That worked well until she got too excited. Wiggling replaced the rise and fall as her rhythm totally disintegrated.
He grinned. But her squirming was making his balls feel as if they were going to explode, so he’d better stop stalling. With a palm under her ass, he raised her up, almost off him, then yanked her down as he thrust his hips up.
She moaned. Her breasts wobbled with the impact. And his cock hardened to the danger point.
The next time, he held her high, barely on his shaft, and used his fingers on her clit to push her toward her climax. She was panting with little moans. When she started to convulsively grip his shoulders, he dropped her down onto his shaft and had to grit his teeth as his own climax surged near breaking. She was right on the edge when he pushed her up and teased her clit with rhythmic strokes.
Then, tilting to get the most pressure on her G-spot from his piercing, he slammed her down.
Her back arched. Her head tipped. Her breathing stopped.
He murmured to her, “It’s time to come, sumisita,” and as if given permission, her cunt contracted around him like a hot fist; the walls battered at his cock as she climaxed violently. She didn’t scream, not this little abused slave, but a tiny mewl escaped her as she rubbed harder against his fingers, took him deeper, obviously not wanting it to end.
He gave her more, until she loosened her hands on his shoulders, until she was gasping for breath. Por Dios, she was beautiful.
“My turn now, gatita.” Her eyes were still glazed when he took her hips between his hands to lift her, then yank her down. Up, down. Her vagina contracted around him with each thrust, giving her aftershocks of pleasure that he saw reflected in her flushed face.
Up, down. His balls contracted against his groin; his erection swelled, ready to burst. He rode the edge, unwilling to release as the pressure at the base of his spine grew and then blasted out of his control, ripping through his cock in hard spasms. The feeling of his hot seed filling her soft cunt shook him.
When his mind cleared, he managed to move, lifting and turning on the couch so he could flatten out. He puffed a pillow under his head, brought his leg up onto the cushions. Still sitting on his dick, she sagged, her eyes closed, only her arms holding her upright as if she’d frozen into that position.
Or feared to lie on him?
“Come here, carino,” he murmured, pulling her hands from his shoulders and letting her drop down on his chest. She started to push up again.
“Shhh.” He placed one hand on her ass, keeping them pinned together so his softening cock remained in her cunt as he coaxed her to put her legs between his. Finally she lay flat on top of him. Yes, he could have withdrawn and arranged them more easily, but he wanted to stay inside her, reminding her of their connection-one of pleasure, not pain.
He curved his hand at the back of her head, nudging it onto his shoulder. When he put his arms around her and held her firmly, her last bit of resistance fled, and she lay quietly. Hot and sweaty and slick, this soft woman whose curves fit him in all the right places. He couldn’t have designed such a fine melding.
He lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, worries gone. “I like being in you, Kimberly,” he said softly. “You’re warm and soft, inside and out.”
She stirred, and he saw the tiniest curve of her lips.
He stroked her hair, seeing the way the light glinted off it, dispelling the perception of complete black. Some strands were brown, some with a reddish tint. “You were afraid of having me on top of you, no?”
The instant tensing of her back muscles saddened him.
“Shhh.” He kept the slow movement of his hand, kissed the top of her head. “Now tell me.”
“Yes.” Her face pressed closer into the hollow of his shoulder as if she were a small animal needing shelter.
His arms tightened, reminding her that she had his protection. “Because of the way they took you?”
A tiny nod. “On my back or like a dog. Both…places.”
Anal and vaginal. “In your mouth?”
Her snort of derision held tears as well. “I bit him.” She tensed again. “And then he used…he…”
Raoul’s jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Of course. The asshole had strapped her in a device to hold her mouth open while he face-fucked her. Cabron. “He is unworthy to call himself a man.” Her shoulder muscles relaxed under his slow, careful massage. “If you might recall from your…excursion…into my toy cabinet, I do not own such a thing.”
“Oh.” More muscles went loose. Her breathing slowed, a small waft of warmth on his skin.
“But, although I like being inside you here”-he wiggled the soft remainder of his erection, and her responsive pussy clenched, pushing him all the way out. He grinned at her tiny sound of loss-“we might also have fun with my cock here.” He squeezed an ass cheek, making her jump. “Will you trust me to take you carefully, Kimberly?”
This was why he’d decided to speak of such matters now-to prepare her for the next step while her body resonated with an orgasm, and while his so terrifying dick was soft and melting between her legs after having brought her only pleasure.
“I-” She sighed. “Okay.”
He gave her the tiny growl he knew she’d recognize.
“Okay, Sir.” A pause. “Master.”
Satisfaction was a gentle evening rain, and headier than the wine they’d had earlier. “And?”
“I know.” Her voice was husky. “You’ll want my mouth too.”
He snorted. “Only if you promise not to bite.”
Her lips curved again, more this time. “Yes, Master.”
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Kim went down to the beach. The gulls cried overhead, and gray-brown willets foraged in the shallows. The tide was coming in, the waves slowly reclaiming the sand as she was reclaiming more of her life.
Heck, she had. She shook her head, unbraiding her hair so the wind could ruffle it with salty fingers. Master R liked her hair. Liked her skin. Said she was lovely, and his face held no untruth.
She rolled her eyes. He was her master. Why would he bother lying? It wasn’t as if he had to talk her into bed, right?
He liked her. He’d taken more care with making sure she was satisfied than anyone ever had. And then at the very end, he hadn’t stopped-he’d made her serve his own satisfaction, and that had been as fulfilling as getting off herself.
She headed for the Adirondack chair. Weathered white with age, it ruled over its section of sand like a beach throne. She dropped onto it, then squeaked. A little sore maybe?
God, she’d gotten off so thoroughly she still quaked inside. And she wanted to do it again. Wanted those strong hands on her, to feel his biceps bunching into concrete when he lifted her, to trace the ridges on his stomach. This morning, when he’d washed her-more intimately than ever before-he told her she was filling out and he liked her soft ass sized for his big hands.
He scared her and excited her and made her want him.
Master R liked her, but he was in this to shut down the slavers, not to start up a relationship with a messed-up woman. He’d never talked about being together after this was over.
