Sweet Captivity

He turned to me, his black eyes burning with rage. Despite his fury, he handled me as though I were a fragile doll as he lifted me up in his strong arms and carried me out into the hallway. I moaned and rubbed my face against him, like the needy kitten he’d always claimed I was.

“You’re not hers,” I murmured, snuggling into his heat, loving the feel of his corded muscles rippling beneath me. “You’re mine. My Master.” I giggled. “Isn’t that funny? I always wanted a Master. And you’re mine.”

The elevator took us up to his penthouse, and he carried me to the bed. He tried to set me down and pull away, but I locked my arms around his neck, keeping him close.

“Touch me, Master,” I breathed. “Please. I need you.”

My pussy ached, and my desire for him coated my thighs.

He grasped my arms and pried them away from him. His hands slid up to my wrists, and he pressed them into the pillows above my head. I whimpered and arched my back, lust pulsing through me as he dominated my body.

“I can’t,” he rasped. His lips were twisted downward, pulling his scar to a deep slash. “I can’t be with you like this.”

Holding my wrists in place with one hand, he brushed my hair back from my face with the other. I hummed my pleasure and nuzzled into him.

“My Master,” I sighed. “Mine.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said tightly. “I’m sorry,” he continued, his voice breaking in a way I didn’t understand. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t here. I didn’t know. When Cristian told me…” He gnashed his teeth. “I should have killed him. I should have fucking killed him.”

I wasn’t used to hearing Andrés curse in English.

“You’re upset,” I observed. “Don’t be upset. Make love to me, Master.”

“Don’t call me that,” he growled, his eyes tightening with anguish.

“But you are,” I said. “I love you, my Master. My Andrés.”

He cupped my cheek in his hand. “Please, don’t say that. Don’t.”

I wasn’t used to hearing him beg, either.

“Don’t be sad,” I said, dimly noting the wetness pooling at the corners of his black eyes.

He blinked hard, and some of the wetness fell to splash against my cheek.

“Make love to me,” I urged aga

in, arching my back, lifting my tingling breasts in wanton invitation. My entire body was alive, my nerve endings crackling and popping. Heat was building inside me. I was going to burn up if he didn’t touch me where I craved it most. “I need you.”

He pressed a tender kiss against my forehead. “All right, cosita,” he murmured. “I’ll help you. I know you must be aching.”

“I am. My pussy hurts.”

“I’ll kiss it better,” he promised.

“Thank you,” I sighed in relief. He was going to touch me. He was going to kiss me. I lifted my face to his, but he turned away.

“Not your lips,” he said, still sounding oddly pained. “I can’t when you’re like this.”

“But you said you’d kiss me,” I whined. “You said— Oh!”

Ecstasy lashed through me when he lowered his mouth to my tight nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue before sucking the peak into his mouth. He didn’t use his teeth, and I was grateful. Just the heat of his mouth was intense enough to bring tears to my eyes.

“Please,” I begged, lifting my hips. I needed him to touch my pussy. It was starting to throb to the point of pain.

He shushed me gently, pressing his palm against my stomach to pin me down. He moved onto the bed with me, but his body didn’t settle atop mine. I wanted his comforting weight holding me down, but he positioned himself between my quivering thighs.

I watched in rapt fascination as he lowered his head to my pussy and touched my wet folds with his tongue. His hungry groan mingled with my harsh cry. He’d never kissed me there before. And it felt…