neither of them moved, bonded by the sweat of their bodies and the frantic symphony of their hearts.
Finally, he lifted his head. His sated, relaxed expression deepened her bliss.
“My own Scheherazade.” He traced her lips with his finger. “A queen who is indeed talented with her mouth.”
It amazed her that she could blush after what had just transpired.
“I’m glad you shared your fantasy with me.” He shifted his hips, drawing her attention to the fact that he was still hard inside her. His gaze serious, he said, “You don’t need to hide anything from me. I want to know what is in your heart, always.”
“Youare in my heart.” On impulse—and with great daring—she used her lower muscles to give him an intimate squeeze. “And other places.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I may have created a monster.”
Since she could feel him burgeoning inside her, her virile sultan rising once again, she took it as a compliment. Smiling, she tipped her lips up for his kiss.
She was sitting at her vanity, one of her favorite places to be. He saw that she’d probably spent a great deal of time on her toilette. She wore another new gown, expensive but vulgar in how much it displayed of her smooth white skin. Her blonde hair was arranged in ringlets that enhanced her angelic features, yet the effect was marred by her heavy face paint. A gold, crystal-encrusted demi-mask lay on the table in front of her.
She met his eyes in the looking glass.
“Let’s go to the club tonight, luv,” she cajoled sweetly. “I want to please you.”
He didn’t believe her. Behind her angel’s face lay a self-serving heart. Knowing her history, sharing a good chunk of it, he didn’t hold it against her. Life in the stews hardened you, taught you to get what you wanted, however you could get it.
He’d wanted her. She’d wanted to be wanted.
And not just by him.
“You want to please yourself,” he said bluntly. “Change out of that dress and wash that bloody paint off your face. You look like a whore.”
“You used to like me like this.”
Her sparkling lemonade voice, which he’d once loved with a young man’s passion, soured to a petulance that made impatience gnaw at his gut. He didn’t have time for a tantrum; he had a business to build.
“You liked the games we used to play,” she said, her pink lips forming a practiced pout.
Perhaps he had, once. He’d been aroused by her lack of inhibition, her penchant for dark, carnal adventures. But the older he got, the less appealing these qualities became. Especially when he realized that what stirred her wasn’t the fact that she was sharing the experience with the man she loved but the covetous looks she received from others. She thrived on being the center of lustful attention, on his mounting jealousy.
“I don’t have time for games,” he said shortly. “I have work to do.”
“Work.” She spat the word like an epithet, rising from the vanity and whirling to face him. “That’s all you care about!”
“You should care about it too. After all, my labor pays for your jewels and gowns, the roof over your head,” he said flatly.
