God, the man could kiss. Wet heat, just like what was gathering between her legs, rubbing against his cock. The cool teeth of the open zipper scratched against her inner thigh, where he’d slapped her with the spatula earlier. He had his other hand on her nape now, fingers tangled in her hair, tugging in that hard way he did, a Master’s grip, reminding a slave of her place. She fought him, fought to deepen the kiss from her end, because she wasn’t going to miss the chance to savor it even more fully.
She wondered if he’d take her here, under the night sky, where a neighbor might look out of the adjacent house and see their silhouettes mating among the flowers. Instead, he took a firmer grip on her, side-stepped over the threshold. He kissed her against that wall, and she moaned, telling him she wanted him.
“Insatiable,” he murmured against her mouth. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you.” She wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, protected by the cloak of the night. He said nothing to that, just flexed his arm around her again, holding her to him to carry her down the dark hall, back into his bedroom.
She expected him to turn her over, bend her over the bed. Instead, he laid her down on her back in that nest he’d left her in before, only now he was over her, his knee pressed between her legs.
“Arms above your head,” he said quietly, those emerald eyes gleaming in the dim light from the windows.
She complied, though she hated letting go of him. His gaze coursed over her as he adjusted the shirt so it was fully open, so he could see all of her. He trailed a knuckle down her sternum, under the curve of her left breast. The nipple jewelry gleamed, and when he caught one, tugging, she gasped, arching up to his touch.
“Stay still, cher.”
Cajun. Oh God. She really had to ask how he did that, switched to different accents according to his moods, as if he was a split personality. Maybe he was, because she knew it had taken a lot of different Bens to become the man she was with tonight.
He bent, kissed her breast to the right of the piercing. He nuzzled her nipple but didn’t suckle. Instead he moved to her sternum, rubbed his jaw between her breasts, teasing the tender skin with his beard shadow. Then he moved down, his lips on her navel, catching the dangling silver rose there in his teeth, tugging on it and eliciting another gasp. Then lower. Marcie’s hands curled into balls as his heated breath skated over her clit. When he pressed his open mouth high on her thigh, so close that his hair brushed her labia, she moaned.
“You want me to eat your cunt, sweet darling?”
“I want…my Master to do…whatever he pleases.” She let him see the absolute truth of it in her gaze. “I’m all yours.” His pleasure was hers, one and the same.
“When you told me about your fantasy with Lucas and Cass…if he was eating your cunt tonight, while I fucked you from behind, how would that feel?”
“Like I’d died and gone to heaven, as long as it was what you command of me.” She could barely breathe. “I want you, Master. It’s all you.”
He bent his head then, put his mouth on her. Oh holy…God. God. God. God. Lucas was known as the master of oral sex, but obviously he’d shared his talents, or Ben’s were nothing to be sneezed at. His tongue flicked her clit at just the right pace, with erratic movements that kept her crying out, struggling not to move when she wanted to buck against his mouth. He thrust his tongue into her when she was so wildly excited that it made her scream aloud at the sensation.
Lapping at her cream, he suckled her so she could hear it. When he sealed his heated mouth over all of it, her cunt and clit both, started swirling, flicking and teasing, she came to pieces. She came, period, no time to ask permission, but it was obvious his intent was to drive her over that edge.
Right in the middle of that peak, he raised up, taking his mouth away, but before she could wrap her mind around the sudden, shocking loss, he was there instead, sliding his full, turgid length into her slick pussy, so slick that even with his size, he worked in with barely a pause, her tissues still spasming around him. He was stroking inside her almost immediately, so the aborted climax wasn’t aborted at all. It was like a hurricane that did a somersault and came screaming back to the same center eye again.
“Be still, baby. Very, very still.”
He slowed down, watched her frantic face as she fought not to move. She wanted to lift her hips, force him to continue the same pace or thrust. Instead, she made tiny pleas, caught in a string of spasms that drew out even further while he did those slow, dragging strokes. It became even more intense, so all her muscles locked, her lips stretched back from her teeth in a feral snarl.
Then he came to a full stop, lodged deep inside her. Marcie quaked, and when he framed her face with his hands, bringing his body down full on her, she bit his palm in ferocious need.
“Fierce kitten,” he growled. “Touch me now. Move all you want.”
She wanted to buck like a rodeo bronc spurred from confinement, but even through that roaring need, she wanted something else. She slid her arms around his shoulders, locked her legs over his hips like a drowning swimmer. “Can you
