It was innate; the thrust of my chest against his hands as he cupped my breasts and his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked hard, making me squeal, but at the same time, a rush of heat heaped upon the fire burning low in my abdomen.
He didn’t stop there. He continued lower, leaving a hot trail of kisses and nips down my ribs and stomach. He did stop though when he reached the smooth mound above my sex, and I nearly shrieked in frustration. I could feel his breath, a warm breeze against my engorged flesh, but he stayed there, breathing me in.
“Please,” I whispered, already desperate to feel his mouth there.
“Please, what?” he prodded. His voice was thick with his own arousal.
“Please, Master,” the words fell from my lips, easy as breathing now.
“No, Scar. I’m not your master. Right now, I’m your lover, and I want you to tell me what you want me to do to this sexy, little pussy.”
His words added more fuel to the fire, and I was too aroused for the confusion I’d felt moments before. “I want you to lick me.”
“Mmmm. I like the sound of that. Is there anything else you want me to do?”
I didn’t know if he was trying to draw out my anticipation, or if he was enjoying making me say the words—probably both—but too many thoughts tumbled through my mind all at once.
“I want to feel your tongue inside me,” I said, picking the thought that seemed most relevant to his current position.
He smiled, but his eyes never left my sex. “Put your foot on my shoulder,” he instructed, and I complied—of course.
Still, he lingered there, a little closer now, but not close enough. I twined my fingers in the hair at the back of his head and though I’d just wanted to feel some part of him, I couldn’t resist exerting the tiniest amount of pressure, trying to draw him toward me.
“Hands over your head,” he said, and I obeyed.
Then his mouth was on my clit. He’d closed the distance and his tongue flicked back and forth across the sensitive nub, making my body jerk at the sudden contact. He grabbed hold of my hips. At first, I thought it was to help steady me, but the firm grip of his hands held me immobile. I couldn’t writhe, or even pull away—not that I wanted to. His teeth nipped at my clit, making me squeal, but then he soothed me with his tongue before sucking my clit into his mouth.
The fire burned hotter, brighter. Every second, it engulfed more of me until I’d swear I could feel it burning in my fingertips.
He looked up, his mouth still on me, and I knew what he wanted. He knew I was close, and he wanted to watch as he made my body come apart. I held his gaze, resisting the innate urge to close my eyes. And when my body shattered into a thousand shards of bliss, I could feel him groan against my wet flesh.
I’d only just begun to come back down from whatever heavenly plane the body seems to exist in after a mind-blowing orgasm when he stood up. I expected him to touch me, or to strip off his pants, or even to kiss me. I could see my own wetness glistening on his lips and run my tongue across the seam of his lips. I wanted to taste what he’d tasted.
He didn’t do any of the things I’d expected. With what seemed like no effort, he picked me up and flung me over his shoulder and strode across the room to the bed. He didn’t lay me down though like I’d been expecting.
He lowered me to the ground and spun me around to face the bed. His hand against the middle of my back, he pressed me down until I was bent right over.
A shiver of fear ran through me. Had I done something to anger him? Was he going to punish me? Tears sprung to my eyes, but I fought hard to hold them there. I wouldn’t cry. I even resisted the urge to beg, to plead with him not to punish me.
I could hear him moving behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around. I’d lose my resolve if I saw what he was about to do and start sobbing like a child. I couldn’t do that.
I felt his hand on my back, but he wasn’t holding me down. He was stroking me gently. More confusion. Heat and fear in equal measures.
“Scar, calm down,” he whispered.
Apparently, I was not doing a very good job hiding my discomfiture.
“I’m not going to hurt you, not like that, not ever again.”
There was relief in response to his words—he wasn’t angry with me. But there was also something else. Disappointment? I imagined him never spanking me again, and I felt a loss. It made no sense. Hadn’t I just been afraid of what he was going to do a moment ago?