Mistress of Redemption

Page 13

She spun in a circle, loosing her hair. As she did, the clothes she wore melted away like paint, running in sensual rivers down the curves of her body before vanishing into the grass beneath her feet with no evidence of their passage. Now she was as naked as he was. So different, though. So many soft and wonderful places where he was hard.
There were those who said a woman was sexier in scanty clothes than she was completely naked. They’d never seen Dona. Lush was the perfect word. Heavy breasts, tiny waist, generous hips that flared out, telling him her ass would be worth begging to see. Her legs, while not long, were toned and slender, making him imagine how snugly she’d hold him while he fucked her. If he could get up, he’d lift her, slam her up against a palm tree and just bury himself inside that wet pussy.
She’d been playing so much with his head, this switching of gears was like a gift from God. When she stepped back over him and simply lowered herself onto his cock, he realized he’d never truly known what a gift was.
God…the sensation… He’d heard how men’s piercings increased a woman’s pleasure, but he hadn’t realized how much more sensitive it would make him. His fury with her taunting, with her ability to shoot down his best attempts to gain the advantage on her, all of that receded at the joining of their two bodies. He willed more blood into his cock to make it harder, thicker so he could feel the full pressure of the clamp of her silken walls on him. The restraint over his hipbones did not give him control in any way. It was all her, coming down on him at her own pace, her small hands braced on his upper abdomen.
Yes. This is where I want to be. Experiencing her in all his senses, being with her in every way. Taking care of her forever so she’d never want anyone else.
He told himself Fiona was right, his response came from the endorphins of the piercings. Or the weirdness of this place Dona called Hell.
He’d never thought about taking care of a woman. Not…for a long time. If he did think about it, it was part of a strategy. Opening doors, getting them a drink… It was a form of caring for a woman even Mistresses enjoyed, for it was evidence that the slave liked serving their needs. He looked at Dona’s hands braced on his stomach to balance herself, the fragile slim fingers curling in as she sought her pleasure. He thought of the pain and tiredness he’d seen just for a moment in her face when she’d returned from her mysterious meeting. It bothered him. He wanted to…
“Please, Mistress.” The words came from a part of himself he didn’t know. “Please release my hips so I can serve you properly.”
She studied his face as she went down on him another inch, her fingers digging in even more. She was tight, so blessedly tight. “Please, Mistress.” The bonds slid away and his hips were free. Miraculously, so were his hands. He wanted so much to put them on her, but he waited, wondering at the tremors that ran through his body as she wrapped her delicate fingers around each wrist and guided his hands to her bare hips.
“Not until I come,” she reminded him. He heard the catch in her voice as she sank down further. He tightened his hands on her, rising to meet her in the same motion.
“Never,” he promised, though he was already setting his teeth against that increased sensitivity, the stroke of her on the ladder. After five years in prison, he should have gone off like a rocket at the slick glove of her pussy. Hell, he should have spewed the moment she stood up on the seat of her car. He didn’t know if he was aided by his otherworldly surroundings, but he called on the same discipline he’d used to keep himself from jacking off and clung to it grimly, even as his body shuddered. He wanted her to go first. He wanted to know he’d brought her to that pinnacle while buried deep inside her. He wanted to believe he’d given it to her with an intensity no other man had. She was his. His.
The thoughts were astonishing, but they flowed from his mind with the blurting, tumbling clumsiness of a man discovering prayer.
Jesus, it was Heaven and Hell both. As she rose and fell, he learned her preferred cadence, keeping his strokes steady, taking her deeper with the strength in his hands. It gave him an unexpected humble gratitude, the ability to offer her something she didn’t have herself. Vibrators could bring sensation, but they couldn’t duplicate the feel of a man’s hands, demanding, desiring her, cherishing her skin so she’d know being with her was better to him than a widescreen TV, a sports car or front-row tickets to the Superbowl.
Her breasts moved before him, swaying, wobbling. He couldn’t help his mouth.
“You’ve got the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.” He wanted to bury his face in them, suckle them. Be smothered in them. As if she heard the cry of his heart she pressed them to his face, curling her arms around his head as he drew up his now free legs to press his thighs against her ass and raised his hips to accommodate the new angle. His adjustment earned him a soft cry from her lips, brushing his ear. He clutched a generous handful of each buttock and plunged in harder, increasing his stroke length even as his mouth found a nipple, latched on and suckled with ferocity. God, if she didn’t go over, he was going to explode. He’d almost welcome that damn cock harness now to make sure he stayed in check just long enough.
Her cheek pressed against his bare crown, her breath coming hard. She was strong, lithe, matching him movement for movement. The pleasure was almost as unbearable as the pain had been.
“If this is Hell, I want to stay forever,” he groaned.
At the words, she shattered, bowing back, putting her breast deeper into his mouth.
Tugging, tormenting, he kept up the stimulation as the pressure of her fingers increased against his head. He wondered if she was wishing that she’d left him his hair so she could yank on it. He missed it too, a woman’s way of using his hair to communicate her urgency, affection or nurturing… Her cunt convulsed against him, clutching at his cock with squeezing, excoriating pressure as she climaxed, making him groan.
Don’t come. Don’t come until she says you can. That’s the way it works. Her hand whispered across his scalp, making him think of her stroking it when it had hair. He seized on the image to steady him, imagined himself with her in a park, his head in her lap as she petted him, read a book. Slowly, lazily tangling her fingers in the locks.
Putting him to sleep, even as his cock stirred, thinking of her touch moving down…
Up until now he’d never thought of his hair or any feature of his body as anything more than an indication of how well he was doing at giving his Mistress the kind of pleasure she wouldn’t want to do without. No matter how often he dangled it before her and drew it away. A delicate game of cat and mouse he’d played where the Mistress eventually became an emotionally dependent slave. Now there was only Dona and the pleasure he’d created for her, the cries coming from her throat, the bite of her nails and the soft slap of her slick body against his. Though she’d said where the finish line was, he wanted her permission to let go. If he came inside her, it would be the height of intimacy, an avenue into her soul, a way to connect she couldn’t deny. He was sure of it. It was in his grasp, like the glint of a hard metal trophy.
“Mistress,” he rasped, still pumping hard, his voice muffled somewhat by her round curves, his mouth hot and wet on the valley between those quivering breasts.
“Please… Let me come for you.”
He was so close, bursting with it, so it took a moment to register her response, the fact she was drawing away, rising off his cock, even as his body bucked.
“No.”
“No—” He couldn’t help himself. His hands reached out to seize her hips, to yank her back. All the pain of the piercings and the burn of the earlier rape by Fiona slammed back into him full force, overpowering him. Because he’d learned to have fast reflexes in prison, he held her fast anyway, gritting his teeth. He was going to come inside her, dammit. He was going to break into her head even if he had to do it with force.
The grass restraints reared out of the ground, coiled around his wrists and wrenched his arms out to either side of him, tearing his hands from her. They looped over and over to hold him up to the armpits. He struggled, trying to get away, but the other restraints were back as well, anchoring his waist and hips, holding him still, agonizingly on the brink of orgasm. The pain was gone like a passing thought and the denied release tore at him with savage, lustful teeth.
The image of them in the park vanished. He would have murdered her if he was free. Hurt her as she’d just deliberately hurt him. But that’s what women did. Had he forgotten so quickly? She was a cleverer Mistress than he’d given her credit for. She’d blindsided him and he felt the impact as if his soul had collided with a diesel truck.
He’d been trying to give her everything, hadn’t he? What the hell did she want?
“Conniving cunt,” he snarled. “Damn you.”
The look in her eyes was brittle, withdrawn. The traces of mortal woman were gone, replaced with a creature that was seductress, otherworldly and dangerous. “Been there, done that, Jonathan. Why do you think I’m here?” She cocked a brow, her gaze passing over the ladder and D-ring, a reminder that she had ways of tethering him in almost any way she desired. While it made him angry and fearfully anxious, he also stayed powerfully aroused.
“What the hell have you done to me? No matter what you do, my dick just wants you more.”
She knelt beside him, her knee brushing his hip as she reached out and toyed with one of the nipple rings. His cock leaked fluids. If she touched him there at all, he was sure he’d go off like a geyser. She studied his turgid member, an absorbed expression on her face. Despite his rage with her, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the delicate angles of her profile, so at odds with the strength that pulsed from her like roaring flame.
“It’s because you are a male submissive, Nathan,” she said at last, bringing her gaze back to his. “You don’t like to admit it to yourself, but you didn’t jack off in prison once, did you? What kind of man does that? What kind of man feels he can’t allow himself satisfaction unless a woman commands it?”