Chapter 15
KEELY
I want to refuse.
I ought to.
Something’s happening here that I can’t quite wrap my head around.
It started the moment the door closed behind me.
Almost as if the man in front of me has become another person.
The ruthless edge I sense in him is heightened, even though he hasn’t done or said anything to make me think I’m in danger.
But I sense something. Something that should make me refuse his command.
Yet I know I’m not going to.
I want to fuck him harder, longer, deeper, more desperately than I’ve ever wanted to fuck another man. The thought of being denied literally makes my heart ache, and I can’t breathe around the pressure in my chest.
So I reach for his belt and release it. Then my trembling fingers unsnap the single button on his jeans. His ominously thick cock jerks against my knuckles when my fingers brush it. I catch a strangled moan and a wash of hot breath against my neck.
My breasts tingle madly and my nipples are so painfully tight, I want to beg him to touch them, pinch them, alleviate the torture. But the words choke off in my throat. Or maybe I sense that voicing them would mean breaking some rule I don’t even know about.
That’s how mind-fucked this whole situation is. I firmly believe everything I said a minute ago about not wanting to be a sex toy or a pet, and yet I have every intention of groveling at his feet like some pathetic, infatuated fool.
I’m almost afraid to speak, to ask him to touch me the way my body is screaming to be touched. I make my near-useless fingers grip his zipper and slowly lower it. When my hand connects with hot, naked, eager cock on the way down and I realize he’s commando, I gasp.
Urgently, I grasp him with my right hand and push down his pants with my left. His insane girth makes me moan and my head automatically starts to drop in my eagerness to see him, to see the cock my fingers can barely circle.
His finger beneath my chin stops me.
“No. You can’t look at me yet. Stroke me and keep your eyes on mine.”
I don’t argue. The command doesn’t seem like a big deal to me. And also because my left hand has just cupped his heavy balls and the look on his face has me completely enthralled.
I stroke him, long and slow, flicking my wrist just a tiny bit when I get to his head.
His lips part and a strangled groan falls from them. “Yes. That’s it,” he mutters thickly.
There’s something raw and electrifying about him forcing me to witness his pleasure. The connection is a little too much, like staring into the sun for a moment too long. I’m blinded by the emotions charging through me, but I can’t look away.
His head descends. His mouth stops a whisper from mine, and his breath washes over my lips. “Faster,” he commands, his eyes still locked squarely on mine.
I open my mouth again to tell him to quit with the orders, but I stop at the last moment.
Again, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. I obey and he groans, rewarding me with an even thicker erection.
My pussy clenches and unclenches in deprived desperation, and my whole body shudders through the storm rocking my foundations.
My next stroke upward is greeted with a drop of pre-cum, and my mouth waters with the ravaging need to taste him, but the pressure on my chin prevents me from looking, never mind tasting. My tongue slides over my lower lip and my breath shudders out when I squeeze his balls and his pupils dilate.
“Open your mouth.”
I open my mouth. His thumb replaces his forefinger beneath my chin, and his middle finger slides into my mouth. I don’t wait for his command to suck it deep and hard.
“Fuck,” he grits out as his cock jumps in my hand. “You’re incredibly good at that. You’re also very wet. I can smell you.”
I don’t bother to release his finger to answer. My panties are soaked, and I’m not even a little bit ashamed of the fact. I continue to stroke and suck, reveling in the amazing feeling of his smooth, steely cock in my hand and his finger in my mouth.
After a minute, I feel movement below. The sound of the belt hitting the floor and his widening stance tells me his jeans are off. Mason is completely naked, and I’m still fully dressed, right down to my purse dissecting my breasts.
The imbalance feels deliciously decadent, if a little unfair. I forget all about it when he starts to pump his hips, fucking himself between my fingers.
“I’m going to come in your hand. You’re going to let me.” Before he’s finished saying the words, he’s increasing the tempo. My fingers automatically grip him harder, and I know he’s right; I’m going to let him.
Fucking hell. What’s wrong with me? For the first time in my life I want to give pleasure, utterly and completely without taking any for myself. And it’s not because I feel I owe him for Montauk.
No, right here, right now, all I want is to please him, to satisfy that ravenous hunger in his eyes, the voracious edge that’s riding him and sending tremors through his hot body.
More pre-cum coats my fingers, and I spread it over his rod, my wrist working harder as I keep up with the almost frantic rhythm of his hips and the finger fucking my mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispers into my ear. “Do me like that. Work me harder. Faster!”
My cheeks are beginning to burn with the pressure of sucking him, but I keep at it, a part of me reeling with the fact that I don’t want to disappoint him.
I flick my tongue against the pad of his finger, and he releases a deep groan.
His eyelids flutter as my left hand grips his balls harder, stroking the smooth skin in tandem with my hand pumps.
“Ah, Christ, I’m going to fuck you everywhere.
I’m going to spend hours imprinting myself on every inch of your body.
But for now, I want you to watch me come for you. See how much you please me.”
With that, he pulls his finger out of my mouth and spreads saliva all over my lips before he lets go of my chin. He plants his other hand on the door and levers himself slightly away from my body.
My eager gaze drops and I gasp when I see his cock for the first time.
The thickness I already know about, but he’s also long and lightly veined, with a beautifully sculpted head I simply need to wrap my lips around.
I feel his blood surge beneath my touch and I know he’s coming. My head snaps up and he’s watching my face, his eyes half-shut and heavy with the pre-orgasmic wave riding him.
Slowly, his mouth parts on a long, breathy aah, then he says my name. “Keely.”
I’m filled with a rush of power for a single, mind-blowing second as I glimpse a strange, incandescent light in his eyes. Then the power is ruthlessly snatched from me when he surges forcefully between my fingers, and an animal growl rumbles from his throat.
The first thick spurt hits my covered belly, followed by several more. Warmth seeps through the thin cotton of my top and soaks my skin. He jerks in my hold, his whole frame caught in a series of mesmeric spasms as he covers my front in cum.
His eyes are still staring into mine when his shudders die down, and I can honestly admit that it’s the hottest thing I’ve experienced so far in my life. That is, until he leans forward and catches my lower lip in a less-than-gentle bite before sliding his tongue over the tingling ache.
“You were magnificent,” he mutters against my mouth.
The silky hairs of his trim beard tickle my skin, but before I can respond, he steps away and leaves me sagging against the door. I get a load of his full magnificence a second later as my eyes take in his warrior-like glory for the first time.
God .
No wonder the man is arrogant and infuriating to a huge fault. With a body and face like that, not to mention his blue-blooded pedigree, Mason Sinclair has a hell of a lot to crow about.
He’s sleek, smooth muscle everywhere. Powerful thighs rise to lean hips and a short thicket of hair frames his thick cock and balls, lending his godly body a weirdly earthy roughness that makes him even hotter in my eyes.
He takes another step back and slides not-quite-steady fingers through his hair. “Come into the kitchen so we can get you cleaned up,” he says, his gaze dropping to my stomach.
I look down and see the patch of wetness on my cream top. There’s also a couple drops of semen on the marble floor and my body reacts heatedly to the evidence of his release.
My gaze returns to find he’s watching me. He’s also getting turned on again if the thickening between his legs is any indication. My mouth waters as I watch him, and he holds out his hand to me.
“Come.”
I straighten from the door and thankfully my legs support me. When I reach him, he hooks his finger beneath the strap of my purse and pulls it over my head.
“Do you have your phone?” he asks.
I frown my confusion. “Umm, yes.”
He nods. “Good. Bring it with you.”
I take it out of my purse, and he hangs the bag on a hook as we pass a huge archway that opens into a cathedral-windowed hallway. I want to stop and gape, but the sight of Mason’s ass as he strides in front of me is a way better magnet that keeps me fixated on him.
We pass through another arch and enter the sort of kitchen I’ve only ever seen in luxury magazines, although I recognize the designer immediately.
Gordon Neiderheimer’s beautiful lines and use of steel and wood grace Bethany and Zach’s new house in California, and I was the one to source the designer for them.
In another life, I would’ve stopped to stroke the grey granite surface I pass on the way to where Mason is waiting for me.