Chapter 23
Ifeel like I’m on a cliff edge. The swirling mix of puzzled fury on his face could make me fall in love this instant. My heart could drop. I hold my breath. This is not the time, or the place. And this is definitely not the man.
I hold contact with his raging eyes as I drag his zipper slowly, noisily down.
He’s huge. Flaming hard, purple and pumped. The scent of him is enough to make me faint. But I need to concentrate, or I’m going to lose it here.
Now the long silk gloves make me crazy with frustration, feeling his flesh but still through the thinnest of barriers. It must be a lot worse for him, though. So that’s a consolation as I stroke and coax him up, higher. Thicker. Harder.
He thrums as I shove my gloved finger up the length of his underside.
I stretch a finger down behind, until it slips to nuzzle in between his cheeks. His balls heat up and swell in my cupped palm as he throbs and moans. When I bend my head over to take in the scent and to blow on his slick crown, I’m ready, waiting for the shock as the palm of his hand lands on the back of my head.
He presses, but I press back. I let him hear a vibration of a laugh as my head gently shakes. This time, my timing.
My finger runs up his seam, pressing and releasing. Teasing. He reddens and stiffens. I follow my finger with a cool blow through my tightly pursed lips. Then the tip of my finger runs from his sac to the cleave in his tip. I let out pants of warm breath. My mouth is over him. I breathe him in.
Only my breath makes contact. Only air and the tip of my finger, while I squeeze him below in a firm, forceful rhythm with the grip of my other hand. His mast shudders.
When I breathe in the salty tang of precum, I know we’re off to the races. I’m buzzing close myself, but I won’t get over the edge. Not without more friction.
My hand circles around him and I squeeze, pulling up, with a rhythm that drags as it mounts.
“Yes!” I let out a squeal of delight, and he starts to pump. I’m not prepared for the fountain that explodes out of him in his eruption. But I do get a gulp to taste.
“You caught it all up? Good girl.”
Well, one way or another I did. It’s funny to see him in such a panic about it, though. If he doesn’t know how to deal with a stain, he should keep his cock under wraps. Men can be such babies.
He grips my hair and looks hard in my eyes. He’s still breathing hard.
I look back at him with one eyebrow raised high. He slaps my ass. I laugh. He slaps me again. Hard this time. My blood pumps hard.
His voice rasps, “You’ve been bad, haven’t you.”
I nod.
“Say it.”
“I’ve been bad.” And I really have. “I’ve been very, very bad.” I can’t tell him what I did at Gianni Crespi’s house. But I can take the punishment.
And when he asks me, “What did you do?”
I just tell him, “I let you do what you wanted with me.”
He slaps my ass again. And again.
“Of course, you must absolutely not tell anyone about this.” When he slaps me this time, he’s definitely not kidding. A part of me that I’ve always known, but I keep hidden because I know it’s so wrong, wants more. I cannot let him see that side of me. “Nobody at all,” he says, with another slap. The sting is so delicious. He hits exactly the same spot each time. “Not about any of it.”
I keep one eyebrow arched high and I do everything I can to keep from showing any other reaction. The look he’s giving me is so intense, I have no way to tell if he’s seen through me or not.
He starts to pull the mess of his pants back together. There’s a sizable and obvious stain on the front. He doesn’t look concerned.
Then I remember the cleaner’s suit bag.
“Especially not Carlo. Well, especially both of them, I guess. And Dad, too, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
I churn inside at the way he arrogantly assumes he is the boss of me. It makes me sigh and groan inside, and laugh, all at the same time.