Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

But, oh god, whatever he was doing felt so, so good… Oooohh…

Cleo awoke with a start, her eyes flying open. Disoriented, she glanced wildly around, half expecting they were still somewhere out on the ocean, while at the same time realizing it had been a dream.

The sweet, shivery sensation of a wet, insistent tongue lapping at her sex brought her fully back to consciousness. She jerked, emitting a startled yip as she looked down at the blond head bobbing between her legs.

Master Jack lifted his head and flashed a grin. His hair was tousled, a lock falling over his forehead and into his eyes.

“Good morning, slave girl.”

He didn’t lighten his grip on her wrists, which he’d pinned down on her spread thighs. Without waiting for her response, he lowered his head again, his tongue instantly returning to the sweet spot that drove her wild.

Conflicting emotions muddled her brain. The intimacy of what he was doing made her uncomfortable, but it felt too bloody good to resist. Besides, she was his property, at least for the moment, and could do as he liked. And, blimey, he was doing it well.

Cleo let her head fall back to the pillow as shuddering spasms jerked through her body. “Please, Sir,” she gasped. “May I come?”

He lifted his head again, his deep brown eyes flashing with power. “No. You may not.”

While Cleo struggled to control her body, he released her wrists. Shifting, he straddled her chest, his hand on his erection. Her cunt throbbed with the need for release, but Master Jack apparently had other plans.

He tapped at her lips with the head of his cock. She parted them obediently, her breath quickening as he slid the silky shaft into her mouth. His eyes on her face, he moved slowly forward, impaling her. His cock was so far back in her throat she couldn’t even gag.

She stared mutely back at him, her heart thudding with excitement edged with just a tinge of fear. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move. She was in heaven.

Nothing thrilled Cleo more than a man—a Master—taking full control in this way. The delicious helplessness of the moment sent another shudder of raw pleasure coursing through her.

He pulled back a little, allowing her to steal a breath before impaling her once more. “You need this, don’t you, cunt?” he growled, his cock rock-hard against her tongue. “You need a cock down your throat to remind you what you are—a dirty little cunt who exists solely to please her Master.”

Cleo moaned against his shaft, his words tapping into the dark, secret core of her. Verbal domination was as erotic to her as any physical scene, maybe even more so. How she craved this erotic debasement. How exalted and alive it made her feel.

He moved faster as his eyes bore into her. “Isn’t that right, slave?”

“Yes, Sir,” she tried to respond, though it only came out as a garbled mumble.

All at once, Master Jack pulled away from her. Shifting down, he draped her body with his. His cock nudged at her entrance, which was sopping wet. Unable to help herself, Cleo lifted her hips, eager—no, desperate—to have him inside her.

She cried out in unrestrained pleasure as he filled her. His arms came around her, hands sliding beneath her bottom as he held her close. If he so much as moved, she would come.

And move he did. He swiveled and thrust inside her, yanking a high-pitched wail of pleasure from her lips. He panted over her as he fucked her, their bodies heating to a fever pitch.

Oh, god. So, so, so good. Oh, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop…

Master Jack shuddered, his skin hot against hers. “Cleo,” he breathed, the word infused with emotion.

Then, his masterful tone returning, he commanded, “Come for me. Now.”

He swiveled again, creating friction directly on Cleo’s swollen, over-sensitized clit. Her arms circled his neck as her body was lifted into a series of wracking climaxes. A moment later, he spurted inside her with a long, guttural groan. He remained atop her, his body now still save for the rapid patter of his heart against hers.

As Cleo’s mind cleared, panic rose in her gut. Why did the bastard have to be so fucking amazing in bed? And why had he breathed her name with such tenderness and pain?

Why had he come back into her life just as she’d finally learned to let go? And, more to the point, how the hell was she going to make it through the next four days?

After the astonishing bout of lovemaking, they took another shower, brushed their teeth and dressed. Cleo had packed several civilian outfits, as she thought of her vanilla clothing. The weather forecast called for a hot, muggy summer day, so, with Master Jack’s approval, she chose a dark blue sleeveless dress with a spray of silver stars embroidered on it, low-heeled silver sandals on her feet.