Hear Me

She tensed all over, broke out into a sweat. The mainland. Where was that? Who would take care of her there? No, she didn’t want that. She had angered him, but how? He’d been upset after last night, but he had still fed her after that. It was only when she couldn’t speak that he wanted to send her away. Stupid slave. Broken slave.

But she could still please him. How to show it? She shook her head, just a quick shake.

“No?” he asked.

Clumsily, she took his hand in both of hers and brought it to her neck. Wrapped it around herself. His grip firmed for just a moment before his hand fell away.

“No,” he repeated. “I know what you are. I know what you want. But I don’t do that.”

Anymore remained unspoken, but she heard it.

She slid off his lap, falling onto her knees. Begging for him to keep her, despite her silence.

“Stop that,” he said, but his voice was more husky than angry now. “You’re not my sub.”

She wasn’t his, but she had woken up in his home. Not his, but he had fucked her. And maybe more telling than all of that, he had fed her, taken her onto his lap, helped her. A man didn’t do that for a woman who didn’t belong to him.

But she wasn’t so stupid as to say any of that aloud, even if she could have spoken. As usual he seemed to hear it anyway, his eyes flicking to her plate and back to her.

“Okay,” he said. “I can see how you might have gotten that impression. But I’m not looking for a relationship, and especially not one…like this.”

Her mind raced, looking for a way to convince him. Slowly, her gaze fell down over his broad shoulders, his red plaid shirt, his jeans. The bulge in his jeans. He said he didn’t want her, but his body betrayed him, just like hers did.

She reached for him; he caught her wrists in a tight grip.

“What do you want, subby?” he asked, low and suggestive.

Looking up, she was caught by the intensity of his eyes. Black and electric. His stare alone seemed to touch her, reach inside and bring her to life.

Her breath came in small pants, and he looked down at her lips.

“You can’t want this,” he groaned, but he let her hands go. It was permission; in this position, it was an order. She undid his jeans and his cock, heavy and hard, fell into her palm. It throbbed once, and she floundered. Did he want her to touch him first? Or since he was already hard, should she put him in her mouth? She couldn’t fail in this, not with him on the verge of sending her away. She looked up, for instruction, for approval.

The corner of his mouth turned up, the only smile she had seen from him. “Of course you would stop. You’ve been begging me, practically fucking me with those sexy blue eyes, but now you’re going to think about it. Sometimes I think you get off on being contrary.”

She shook her head, hard, to tell him no, she wanted to please him, but that only seemed to prove his words. He chuckled. The sound stirred something in her, something rusted with disuse.

“Then suck me, sweet girl. I know you know how.”

She put her lips to his cock on the last word, a kiss to match the name he’d called her—sweet. Then she licked, and the salty tang of him burst onto her tongue. Finding the underside, she pleasured him, because he was right, she did know how. So well, too well.

This was different than all those other times, because she wanted this. And this was his cock, his pleasure. It didn’t matter what he looked like, only that he seemed to want her and inexplicably she wanted him. What did she care about a man’s anatomy? Well, if s

he had any preference it was for a smaller cock, because she’d be less likely to gag. He was big, but she wouldn’t hold it against him.

Her breasts were pressed against the insides of his thighs as she fought to get closer, to take more of him, and she felt his muscles flex with every flick of her tongue. She laved the underside of his cock, and he jerked in her mouth. She swallowed him, and he groaned. She felt like she was sailing, fine-tuning the sails with her ministrations but ultimately at the mercy of the sea.

His thumb found her collarbone and swept back and forth, back and forth. “Christ, you’re good at this. You know that, right?”

She paused and looked up at him, her mouth still full with his cock.

“Surely the men told you all about your hot mouth, your wicked tongue. Didn’t they?”

He had to know she couldn’t answer, but even the true question seemed unspoken. His eyes were dark with lust. And troubled, by something she couldn’t comprehend.

He tangled his fingers in her hair and tightened. “You could own a man like that,” he whispered.

His words surely weren’t true; they were a puzzle. But maybe, yes. She swirled the tip with the right amount of suction that they always liked, and he let his head fall back. She found his balls, cupping them, rolling them, and he pumped his hips into the air. She wasn’t stupid, for all that they’d called her that. She wasn’t slow, though sometimes she felt that way. He was like any man; all he wanted was pleasure. That’s what he must have meant. She could stay if she pleased him; yes, she knew.