Shit, that is a beautiful back. So toned, tanned, and with no signs of the scratches from last night. The way his muscles ripple with every movement... It’s mesmerizing. I run my eyes over the smooth expanse of skin, tracing the subtle curves and dips of his spine. I take in the tattoos that cover the top of one of his arms. Dark images that connect together and snake around his corded muscles and prominent veins. I squeeze my legs shut in a failed attempt to ease the want that’s already building inside me.
I walk closer to him, stepping around the kitchen counter, and confusion hits me like a slap to the face. My dogs—who usually hate men—sit in a semicircle behind him. They barely glance at me, when usually they would be battling for my affection.
“I’ve already taken them out for a walk,” he says once he turns to face me, probably noticing my jaw hanging open as I stare at my distracted dogs. “I would have run with them, but my clothes didn’t exactly suit.”
“I’ve never seen them like this before,” I mutter, shaking my head. “They’re all rescues, and they’ve come from pretty awful backgrounds. They usually don’t take to men. Not even my dad.”
“Dogs are pack animals,” he offers with a casual shrug. “They respect hierarchy and understand their place in the pecking order. They accept that I’m above them and take comfort in knowing where they stand.”
My mouth goes dry as I nod, because same, apparently.
“So, tell me,” he continues, “what’s a little kitten like you doing surrounded by so many big dogs?”
My cheeks heat with that nickname again. If only he knew. “I’ve always preferred dogs. Cats are so solitary. So independent. Which is how I am too, I guess. I’ve never really felt I belonged anywhere, but I suppose I like the idea of being a part of their pack.”
I have no idea why I’m telling him all this. Something about him pulls me in and cracks me open. It makes me want to bare my soul, even though there’s so much I can never tell him and nothing he seems to want to share with me.
“Good answer,” he says with a smirk that should be illegal. I can only see his mouth and jaw under his mask, but even that little glimpse has me weak in the knees. Coated in a light layer of stubble, his jaw is visibly angular. Strong and masculine, like the rest of him.
“Come here, Kitten.” He crooks a finger in my direction, and it’s an act that has never before been so enticing. It’s an unmistakable order, so reminiscent of how he treated me last night that it has my nipples pebbling. His eyes drop down, and his smile widens.
“So responsive,” he mutters as I step close to him. He slides the robe down over my shoulders, sending sparks of electricity over my now bare skin. He grasps the silky fabric before it hits the floor, then folds it carefully and sets it on the counter. Butterflies erupt in my stomach. It’s such a small thing. Something most wouldn’t care about in the heat of the moment. But for someone like me it allows me to fully relax. Knowing that even when he is undressing me, he has the capacity to stay in control and maintain order. That he wants to look after me, and by extension, my belongings.
He runs a hand down my spine before landing on the globes of my ass and then moving to the plug that I have left untouched. “You kept this in?”
“You told me to, Sir.”
“Yes, I did. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”
“Ye… yes, Sir.”
“Out,” he says in a clipped tone, so authoritative that it has me stepping back immediately. “Not you,” he says, tone softening as he grasps my hand and pulls me back to him. I watch in wonder as all five dogs stand and trot out of the room.
He positions me bent over the table once we are alone, and anticipation builds in my gut when he kisses the base of my neck. The air in the room thickens, charged with a tension I can almost taste. My pulse quickens with each slow, deliberate stroke of his hands down my back. I grip the edge of the table, knuckles white as I try to ground myself in the present, but my mind is already racing, conjuring images and possibilities, both thrilling and terrifying.
The scent of him, fast becoming a familiar blend of citrus, amber, musk, cinnamon, and sandalwood, washes over me, further heightening the sense of expectation and anticipation. A silent plea forms on my lips, a whispered prayer for control and the ability to navigate whatever is about to happen. My breath hitches in my throat, a knot of mingled fear and excitement tightening with every passing second. We’re not in the club now. Not in a place where if I say my safe word and he doesn’t listen, security will intervene.
“I’m going to eat your sweet cunt for breakfast,” he says, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “When you have come onmy face twice, I’m going to fuck your pussy until you come again. Then I’m going to remove the plug, and you’re going to go have a shower while I make you breakfast. Color?”
“Ye… yellow, Sir.”
“Which part?”
“I should shower first. You cleaned me up with wipes last night, but I’m not clean enough for you to lick me down there.”
“I wouldn’t care if your cunt was dripping with my cum,” he whispers, molding his body to my mine. He places one hand over my own on the table, and the second one wraps around my stomach, making sure I stay in this position. “Is it a hard limit for you?”
“No, Sir. I just don’t want you to… You shouldn’t have to—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” he snaps. “Who is in control here?”
“You, Sir.”
“And do I say things I don’t mean?”
“No, Sir.”
“So if I say I want to eat your pussy, what do you say?”
