Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) Page 9

  Then he began doing something with his tongue, a quick lashing thing, alternated with the squeezes of his hands. When he followed with a deep sucking, punctuated by hungry murmurs in his throat, she was lost. She climaxed, a short, deeply intense wave, where she ground herself against him, crying out her pleasure to the night, all those stars becoming like shooting stars because of her glazed vision.

  He kept suckling and squeezing, though she could tell his buttocks were pumping in rhythm with her, as if they were fucking in truth. But he didn’t push that agenda. He kept to the mission he’d described, waiting until she was shuddering with aftershocks to slide down her body, push his arms under her thighs, cup her buttocks in his two large hands, and put his mouth fully over her exposed cunt.

  She screamed, the aftershocks pulsing against his lips. The tissues were so sensitive, but he slowed way down, making tender, slow licks along the labia, soft nuzzles on her clit that made her shudder. He was going for the slow build, so slow it was like a simple teasing aftermath, except his hands remained firm on her, his body taut with the desire he kept in check as he gave her pleasure, ramped up her desire again.

  She wanted him in her arms, wanted to explore every inch of him, take his cock in her mouth, make him lose his mind as he was making her lose hers, but for now, this was also what she wanted.

  All about your pleasure, Mistress. So much of what she did as a Domme was calculated, holding the reins, watching the sub get more and more aroused while she figured out what slight adjustments would affect his reactions. It was an aphrodisiac all its own, but this… This was somehow a different form of service, where she had to calculate nothing, not worry about the reins at all. He knew what she wanted from him.

  When she had a brain to think about it, she would be considering this carefully, but she had to give him his due. He’d said she wouldn’t be able to think much, and he was delivering on that promise.

  Shuddering, she stared up at the stars, floating in a lull between the climax of a moment ago and the one he was taking her toward now. Her heels rested high on his back, and her hands, now that he was between her legs, had caught hold of the netting at the top of the truck. She assumed it was to keep things from sliding around. It helped her bear down against his mouth, a very pleasurable feeling. Looking down her body, she found he had amazingly thick dark-blond lashes, fanning his cheeks. He stayed intent on his task, rough stubble abrading the tender insides of her thighs in a way she loved. She hoped the redness would be there tomorrow.

  She’d never thought about wanting to be marked by a man. Or even about owning him. She owned her subs, commanded them, at the club, but outside, she was Janet. She stood alone, confident in that solitary strength and power. She told herself this was want, not need, but she couldn’t deny the sharpness of the one was such she could easily mistake it for the other.

  He pushed his tongue deep inside, stroked her silken tissues while suckling her clit on the outside, then started lashing that tiny bud of swollen flesh, a concentrated flogging that had her rising up to his mouth. His hands were strong on her legs, her hips, the muscles taut along his shoulders and back. She let go of the netting to reach down and grip his short hair, hold him to her, tug, convey her desires. He growled in response.

  She arched back as he did something else that changed the waves of sensation, making it a spiral, then a staccato pressure, then a slow glide. She was moaning, and it didn’t matter, she didn’t want to rein back her response. She wanted him to know how much pleasure he was giving her.

  His fingers bit into her buttocks, beginning to knead, press the cheeks together, massaging the sensitive area in between with the pressure, and that arrowed right down into her pussy. Her legs tightened on those broad shoulders, and she imagined what he must look like from a view above, his ass likely moving in that instinctive coital rhythm with hers, even though their joining point wasn’t cock and pussy, but his mouth between her legs, his hands clamped on her body, so she twisted and writhed within the span of his glorious hands.

  Another rolling wave of sensation, and she felt the crash coming. She lifted up to meet it, her arms spread wide, clinging to the net again, her breasts lifted up with the arch of her body. She caught a glimpse of him looking, taking in the sight of her, and when he thrust deep with his tongue, pulled even harder on her clit, she knew he was monitoring everything, how close she was. When to take her that last step and then cut the lines, let her fly.

  This time it was twice as intense, and not short at all. She cried out, long, moaning wails as the orgasm gripped her. Her fingers gripped the netting so fiercely it cut into her flesh. She could feel everywhere he touched her, mouth, fingers, his shoulders against the inside of her thighs. She wanted him on top of her, wanted to feel him.

  The climax was ebbing, and she let go of the netting, clawed at his shoulders, telling him. He slid up her body and met her mouth with an impact that pushed her head back, his fingers framing her face, delving into her hair, elbows planted on either side of her shoulders, holding her down with the length of his body. Her hips jerked, still reacting to the climax, rubbing against him. The change in position had let his cock stretch into its intended upright stiff position, and the thick, rigid weight of it was against her abdomen. With his slacks and briefs pulled partly off, it would be a simple thing, that one last step.

  But he merely kissed her. All that sweet need in her met the raw demand in him, their bodies melded together, quivering, held in a powerful stasis. When he at last lifted his head, his face was all harsh planes, eyes dark slashes in the night. She lifted a hand to him, and he closed his own around her wrist, pushing it back to the truck bed, holding it with her pulse battering against his palm. “Let go of me, Max,” she whispered.

  He took his time thinking about it, nuzzling her throat, rubbing his jaw against her hair. But then he released her, and she put her arm around his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle. He worked his way back down her body, gentle kisses that brought her back to earth as if she were borne on the wings of butterflies. She turned her head to the foam mat, eyes closed, merely feeling.

  He kissed his way down her thighs, then put his mouth on her cunt, cleaned her, slow licks and teasing kisses, small sips to take away the fluids from her climax. She made soft sighs in response, and then he was kissing his way down the inside of the opposite thigh.

  When he reached her ankles, he straightened onto his knees to adjust his slacks and the boxers beneath. He brought them both back up to his waist but left the slacks unhooked. Then he settled onto his heels and ran his hands up her calves. Learning her curves, enjoying her body but giving her enjoyment as well. His strong hands caressed areas many men forgot to tease and seduce as much as their more preferred parts of a woman. He ran his touch all the way up her legs, covering knees and thighs, then came back down to do the same thing all over again, starting at the arches of her feet.

  Max grounded her and sent her floating at once. Eventually he unfastened the skirt so he could slide his hands unencumbered from her hips to her rib cage under her thin cotton shirt, give her the sensation of that same, strong rubbing glide, both a caress and a massage.

  The cool night air was starting to seep into her skin, but he anticipated that as well. Bracketing her rib cage with both hands, he slid her up and worked the camo quilt out from under her, sandwiching her between that and the covered padded roll beneath. He joined her under it, pulling her close so she could wrap around his heat, lay her head on his chest. He stayed propped up against the netting, stroking her hair.

  Her hand rested on his abdomen. When she let it ease downward, wanting to touch the sizeable erection available through the unhooked front of his slacks, he closed his fingers over hers, bringing them back up to his mouth. She tilted her head to look at him.

  “Max, I want to touch you.”

  “Just let it be this tonight. Let it be all about you.”

  She arched a brow at him, tapped his lips with her nail.
“Me touching you is about me. I did say I want to touch you. Should I make it a command?”

  His gaze kindled, reminding her that he was still a very aroused male who’d not yet been sated. Not by a long shot. “Give it a try,” he encouraged, his voice low. “It’ll make me harder.”

  “Shut up while I touch you,” she said. Though he bit her finger, he let her hand go.

  Sliding back down that same terrain, she was aware of his heated breath on the back of her neck as she bent her head to her desired task. The advantage of slacks was the same thing that had made them a disadvantage at the club, when she wanted a better look at his reaction. The fabric had enough give that it wasn’t difficult to get her hand back beneath them. She worked her hand under his boxer briefs, not content to settle for merely feeling the shape of him through cloth. “Unzip them the rest of the way,” she said shortly, not willing to remove her other hand from where it curved behind his lower back.

  He reached down, complied, and she helped, holding the fabric taut with two fingers as the teeth parted over the impressive mound. As she pushed her hand all the way beneath the briefs, his fingers caressed her forearm, then withdrew. When she closed her grip around that steel heat, his thigh muscles flexed, his heart ramping up its beat beneath her ear. She’d handled a man’s cock plenty of times before, but the first time could be as potent as a first kiss, if approached in the right frame of mind. She hadn’t put any thought or preparation into it. She’d just wanted to touch him, and as a result it was like having a hunger sated—or discovered—to grip him now.

  Glancing up, she saw him watching her. Under her gaze, he deliberately stretched out a long arm, hooked his free hand in the netting. His other hand remained against her back. When she twisted her head, giving it a look, then glanced back at him pointedly, he didn’t immediately respond, obviously weighing what he might do.

  “Max,” she purred. “Do it.”

  He moved the other hand then, both sets of fingers now hooked in the net, letting her do as she would. She kept her eyes on him as she slid her grip up to the head of his cock, rubbing her thumb across his wet slit. She wanted to taste that fluid and she did, lifting the finger to her mouth. His jaw got tighter, his eyes hot.

  “All about me,” she murmured. “Why is that, Max?”

  “You know a better way to be sure I get a second date?”

  She laughed, though there was a bite to it, a showing of her teeth, that conveyed she wasn’t relaxing the terms of the moment. She liked seeing him restrained by her words, though still free to pounce. She preferred to be a lion tamer, letting the deadly animal make his own choices, held back only by her wits and words. She liked the thrill of being caught between his hunger for her, his own natural instincts, and a thin veneer of control, so blended he couldn’t tell what was hers and his.

  “Is it that difficult to get a second date with me?”

  “Yes ma’am. You haven’t had one date in the time I’ve known you.”

  “Perhaps I’m a very private person who doesn’t let anyone know my personal business.”

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. She hadn’t denied it, so it confirmed what he already knew. A very smart lion indeed. It hadn’t been just in the time he’d known her though. It had been far, far longer. In that time, nothing had ever been offered to her that would give her more than what the club sessions and her own vibrator could.

  She used the point of her wrist to hold the slacks down so she could see her fist, wrapped firmly around his base. His cock jutted well above her grip, showing he was a good length and thickness. No woman would have to ask if he was all the way in when he was seated inside her. The flesh between her legs, still sensitive and moist, rippled at the thought. She loosened her grip enough to slide up, bringing some of that velvet skin with her, rubbing her thumb along the sensitive area beneath the head, and his breath drew in.

  She knew how to get a man off, for certain. Now she entertained herself with a few slow pumps up and down, dragging her palm over the skin, not holding it too tightly, teasing the corona with her nails, giving him the sharp tip of her thumb nail in the slit once, making him quiver. She’d like to see him naked, see the veins in those well-muscled thighs become more prominent as he resisted movement.

  Turning her attention to his face, she shifted farther forward so she was still resting on her hip, still holding him, but her breasts were pressed against his chest, nipples prominent through the thin fabric of her cotton shirt so he’d feel their tautness against his own flesh. She was close enough to be kissed, but she held there, that small space between them as she constricted her grip, did another firm glide upward, downward.

  His breath rasped out, fingers digging into the netting, which made his biceps bunch, the muscles of his stomach get even more rigid. “So,” she purred. “Since it’s all about me, if I decided I have all I want for tonight, would you go home and jack off to Internet porn?”

  “No.” He bit his bottom lip, dropping his head back against the truck’s rear windshield, just above the netting. It exposed his throat—not deliberately this time, but that didn’t make it any less inviting. She restrained herself though, wanting his answer. Another tease of the ridged head with her nails, a sharper scrape this time.

  “I’d be lying there in the dark, fantasizing only about you. Thinking of your mouth on my cock. Your cunt closing around it. Sitting on top of me, while I held your breasts, still in that shirt. I love the way that looks, no bra.” He groaned as she tightened her grip. “I’d bite your nipples through the cloth when you came again.”

  God, this was like a drug. It always was, but in this different environment, with this different man, it was the contrast between a one-drink buzz and a much stronger proof. Perhaps not a substance manufactured by man, but natural, uncut arousal, emotions mixing with the physical to make it even more addictive.

  “But what if I don’t want you to come like that? What if I want you to keep your hands away from yourself, give me that pleasure when I decide I want it?”

  He brought his chin down. She’d shifted close enough now it followed the line of her nose. When she adjusted so they were eye to eye, she bit his lip but drew back before it became a kiss, leaving that tempting flesh swollen from the pressure she’d put on it. The look in those gray eyes now was unmistakable. The lion was deciding if it was time to leap. She was on the fence herself, not sure if she wanted him to take her down, or rein himself back at her command. Both options had an appeal.

  “I’d say…” He closed that inch, too quick for her to withdraw, and caught her lip in a sharp nip. Then he leaned back with a challenging, heavy-lidded look, holding on to the truck webbing with strong fists. “When can I pick you up for that second date?”

  Chapter Five

  Janet sat on the roof of the K&A building, her lunch open next to her, untouched. The potted ferns surrounding her waved in the breeze. A trio of tiny bells, hung from a stake in the soil of one of the plants, chimed softly. From this height, she could see the Mississippi, the boat traffic coming and going. This little spot was all hers. She’d discovered it during her first year at K&A, when she’d brought some maintenance men up here for roof repairs. Over time, she’d designed her own space, importing a couple of lounge chairs, an umbrella for shade, the plants.

  When she didn’t care for company at lunch, she came here. If it was an early spring or fall day, when the weather was irresistible, she might forward her phone and bring her laptop up here to work a couple hours. If Matt decided a contract needed another minor revision after the hard copies had already been sent out and filed, or rescheduled a meeting at the last minute that involved twenty people in four different countries, she’d come up here for five minutes. He probably had no idea how many times her ability to do that had saved his life.

  Today, however, she wasn’t seeking solitude to avoid homicide. She had a lot on her mind. She also wanted to finish a task she didn’t particularly care to explain to anyon
e.

  Adjusting her reading glasses, she focused on the shirt in her lap. She kept a button jar in her desk, stocked with buttons that would match what was on most men’s dress shirts. She’d found several that could replace the ones on Max’s shirt, the ones that had been lost in the Progeny parking lot. Wetting the thread with her lips, she peered through the glasses to thread the needle and then tied it off, shaking out the shirt over her knees. Up here by herself, she could do the girly thing, put it to her face and inhale his scent. She’d kept it neatly folded in a bag under her desk all morning, yet had barely resisted the urge to take it into the bathroom and do just that, several times. She shook her head at herself.

  He could have tried to fuck her. Demanded to do so. But he hadn’t. On one level, he’d served her almost like a sub, bringing her pleasure, giving her release multiple times. But usually in a session, her focus was on putting a sub through his paces, getting him so wound up, he’d beg for anything, including the right to come. Max had been so hard that it had been difficult for him to get his trousers fastened again, to position himself behind the wheel when it was time to take her back to her car, but he hadn’t demanded anything from her. Moving slow, letting her hold on to control. Yet she wasn’t really controlling anything, was she?

  He’d assured her at the dock that no one would come up on him unawares, and she’d believed him without question. When he dropped her off, walked her to her car, he’d taken her keys, opened her door for her. She’d noted his visual sweep of the interior, making sure she was the only occupant of the car. Gestures like that, as automatic to him as breathing, inspired a woman’s instinctive trust. She knew the dangers of that, but she’d learned those dangers from a much different kind of man. Since then, she’d grown up, gotten better judgment, though having confidence in it had been a hard-won battle. When one made such a series of terrible, horrifying mistakes, it took years to believe in oneself again. She’d made it, and she wondered if a man like Max was the prize for such a journey.