The Master (The Game Maker 2)

What would it take to get this man's mouth on my breasts? When I imagined him sucking me . . . a soft moan escaped my lips, my back subtly arching.

He clamped his hand over my nape. "What kind of escort brazenly denies a client? You're either starving at this job--or making a fortune. . . ." He trailed off when I rolled my hips, running my pussy over his cock, with only my moistened panties and his slacks between us.

I gasped at the sensation, breaths shallowing. My clitoris began to throb.

He drew his hands away, resting his arms over the back of the couch again, as if he'd made a conscious decision not to touch me. I got the impression that I was being tested somehow--or that he was. "Put your hands behind your back. Now."

He probably expected me to clasp my elbows. "Of course." Instead, I dropped my hands directly behind my ass, grasping high on his thighs to hold my balance.

He tensed again, but before he could say another word, I whipped my hips over his length. My head fell back as I moaned. I'd forgotten how irresistible sexual play could be, had forgotten about uncontrollable urges and the hardness of a man's body.

I faced the Russian, beginning to ride him. Though his gaze was rapt on our point of contact, he refused to move his own hips to meet me. No matter. The bulge of his zipper had lined up with my swollen clitoris, my soaked panties rubbing that bud. Friccion! Sultry, damp friction . . . sent me ever closer to orgasm. Soon I was panting, grinding him like a pole dancer.

He clutched the couch, his long fingers gone white-knuckled. "Is this what you think I need?" His voice alone could make me come. The husky timbre had only deepened. "To be ridden?"

"I think you need passion." I certainly did.

"Maybe if it wasn't feigned."

I nearly laughed. "Oh, I'm not feigning anything." How to tell him I would climax soon?

"Wait." He seized my shimmying hips, holding me still. "Up."

Confused, I put my hands on his shoulders and rose up on my knees. Was he kicking me off again? Then I followed his narrow-eyed gaze.

His slacks, which probably cost thousands, now had a damp spot over his groin. I'd wetted him through my panties.

I should have been worried about his reaction, but I was too far gone to care. I dropped as low as his hands would allow, wanting my pussy back atop his hot hardness.

He grated, "Blyad !" Whatever that meant. "You're truly wet for me. Very wet. You've been using me to get off?"

"Por Dios, why are you talking so much?" I said between breaths. "Want to come, Ruso."

He blinked at me. The cool, detached Russian looked stunned. "Then by all means." He released his grip. "Continue."

"Gracias." I sighed with relief, letting my nipples skim his chest on my way down. If he'd allowed that . . . I threaded my fingers through his hair and leaned in to kiss his neck. When I gave a little suck over his pulse point, his head tipped back.

I lost the ridge of his zipper, so I writhed atop him, hunting for it. Had his hips finally moved? Did he want that contact too?

I found the perfect spot. "Ay, perfeccion."

When I set back in, he faced me, his blue gaze flicking from my eyes, to my lips, down to my tits and thong and back.

As I pleasured myself, his own lips caught my attention. They were as attractive as everything else about him. The fuller bottom one had a sexy dip in the middle. What would it be like to kiss him?

Ivanna said it bonded people too much, and that you had to save something special for a lover in your life. I had no lover, and no fear of bonding. Right now, hovering on the edge of orgasm, I had no fears at all! I gazed at his lips, licking my own.

"You think I need to be kissed?" His words were hoarse.

"Doesn't everyone--"

He bucked his hips hard, rocking his unyielding cock against my panties.

At last! "Oh! Friccion . . . Do it again, por favor."

He did it again. And again. Soon he was groaning with each thrust, but the sound was pained, as if he were getting punched in the stomach at the end of each one--or cutting himself off.

I'd think about all this--later. "Don't stop!"

As he shoved against my pussy, I muttered incomprehensible things, switching from one language back to the other, struggling to communicate that I was on the verge. "Oh, my God. Ay, Dios mio."

"You're about to come?" he asked in a strained voice.

"About to combust!" I clasped his face with both hands.

Our gazes locked. His was still defiant and angry, his chin jutting stubbornly--even as he met my undulations.

"No, no, carino." Rubbing my thumb over his bottom lip, I whispered, "No te pongas bravo conmigo. Don't be angry with me. We'll both feel good soon." I leaned down and covered his mouth with my own. His lips were firm and hot. I licked the seam of them, whimpering. My movements quickened until I was bucking over the Russian's cock.

He parted his lips; the tip of my tongue found his, the spark that set off--

Pleasure. Exploding. Electrifying me.

Currents sizzled through my veins to make way for . . . fire.

"Mmmm!" I cried out into his mouth. Bliss engulfed me, forcing my hips to gyrate on him. Lost, I rubbed my tits against his chest. I moaned, riding him like a toy as my pussy contracted over and over.

Only as sanity returned and the spasms faded did I realize he wasn't returning the kiss. I drew back.

He'd gone completely still. That strain within him only grew. "You kissed me. You came. That was not supposed to happen."

"It was the heat of the moment. No te pongas--"

He wrapped my hair around his fist, forcing me closer till our lips met.

When I gasped, he set in with a fervor. He kissed as if he hadn't taken a woman's lips in years, as if he'd only been storing up need. I panted; he heaved breaths. His hands dropped to clench my half-bare ass.

A growl sounded from his chest. An actual growl. The idea of inspiring that kind of lust turned me on so much, my arousal returned multiplied. I held his face between my hands and sucked on his tongue. He groaned, his fingers digging into my curves as I started grinding on him again.

I broke away for a breath. "What are you doing to me?"

"I could ask you the same," he bit out in a baffled tone. "I detest surprises. I don't tolerate them. And yet . . ." His brows drew together. He looked . . . not calculating, but something akin to that--as if he were working out the angles of a problem. "Still here," he muttered to himself. He yanked me close, burying his face against my breasts, lips seeking.

I arched to his mouth.

"The moment I saw these pouty nipples, I feared I couldn't let you go until I'd sucked them."

Feared? Why would he . . . My thoughts grew dim when he turned his head to take a nipple between his lips, dragging his tongue over the sensitive peak. When he suckled it with a groan, I cried out, "Finally!" I was on fire again! Raw inside. Needing more.

He turned to the other one, muttering, "So sweet and plump. They tease my tongue." Once he'd left that one wet and aching as well, he pulled me back to face him, excitement in his expression. "All of this is acceptable."

"I-I certainly think so."

"Very acceptable."

Okay? What was going on here? I sensed in him a seething need for me, barely contained--and building. Another woman might fear it; I drank it in like wine.

"Ah, little Cat." A gleam shone in his wicked blue eyes. "You're about to get fucked. Hard."

CHAPTER 4

He laid me back on the couch, looming over me, predatory. Without warning, he grabbed both of my ankles in one of his hands, lifting my body up as he snatched my thong off and tossed the silk away.

"Spread your thighs."

Confused by this turnaround, I tentatively did. Eyes riveted to my pussy, he licked his lips. "So lush. I can see your need. Did you enjoy the orgasm you stole?"

"Stole?"

He knelt on the couch, reaching between my legs. He ran his forefinger along my lips, spreading my moisture, then rubbed me right over my entrance.

My lids went heavy as I watched his face. His gaze was keen with fascination as I grew even wetter for him. I got the impression that he hadn't fingered a girl in forever. Of course, his "script" hadn't called for it.

He teased my opening until I was squirming, about to shove myself down on his finger. "You just get wetter and wetter. I could make you come again, only from this."

Yes, but I'd lose my mind! "Mas. Give me more, Maxim."

He narrowed his eyes. "You call me Maxim?"

"I'll call you whatever you want if you finger me more." My toes were curling in my stilettos.

As he probed deeper, inch by inch, I moaned from the filling sensation.

"Your little clit's so swollen. Do you want me to rub it?"

"Yes!"

"Or do you need to be fucked?"

"Both! Either! Anything . . ."

Yet then he frowned. "Your pussy's tight. Very tight."