The Ex (The Boss 4)

“Sadly, no.” He leaned his cheek against my thigh. He’d shaved before the party, so his face wasn’t as stubbly as it normally was by this time of night. Boo. “I’m far too tired. What I would like to do is eat this pussy until you’re dripping all over the bed, then fuck you until your legs can’t hold you up.”

“Oh…please, Sir.” Knowing we were on the same page brought my enthusiasm back up. I didn’t like using a safe word to end our play just because I was getting sleepy or bored. It rarely happened, and I logically knew I shouldn’t feel bad about it, but I always found it slightly disappointing. I knew we couldn’t have amazing, mind-blowing sex every single time—we’d had our share of exhausted, doing-this-because-we-feel-like-we-should fucks, just like anybody—but I wanted to, damn it.

The first touch of his tongue curled my body up from my toes. With my arms restrained, I wasn’t in a position to move with the motion, and every muscle screamed out in protest. Neil was ruthlessly good at oral sex. Part of it was his genuine enthusiasm. I’d definitely been with guys who’d done it out of a sense of obligation, or who liked it, but got discouraged when I hadn’t come in seconds. Neil didn’t try to hurry me along; he savored me like scotch that had been aged for longer than I’d been alive. He rolled his tongue over me in broad, lazy circles and lapped at my opening to coax my own wetness out. He clearly didn’t feel obligated. He was going to take his time tonight.

A low growl rumbled in his chest when his lips closed over my clit. His tongue probed it, gently pushing the hood back to torment the bare nerve points beneath. My fingers opened and closed on nothing as I twisted, helpless in my restraints. He sucked the whole of the little organ again and pulled his head back slowly, letting his lips drag me until the last possible moment.

Then, he really went to work.

If I could have shut my legs, they would have been squeezing his head until it popped. All I could do was lay there, making pleas in gibberish. I couldn’t have escaped his mouth if I’d wanted to. The tip of his tongue swept up and around my clit. Behind closed eyelids, I tried to paint the paths he took, to discover where he might go next. I was writhing, helpless, and maddened by the erratic contact when he slipped two fingers into me. His mouth fell into a steady sucking, flicking rhythm, and I almost broke my ankles trying to get my thighs to touch. I came, exposed and vulnerable to his mouth, thrashing and screaming his name. His actual name, not “Sir” as I should have. He pumped his fingers harder and lapped at my clit, and the pleasure went on and on, my orgasm seemingly never-ending. My body contracted and spasmed, contracted and spasmed, each wave blending with the next, until I was left a pulsing, quivering rag doll, offering no resistance to my restraints.

He lifted his mouth from me and ordered, “Look at me, Sophie.”

My gaze traveled down my body, over the sheen of sweat between my breasts and the slight curve of my belly, to where he knelt between my legs. His face glistened with moisture, and he slid his fingers from me to show that he’d achieved his stated goal; the fluid proof of my arousal rolled easily down the side of his hand.

He unbuckled the cuffs at my ankles then rose and unchained the wrist cuffs from their eyelet. He left my wrists bound above my head, but asked, as he unfastened his pants, “How are your arms?”

“Fine, Sir.” My teeth chattered, and I concentrated hard to stop them. The sight of his erection as he stepped out of his pants just made the tingling in my limbs more intense.

Slinking his hands between the bed and my back, he repositioned me so he could kneel comfortably between my thighs. He reached up and traced my collar with one hand. “May I come inside you tonight, Sophie?”

Clench. He’d asked because we’d been with Ian and Gena so recently, and that kind of consideration turned me on like crazy. “Yes, Sir.”

“I believe the answer is, ‘of course, Sir,’” he reminded me. I loved the easy way he could transition us in and out of the game. If I hadn’t given him an affirmative, the subject would have been dropped entirely. Since I’d agreed, he could play with my response.

He leaned over me, his thick, long cock lying against my belly as hard as the iron shaft of the spreader bar. His lips were so close to mine, close enough that I could have kissed him, but only if he’d invited me. He didn’t. Instead, he warned, “It’s going to be a very rough night.”

Bring it on! I wanted to snark at him, but not while we were playing. Neil didn’t like bratty subs.

He knelt between my legs and lifted my hips. Without any further notice, he shoved into me, too sudden and far too deep, and I couldn’t help my scream. The sound was met with a slap across my face then a palm clamping down roughly over my mouth. “You keep your fucking mouth shut, or I’ll gag you.”

My blood burned, my body shivered. Endorphins flooded my brain, and though I tried, really tried, to keep from crying out, I couldn’t help it, and found myself shouting against his hand. Each thrust battered me, scattering fizzing sparks over my skin. He urged my hips into an undulating motion to match his. Tears leaked down my cheeks, and he pulled his hand away from my mouth.

Before he could ask, I gasped, “Green, Sir. Please, more!”

“More?” He slapped me again, the othe

r side of my face, and I bucked against him. The natural silk duvet was like needles on my skin; the contrast between the nagging discomfort and the unfathomably deep pleasure I was lost in only drove me further under. All thought fled, and I was left with a jumble of sensations—wet, hot, spilling, pressure, stretching—to guide my body toward my peak. I pulled at the restraints, my legs clenched around his hips.

He reached above me and unclamped the shackles, freeing my wrists not only from the bed, but from each other. I whimpered as he pulled out of me, then gasped in shock when he lifted me bodily and flipped me over. There was no time to move myself into position. He hauled me up by my hips and was inside me again before I could take my next breath. In this position, with my upper body braced on my elbows and my knees driving into the mattress, he could be utterly brutal. He alternated a few shallow thrusts with a forceful, deep one, confusing my body so that I couldn’t prepare myself. He muffled my screams with a hand over my mouth, jerking my head back. My collar dug into me, a loving kiss of cold, cutting pain against my collarbones.

With his other hand, he spread the cleft of my ass apart. I heard him spit the moment before I felt his saliva land between my cheeks. It was the only warning I got before he drove two fingers in.

“Make yourself come, Sophie,” he ordered me. “And I want you to moan like the filthy little whore that you are.”

He uncovered my mouth so I could follow his command, choosing instead to wrap my hair around his fist and tug, hard. I reached between my legs and felt him there, spreading me wide. My clit was a hard, slippery knot. It took me all of a few seconds before I was teetering on the edge. The spearing pain of his cock battering me, the rough plunge of his fingers in my ass, enhanced the sweetness of the pleasure. Both built and built in a moment that felt like an hour, until I couldn’t balance at the tipping point any longer. In a white-hot instant, I was overwhelmed with the ecstasy of glowing pleasure and violent pain. My climax made me weightless, then boneless. I collapsed, sobbing.

He withdrew his fingers and followed me down, pounding into me so hard the bed shook. With a last, deep shove, he shouted and fell against me, his cock twitching as he spilled into me. His hips kept mine pressed to the bed. His body jerked atop me.

He leaned up and slapped my ass. “Roll over.”

I almost protested that I was too weak and tired to keep going, but when I flipped onto my back, he settled down beside me with his head on my hip, one arm thrown over my thighs. I felt so warm and floaty in the clear peace of my lingering subspace that I was content to let him keep going with anything he’d like.

“Spread your legs,” he rasped, still breathing hard. I did as I was told, and he pushed two fingers into my swollen vagina. My pelvis hitched upward; the contact was more when I’d already had too much. Every stroke of his fingers was like sandpaper inside of me, and I sobbed aloud.

“Shhh,” he soothed me, moving up my body. A gush of fluids, his and mine mingled, trickled from my cunt in the wake of his fingers’ withdrawal. He brought them, shining and dripping, to trace my lips, coating them. My slowing breaths still pulled at my chest, and my body writhed beneath his. “Open up.”

My lips parted obediently, inviting his fingers inside to suck them clean. The moment he pulled them free, his mouth was on mine, the taste of us between. He kissed me long and slow, as if he were savoring my mouth. It reminded me of the kisses he’d given me when we’d first started dating. Time had taken some of the desperate, hungry edge off of our fucking; it was good to get reacquainted with the basics, sometimes.