Degradation (The Kane Trilogy 1) by Stylo Fantome

“You always need my favors, Tatum,” he informed her, dropping her hand and then grabbing her by the hips, pushing her back along the counter. Her legs stretched out, till her calves were resting against the edge.

“Yes, yes, I do,” she groaned.

“Beg me,” he ordered.

“Anything. Do anything. Just please, touch me, something, anything,” she begged.

He hooked his hands under knees and yanked them up. She planted her feet flat while he wrenched her thighs wide apart. A shudder ran down her body while his fingers dug in to her flesh. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt his teeth against her inner thigh. Biting his way down, his tongue softening the blows. His breath was hot against her damp bikini bottoms and she wiggled her hips in anticipation.

“A very big favor,” he reminded her, his fingers creeping across her skin. She laughed.

“I didn't ask for any favors,” she told him.

“You're about to get one.”

He roughly pulled the crotch of her bottoms to the side and then his mouth was on her. She cried out, her hands instantly going to his hair. His tongue made one long sweep up her center, cutting her like a knife. Her thighs shook, and she felt like her holding onto him was the only thing keeping her from flying off the island top.

The man wasn't all talk; his tongue moved expertly around her – she may have met her match in the oral sex department. Her breathing cranked back up and she started making harsh sounds in the back of her throat. Whining. Moaning. Panting. All of the above.

“God, I don't think I've ever tasted a pussy as sweet as yours,” he groaned against her, running his hands over her breasts and then clawing them back down her body. “I didn't think there could be anything better than fucking it, but this is pretty close.”

“I aim to please,” Tate whispered, pulling at his hair.

His tongue was back at it, this time joined by two of his fingers. Tracing up and down, swimming in and out. She shrieked and moaned, writhed around underneath him. His other arm came down across her hips, his fingers digging in to her skin. Her cries got louder, her hips undulating against his face. In the back of her mind, she knew that the door was open, that anyone could walk in on them – Sanders, a guest coming back for something, anyone – but she didn't care. It just excited her more.

“You're very close, Tate,” Jameson lifted his head enough to whisper, biting on her thigh while his fingers still moved inside of her.

“Yes, please, please, so close, please,” she whined, her hips lifting off the island, straining towards his mouth.

“Do you want to come on my tongue, or my dick?”

“Can't I do both?”

“Maybe another time. My generosity has run out for right now,” he told her.

She sat up abruptly, forcing him to lean away. She grabbed his neck and pulled herself forward, sliding across the island in to him. She locked her lips onto his warm, damp ones, tasting herself against his tongue. Her legs went around his waist and she hooked her ankles together.

“Now, it has to be now,” she groaned, her hands back in his hair and pulling.

“So greedy,” he laughed, picking her up off the island and carrying her out of the room. She clawed and writhed against him, all the way up the stairs. He carried her in to his bedroom and then laid them down on his bed, stretching out on top of her.

“So what am I going to owe you, for that huge favor?” Tate breathed, stretching while he peeled her clothing off of her.

“Something big,” he warned. She smiled, working a hand in to his pants.

“Oh, I know it is,” she replied. He laughed.

“All you think about is sex.”

“Nothing wrong with that. It's your fault, anyway.”

“I aim to please.”

She had made it pretty clear that she wanted to come on his dick, and she did – but before he could come, he slid down her body and latched his lips back onto her pussy. For having gone on and on about doing her such a big favor by eating her out, how it wasn't something he “ever really did”, he couldn't seem to stop. He was like a man possessed. It wasn't until she was so oversensitized that even the idea of another orgasm was uncomfortable, that he finally stopped. She laid on her back, trembling and shaking, her hands above her head.

“Please, too much, no more,” she gasped for air, rubbing her thighs together. He worked his way up her body, pausing at her breasts, his fingers circling a nipple, pinching it. Her back arched up and she whimpered.

“I could do this all night,” Jameson breathed, his teeth going to the nipple.

“If only I had a twin,” she joked.

“Jesus christ, I would die.”

“But very happy. You would die a very happy man,” she pointed out. He lifted his face to hers, rubbed his nose against her cheek.

“You're better than any set of twins, any threesome, I've ever had. You better be careful, Tatum, or my claws will get in too deep for you to ever get away,” he warned her. His voice was soft, but his words carried weight. They settled on her chest, interfered with her heart beat. She opened her eyes and stared at his ceiling.

“I like it better when you say mean things,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“They don't hurt as much.”

Jameson was silent for a while and then he rolled her over, slapped her on the ass. Called her a stupid slut for listening to anything that came out of his mouth in bed. Held her down by her shoulders and fucked her hard.