The Bride (The Boss 3)

He lifted his head, and I groaned in disappointment. It hadn’t occurred to me, somehow, that he would have to stop using his wicked tongue on me to respond.

“Please? What is it that you think you need?” He slapped my ass, not hard, but in my heightened state of awareness, I jumped.

“I need… I…” Nothing. I needed nothing else. I should have been content to lie there for hours and let him do that to me, if he would. But the anticipation of what he might do next wound me up, made me dizzy from excitement. I didn’t want to stop, but I did, just to see what would happen.

He got to his feet behind me, and I heard the rustle of the bin liner as he tossed the dam into the basket under the nightstand. My stomach clenched in disappointment and eagerness, a strange conflict to feel in the height of desire.

“Get on the bed.” His voice sounded different now, darker and far less humorous than usual. I knew the same happened to me when I focused during a scene. I had no doubt that in Emir’s head there was a plan, fully formed but constantly changing, a list of what he wanted to do to me with small adjustments here and there to make sure we omitted nothing; that he wouldn’t push me past the point where I couldn’t continue.

I got up, grateful for the reprieve to my knees, and laid in the center of the bed. My cock bobbed against my stomach, frantic for contact. Emir nudged my legs apart with a knee and knelt between them, dropping a handful of gloves and condom packets to the bed. In the other hand, he held a bottle of lube, and he checked that the top was firmly on before dropping it onto the duvet. He reached between my thighs to lay his hands on either side of my scrotum, then dragged his nails down the insides of my legs. Not so hard that he risked drawing blood, but with enough pressure that it scored my skin in delicious, burning trails that tickled in spite of the slight pain.

“Bend your knees. Put your feet on the bed,” he said, his voice still so low and serious.

I did as he asked, without hesitation. One by one, any worries I’d had during the day melted away. There was no need for me to be anywhere but here, laying back as Emir balanced my need and my pleasure, controlled every response from my body. I closed my eyes and pushed back the slightest notion of panic. What was the point of panic, when I was enjoying myself?

He held up one condom, in a gold wrapper, and raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure even these are big enough?”

My laugh sounded more nervous and giddy than amused. I watched him, my breath short stabs in my chest as I registered what my eyes were showing me: Emir reaching for my straining penis, the condom in his hand. When he finally touched me, even to just roll the condom down, I moaned in relief.

There was another snap of latex, and he poured more lube between my cheeks. The touch of a gloved fingertip against my anus brought me momentarily out of myself; I’d made far too many bad memories in the past year to think kindly of latex gloves.

Perhaps it would be nice to make some new associations, I decided. He pressed one finger gently forward, rocking his fingertip back and forth, loosening my resistant opening. “Is that all right?”

“Oui, Monsieur,” I gasped, wriggling my toes. Every muscle in my body tightened, and I willed myself to relax as he slicked more lube over me and slipped a bit deeper. His gloved fingertip stroked gently over my inner flesh, until he found his mark and a strangled noise wrenched from my throat. My cock twitched; it felt as though his finger were inside it as he stimulated my prostate.

I heard him chuckle in response to my whimpered breathing. Then he reached for my cock.

There had been a reason he hadn’t put any lube into the condom before he’d slid it onto me. As he worked his finger over the sensitive gland inside me, my cock leaked copious amounts of pre-cum, enough that I worried the rubber might slip off entirely while he pumped his fist up and down.

“Open your eyes, Leif, and look at me,” Emir ordered, working another finger in. I did, and his hungry gaze caught mine, sending electric shivers through me. He was focused entirely on my pleasure, taking as much enjoyment from doing this to me as I was from allowing him to do it. Sophie had suggested that the D/s dynamic was unfair to the Dominant, but now I knew it was truly equal, even if not quite the same. If this was how much Sophie enjoyed submission, it matched the burning need and unrelenting pleasure I got from Dominating her.

The sharp bursts of sensation from his fingers and his hand intensified, and I pumped my hips involuntarily. “Oh, fuck, I’m going—,” I groaned. Before I could finish my warning, he released me and slid his fingers out. Left hanging at the edge of release, I worried for a split second that I would come anyway.

Oh, the bastard was good.

He sat back and reached for the butt plug he’d chosen: stainless steel, curved like a comma, with a vaguely cock-shaped head and a flared handle. He poured some lube onto it and pressed it against me. It was a tighter fit than his finger, but it slipped in, snug and secure. The chilly metal rubbed me with every involuntary twitch of my muscles.

Emir disposed of his glove and got up to strip off his jeans. When he joined me on the bed again, he pushed my legs closed. Straddling my thighs, he opened another condom and sheathed himself. “It would almost be worth it to get you off right now. Like this.”

He scooted forward and brought o

ur cocks together in his hands, then reached for the lube and poured a generous amount over both of us.

“I wouldn’t argue if you did, Monsieur,” I gasped, an attempt at levity. But his erection was rock hard against my own, his hands tight around us as he slowly glided them up and down. He’d left me so close to the end that I seriously worried I might come, and then where would we be?

I almost warned him that it would be unlikely I’d be able to go again, but he seemed supernaturally adept at keeping release just out of my reach. Denial was one of my favorite torments to inflict on a partner, and I was absurdly pleased, despite my own predicament, to know it was something Emir and I had in common.

“I think I’ll wait, and make you come while I’m fucking you,” he groaned, his slippery hands twisting around and around us both. The head of my cock was swollen and hard as a billiard ball. I was glad I hadn’t taken my pill on an empty stomach. If I had, I’d probably have ruptured a blood vessel by now.

Time slipped away from me under his expert hands. The pleasure of one moment teased into the next, our breathing and the obscene squelching sounds of the lube between his fingers drowning out every thought from my head like a pornographic white noise machine.

“Do you like this?” he asked, and it took me a moment to find my voice.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

His breathing was labored, though not as obviously as mine was. That was a part of the Dom in him, fully in control of even involuntary physical responses.

He rose on his knees, but kept a firm grip on my cock. Reaching between my legs, he found the handle of the plug and twisted it slowly. “Are you ready for me to fuck you?”