17. Savio
17
SAVIO
A soft, slender hand is brushing against my aching cock. I can feel delicate fingertips sliding up and down my length, pausing to circle that sensitive spot just beneath the tip, then trailing up over the swollen head. I feel a finger tap, sweeping up the pearl of pre-cum beading at the tip, dragging it back down my length. I shift against the softness of my mattress, warm and drowsy and still half-asleep, languorous with pleasure.
Another hand slips between my legs, cupping my balls, nails scratching against the sensitive flesh. My hips arch up, a groan slipping from my mouth as I feel the warm, wet slide of full lips stretching around my cockhead, dragging me deeper into tight, wet?—
I jolt awake, expecting the sensation to stop, anticipating the disappointment of losing the dream. I’ve had a number of dreams like that ever since I brought Nicci here, though most of which end with me wrapping my own hand around my?—
The sensation hasn’t stopped. There’s a hand wrapped around me, a hot mouth sliding exquisitely down the length of my cock, and it feels so fucking good.
There’s someone in my fucking bed.
I throw the covers back, all my senses scrambled as I veer between alarm and arousal, and I shove myself backward, a shock of cool air hitting my damp, aching cock as I stare down at the intruder in my room.
Nicci is in my bed. It takes a moment for that to register as I look down at her, nestled between my thighs where a moment ago, she was under my blankets, sucking my cock.
The part of my mind that’s hopelessly, horribly aroused, tells me to encourage her to keep going. I’m so fucking hard, throbbing and halfway to orgasm, and she looks beautiful—delicate and perfect—against the soft grey sheets of my bed, her blonde hair loose around her face and her body framed in a pink silk nightgown edged in lace. It’s one of the items she bought yesterday—I saw her pick it up and was instantly hard at the thought of her in the fragile lingerie.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The rational part of my brain speaks first, the one that wonders how the hell I forgot to lock her door last night, and why her first inclination upon discovering it was to sneak into my room and start sucking my cock.
Isn’t that the best possible outcome? My cock jerks, pre-cum sliding down the shaft, and I curl my hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her and yanking her mouth back onto it. Coming down her throat sounds like heaven right now, but there are more important things to focus on at the moment.
Like—again—what the hell she’s doing in my bed.
“I wanted to thank you.” She slides up the bed, between my legs again, reaching for my stiff cock. “Yesterday was perfect. Having clothes again—” She bites her lip, and I have to force back a groan, thinking of how good those lips felt wrapped around me a moment ago. “I feel safer now. I felt safe again yesterday. I just wanted to show you that I appreciate it?—”
I grab her wrist before she can touch me, grappling with a dozen different emotions as I stare down at her. Why am I not letting her do this? It could be the shift in the power dynamic…I didn’t tell her to come in here and suck me off, she did it of her own free will, and without permission. It would be different if I’d told her that was what I wanted, in exchange for what I did for her yesterday.
This doesn’t feel like she’s my submissive. It feels like she’s my lover. And my instinct tells me that letting this go further is dangerous…for us both.
I could take control of the situation. I could take her into the playroom right now and have her thank me on my terms. But the moment I consider it, another wave of conflicting feelings washes through me—my cock jerking at the thought of having her in the playroom again, of spending my morning lazily taking my pleasure from her and punishing her for coming in here without permission. And yet, there's a strange feeling of discomfort at the idea of taking sexual favors from her in exchange for what I did yesterday.
The truth is, I didn’t do it for an exchange of favors. I agreed to it because I could see she was terrified at being kept naked in a house that now has multiple strange men walking around outside her room, and all I could think about was that man pinning her to the bed, on the verge of violating her before I shot him dead. I thought about all the men whom she had to submit to at the Gilded Lily, who took what they wanted from her, and for that moment, I didn’t see her as my possession. I saw her as a frightened woman in need of protection—and I wanted to do that for her.
I wanted to make her feel safe. And, to my surprise, I enjoyed spoiling her. I’d thought of her as a pretentious socialite before her fall from grace, but she didn’t seem like that when we were out yesterday. She seemed to genuinely enjoy picking out clothes and outfitting her new wardrobe, but she didn’t seem entitled. Maybe it’s just that she knew I could take it all away from her in an instant, but she didn’t seem as spoiled as I’d imagined her being in those circumstances.
It made me feel good, calling out that woman who talked down to her. Giving her back what was taken from her. I felt like her protector, her savior, like I was doing something good for once. My brother would never have done any of that for her. And now, having her in my bed offering me sexual favors as thanks feels as if it cheapens it somehow. Like she’s reminding me that I should expect this from her.
Shouldn’t I? It’s not as if what I did yesterday was because I care for her. I was taking care of her, like a pet. Like something valuable that needs to be maintained. It had nothing to do with any kind of feelings I might have for her. I don’t have feelings for her.
“Get out,” I snap, looking down at her wide blue eyes as I release her hand and bat it away. “I didn’t tell you to come in here, principessa . Go back to your room. You’re lucky I don’t punish you for this.”
The words come out harsh, my frustration over the confused tangle of emotions surging through me plain on my face. Nicci jerks back in surprise, a flash of hurt in her eyes as she recoils.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says quickly, scrambling out of the bed. I see a glimpse of what’s beneath the silky pink nightgown as she slips off of the mattress—nothing at all, and my cock throbs, aching as I watch her go. She almost bolts for the door, and I can’t stop staring at her—a vision in pink silk and lace. I can see the points of her nipples where it clings to them, skimming over the angles of her body, and I almost get up from the bed and grab her. Desire surges through me, hot and thick, and she’s barely slammed the door behind her before my hand is wrapped around my cock.
I should go after her. Make sure she goes straight back to her room. I should reprimand her.
In a minute. I fall back against the pillows, my hand already stroking roughly along my length, and every thought in my head is filled with her.
When I come, I groan her name as I spill over my fingers.