Chapter 21 - Ciarán
Twenty One-Ciarán
Twenty minutes later, she emerged. Her eyes found mine for a heartbeat, then flicked toward the woman who had led her out.
The woman gave a simple command: “Everybody out.” Without a word of protest, the handful of people in the room stood and drifted out, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. My lungs tightened.
Jordin was wearing a black leather leotard, her thick legs and thighs bare, long legs stretching down into six-inch spiked heels that looked illegal. She looked like power. Like pain. Like pleasure dressed in skin.
I didn’t just groan—I suffered.
I had song lyrics come to me, ones about fucking a good girl turned bad in the back of the club, my name on her tongue, her pussy on mine. I groaned. I had signed up for this, but seeing it… this was rewiring my whole fucking brain. I wasn’t walking outta here the same man.
Her eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
She sauntered over, hips swaying.
My mouth opened, awestruck.
“Damn, J. I didn’t—”
She grabbed my jaw, cutting off my words, leaning over me, her cleavage spilling out nearly into my face.
“Only speak when spoken to, and only address me as Mistress,” she said, her voice firm.
My dick jumped. I groaned, nodding.
Her grip tightened. “I need your words.”
“Yes, Mistress.” This shit felt foreign, but terrifyingly right.
Her nails skimmed along my jawline, sending a rush of heat down my spine. My breath hitched. Her fingers lingered a second longer, tracing the line of my throat before she stepped back, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
“You’re overdressed,” she said, her voice silk wrapped in steel. “Fix that.”
My Adam’s apple bobbed, but without hesitation, I stood and reached for the hem of my shirt, starting to drag it over my head. But before I could pull it off, she let out a sound—a soft, disappointed sigh that made my hands pause mid-motion.
“Not like that,” she said. “Slow. Make it worth my time.”
I did as she said, letting it drop, then re-dragging the fabric up inch by inch.
Her eyes stayed locked on me, watching me for a reaction.
She was getting off on it—the control, the power.
And goddamn, she was turned on by it. Her nipples were hard peaks against the leather, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, her pupils black and bottomless.
When my shirt hit the floor, I moved to undo my belt, the sharp clink of the metal echoing in the room. I made a show of it, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness before letting my pants fall to the floor in one fluid motion, stepping out of them completely.
“Better,” she murmured, closing the space between us. Her gaze swept over my body, hot and appraising, before returning to my eyes. “Now the boxers.”
I held her stare, let it burn through me. I hooked my thumbs under the band and shoved them down, slow and steady, stepping out like I was offering up a sacrifice.
My dick slapped against my stomach, thick, hard, leaking.
Her breathing was heavy.
“Good boy,” she said. Her words ran down my spine like a hot blade through honey. She circled me once, slow.
“Now… stand. And turn.”
And I did. Because what the fuck else could I do?
She owned me now.
When I did, she moved smoothly, taking a seat right in front of me. My dick ended up inches from her plush lips, so close I could feel the heat of her breath.
A deep groan tore out of me. She was trying to fucking kill me, and the worst part was, I’d let her.
My mind spun, latching onto the idea of another song—one about craving something so bad it tore you apart, left you bleeding and desperate, knowing you’d never survive the taste but willing to die trying anyway.
She tilted her head, looking up at me, eyes gleaming with heat and amusement. “Do you dream about me?”
I nodded before I could stop myself. “Yes, Mistress.”
Her lips curved. “Fantasize?”
“All the fucking time.”
“Tell me what you dream about, baby. Filthily.”
I blinked. My throat dried. “You really wanna know?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Go ahead. Filthily.”
My dick twitched. My whole body felt wired, like I was being dared to jump.
“I dream about you sitting on my face,” I said, voice rough. “About waking up with your thighs around my head, your pussy soaking my mouth, grinding until you come so hard your legs shake.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
I went on.
“I dream about bending you over the kitchen counter, yanking your panties to the side, and shoving my dick in while you beg me to go deeper like you ain’t already full of me.”
Her mouth parted just a little, but she didn’t speak.
“I dream about missionary, too,” I said, tone almost reverent. “But the filthy kind. The kind where your legs are hooked over my shoulders and you’re looking me dead in the eyes while I’m in you. While I kiss you and fuck you at the same time.”
A shaky breath dragged out of her.
“And sometimes, when you used to deny me,” I added, voice low, guttural now, “I dreamt about tying you up. Riding you slow, cruel, until you’re crying for it.
Until you’re shaking. Until you’re begging to cum but I won’t let you.
Make you touch yourself in front of me. Edge you for hours and then whisper in your ear: now you know what it feels like to want me. ”
“Jesus,” she whispered.
But I wasn’t done.
“I dream about licking your cum off my fingers. About fucking you in the shower. About you spitting in my mouth and then sliding down my dick.”
I was hard as steel now, precum wetting the tip.
She just stared—flushed, breathing heavy.
“You said filthily,” I whispered. “That filthy enough for you?” I paused. “Mistress.”
She leaned back, crossing her legs with an air of ease, blowing out a breath.
“You touch yourself dreaming and thinking about me?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
A grin curled her lips despite the heavy lust in her eyes.
“Show me,” she said. “Show me exactly how you’ve pleased yourself thinking about me.”
Wasn’t even any use in objecting. I’d been beating my dick constantly since she’d been in my life. I wanted to do it for her.
“Help me out,” I said, voice rough as gravel.
I lifted my hand and held it out toward her, waiting.
Her gaze flicked down. She knew exactly what I meant.
She leaned in, took my hand in both of hers. Then her mouth parted, and she let a thick string of spit fall onto my palm.
Swallowing hard, I wrapped a hand around myself, the heat of my palm barely enough, but just enough to feel close enough, combined with the wetness. I started slow—long strokes from base to tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head with every pass.
My breaths came hard; my body was so tense my muscles hurt. Her gaze stayed fixed on me like she was studying the movement, dissecting every stroke, every flick of my wrist, learning me.
My head was filled with images of what it would feel like to have her bare thighs straddling me, the weight of her body pressing against me, the softness of her skin against my fingertips.
I was so close. Just as I was about to fall over the edge, she shifted.
She sat back, her voice low and commanding.
“Spin your silk on me, baby,” she said, dragging her top down slowly, taunting me.
Her breasts spilled out—full, round, heavy with the kind of weight a man could lose himself in.
Teardrop-shaped and perfect, each tipped with a dark, thick nipple that made my mouth water.
They were more than I ever imagined. Everything I ever wanted.
My knees nearly gave out as I nutted, the feeling wrung the breath from my lungs. “fuck,”
My cum landed on her breasts, and I swore I saw the faintest curve of a smirk tug at her lips.
My head dropped to my chest. I bit my tongue before I said something I shouldn’t.
“Now clean it up,” she said, drawing my attention. When I looked up, she handed me my shirt I’d just discarded, her tone thick.
I did as she asked, wiping her skin, my hands unsteady. Then, like nothing happened, she rose, leaving the room. When she returned, she was back in her dress, her hair smoothed, her face serene—back to normal.
“You ready to go?” she asked.
I stared at her, still reeling, my body buzzing with the aftershock of my orgasm.
“Did that really happen?” I managed, my voice rough.
She laughed low. “Yep,” she said, heading for the door. “Come on, Chester.”
I followed her out of the club, in a cum stained shirt, my legs unsteady, my mind racing. The tension between us wasn’t just heavy—it was mind-numbing. She had me scared.