She slid her hands up, the friction of skin on cloth riding the bikini up from the bottom of her breasts, so the undercurves were bared. Her hands traveled from there to her neck, her hair, freeing it from its clip, letting it fall down her back. Her body continued to undulate with the horse, her hips moving in slow circles. The muscles of her thighs contracted as she turned her head to open her eyes and gaze upon him.
The greedy desire in his eyes scorched her, shuddered through her body, tightened her grip on the phallus and almost tore a moan from her throat that would have been an open invitation she would not have had the power to revoke.
"Go sit at Marcus's feet," she whispered. "And don't even think of touching yourself. Your hands. . . your mouth," she punctuated each word with another circle of her hips, squeezing her breasts in her hands, gripping her nipples and tugging so that she saw saliva gather at the corners of his mouth like a starving wolf, "your cock. . . they're all mine. "
Marcus guided him into a seated position at his feet, for Josh could not tear his eyes from her to watch where he was stepping.
Lauren moaned as the control increased the speed of th
e inserting phallus, which was now glistening with her wetness as it withdrew partway from her and plunged in again. She saw Josh's eyes on it, knew he wanted it to be his organ, and she reveled in his need, let it drive her even higher. The impact of the vibration pressing against her clit increased on each thrust, and she writhed on her mount. Her ass made a soft, slapping noise on the saddle as her movements became more focused, more intense, skillfully brushing the soft rubber against the place inside that sent an explosion of tiny metallic sparks through her thighs and lower belly, through her breasts. She heard the tender sucking noise that a drenched pussy made. Her attention turned back to Josh.
Marcus was stroking her lover's hair fondly, his gaze riveted on Josh's face, fascinated with his response.
Josh sat rigidly against his knee, like a wild predator waiting to be released to the attack.
Her body was begging, calling, but she could be as tough on it as she was on any submissive in a dungeon. She knew the benefit of patience, of waiting. Instant gratification was just that - instant. There was no orgasm as intense as one that you had to work for, work for like a son of a bitch, endure being pleasurably teased and teased ever higher. That was not only her intent with herself, but with Josh. She reminded herself she wanted him to come on command, and he would, if she found that threshold, the teetering edge over which it would take no more than a murmured word to push him over. He looked as if he was close to it now.
The look in his eyes was as wild as the spirit of the stallion she rode. In her imagination, she saw herself release him from her thrall. He surged up from his seated position, plucked her off the horse as if she weighed no more than a doll. He would throw her down to the floor, part her thighs and thrust into her with the frenzy of a wild animal, exploding hot and wet inside her.
She shuddered at the thought, a soft cry like a dove coming from her lips. She gave Marcus a quick nod and he pressed the controls immediately, slowing the rotation of the phallus. It slid from her, retracting into the pommel.
"Josh," she said, her voice like thick cream, "Bring me one of those hand towels. And don't you even think about adjusting yourself. "
She knew he was enormous, and derived tremendous pleasure from watching him rise awkwardly to go get the towel. He tried to bring it to her clutched in his hand so it fell in front of his groin.
She clucked. "You know better than that, Josh. I want to see you. Put your hand down, and bring me the towel. "
He swallowed, that delightful red flush creeping over his neck, and he walked toward her, obviously having some difficulty. She licked her lips and teased a groan from him at the sight of her tongue.
She took the towel from his trembling hand. Under the heat of his intense scrutiny, she ran soft terry cloth over her wet labia, and then delicately pulled the crotch of the bikini back over herself, adjusting it over her swollen folds, smoothing the wrinkles with the pads of her fingers.
The sound he made was so much like a growl that Lauren lifted a startled glance to him. He was very close to her now; so close another step would bring the curve of her belly brushing against his straining cock beneath the denim.
"I have my limits, Lauren," he said, low.
She knew it, could feel the caged beast hurling against his bars, knew how close he was. But she knew just how hard to push, she always had. It was an art form. Jonathan had teased her with what he never intended to give her, and in hindsight she knew he had given her an unintended gift. He had taught her the difference between torture and teasing, sado-masochism and sexual dominance for pleasure. She wanted to tease Josh, arouse him, make him ache for her, but not deny him, or her, not ultimately.
It was a fine line. When emotions got involved, judgment could become clouded, especially when emotions were tied up in shadows of the past. She intended to dispel those shadows, for the both of them.
"Then why don't you cross that line, Josh?" she murmured, pressing up to him, sliding her arms around him. "I'm a little bitty thing, Josh," she crooned. "A man strong like you could overwhelm me in a minute, take your pleasure. "
She drew the word out, sliding it over her tongue like something edible. She nuzzled his neck, put the towel back into his hand. His eyes on hers, he brought the terry cloth to his nose, and weakened her knees. He inhaled her scent, closing his eyes.
She was expecting anything. He might snap, lunge and be on her like a wild animal, take her over and leave her no choices to make.
Instead, he opened his eyes, the gray irises brilliant in their intensity. "I'd like to put my nose in the real thing. Mistress. "
She ran her knuckles down the side of his face and he nuzzled them. He sucked one finger into the hot cavern of his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, reminding her vividly of his dexterity in applying the skill elsewhere. Lauren met the sudden mischievous glint in his gaze with a stern one in her own.
"You may kneel, then, and put your nose as close as you wish," she nodded. "As long as you do not touch me in any way. "
He gave her a charming smile she immediately distrusted. He knelt, one knee, two knees as she hooked one leg over the pommel and spread her thighs for him.
Marcus was still watching them from his chair, his attention rapt, a palpable presence that heightened the sexual tension in the room.
Lauren looked down at the bare brown shoulders, the streaked mane of hair that lay over them. He had a small scar on the left shoulder, maybe from carpentry work. He leaned forward as she studied that scar, and his nostrils flared, taking in her scent. He made a soft, pleasurable sound, and she felt her response leak from her. The bikini did not have a lined crotch, and the bead of fluid slowly rolled down her inner thigh as he watched. He had done no more than breathe on her, heating her like a bellows to a furnace.
"I'd be happy to clean that up for you, Mistress," he said, his gaze latched on its course over her skin.