Chapter 21 Braze
brAZE
Gods, he loved making her come.
The feeling was a drug—a fire in his veins. Holding her curvy, trembling body against his, feeling her inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers as she came—it was a fantasy he’d replayed in his mind a thousand times since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.
To be of such intimate service, to be the one trusted to bring her pleasure, to witness the fierce beauty of her surrender… it was everything. It was more than duty to him—it was the worship of his own personal goddess.
But he wanted more—he hoped desperately that their night together wasn’t over. He hoped she would allow him to continue serving her, pleasing her—proving his devotion in the most fundamental way a male could.
Finally, Kaitlyn stirred in his arms. Her shaking had subsided into gentle tremors, then into a boneless relaxation. She turned within the circle of his embrace, her slick skin sliding against his. She tilted her head up, her eyes still hazy with pleasure, and pulled him down.
Their lips met.
It was their first kiss and Braze wanted to take his time.
Her mouth was soft and yielding, tasting of cinnamon and salt and her.
His entire world narrowed to that point of contact and a wave of pure, undiluted pleasure went from his lips straight to his cock, which was still trapped, painfully hard, by the damn cock ring.
It throbbed fiercely, a demand and a promise, as he kissed her back, deepening the connection, his tongue sliding into her mouth to taste her more fully.
He poured every ounce of his long-restrained hunger for her into that kiss as well as his relief that she was well and safe, his awe of her beauty and perfection, and his desperate, secret love.
When she broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice husky. Her eyes searched his face. “That was… beyond anything I’ve ever felt with any man before.”
A possessive thrill shot through him. Good. He wanted to erase the memory of every other male she’d ever been with—wanted to wipe them out completely.
“Mmm, I’m glad you liked it,” he rumbled, his own voice gravelly with emotion. “Thank you for letting me be of service to you, Mistress.”
He leaned closer, unable to help himself, and the rigid length of his cock nudged against her lower belly.
She glanced down, her brow furrowing in confusion as her gaze landed on the black leather still encasing his hips.
“Oh—why are you still dressed?”
“Can’t touch myself—remember?” He held up his right wrist, nodding at the sleek, unyielding non-con manacle encircling it.
Her eyes widened in dawning horror.
“Oh, that’s right! I never should have let them make me put those on you!” she exclaimed. “Here, let me help you.”
With some effort, since her fingers slippery from soap and water, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and yanked them down his thighs.
The wet leather resisted, clinging to his skin, but she persisted—peeling them down until they pooled at his ankles.
Braze stepped out, and she tossed the sodden garment into a corner of the shower with a wet slap.
“Now let’s see about this,” she murmured, her voice dropping. She sank to her knees before him, warm water swirling around her.
Braze felt a visceral thrill shoot through him at the sight—his beautiful Mistress on her knees before him.
But the thrill was instantly followed by a sharp twist of wrongness. This wasn’t the dynamic he craved—he didn’t want her submitting. He burned to be the one kneeling, serving, making her feel like a queen.
His need to submit, to please, was a physical ache deeper than the one in his cock.
Her delicate fingers found the buckle of the cruel cock ring and Braze hissed in relief as the pressure finally, blessedly released. The blood rushed back, making him even harder—the head of his shaft swollen and dark, a bead of pre-cum already glistening at the slit.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hard for hours,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on him. One soft, small hand came up to stroke his shaft, her touch exploratory and gentle. “I hope it didn’t hurt you.”
Braze’s breath caught in his throat as her fingers wrapped around him, massaging and caressing. The sensation was exquisite torment.
“No, Mistress… I’m all right,” he managed to grit out. “Kindred males can remain hard indefinitely without any damage.”
It was a biological fact, but right now, it felt like a curse. The capacity for endless arousal meant endless frustration unless it was directed toward pleasing a woman.
“Mmm, that’s good.” Her thumb swiped over the leaking tip, spreading the slippery moisture. “But it still seems like you need a release. And a reward for being so brave tonight when every other man in the place was absolutely useless.”
She leaned forward, her pink tongue darting out to swirl around the aching, sensitive head of his cock.
Fire lanced through Braze’s groin at the soft, sweet wetness of her tongue. But before she could take him into her mouth, his hand shot out, landing gently but firmly on her shoulder to stop her.
She pulled back, looking up at him, her eyes wide and quizzical.
“What is it? Don’t you want me to suck you? I’ve never heard of a man turning down a blow job before.”
“The pleasure of your mouth is more than I deserve,” Braze told her hoarsely. “I was just doing my duty tonight. But if you really want to reward me…” He drew in a shaky breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Let me be of service to you tonight.”
“Of service?” She frowned, uncertainty clouding her features as he drew her up by her shoulders until she was standing before him, water cascading down her glorious curves. “What does that mean?”
“Let me show you,” he murmured, hoping she would agree.
She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All right—I trust you. You can, er, service me if you want to, Braze.”
“I do,” he said, the intensity in his voice startling even him. “So much.”
He turned off the shower, grabbed a large, plush towel and began to dry her with meticulous care, starting with her face, moving down her neck, over her shoulders and breasts—lingering just enough to draw a soft sigh—and then down the length of her body.
He knelt to dry her legs and feet, his movements slow and worshipful. This was his Mistress—his goddess. He wanted to honor her. Only when she was completely dry did he briskly towel himself off. He wrapped her in another dry towel, tucking it securely around her to ensure she was warm.
Then he lifted her into his arms, cradling her close. She was a warm, fragrant weight against his chest and he carried her out of the steamy bathing chamber and into the opulent bed chamber, laying her down gently on the edge of the massive, plush mattress so her legs hung over the side.
He saw the question in her eyes as he grabbed a thick pillow from the bed and placed it on the floor between her spread thighs.
Then he sank down onto it, his knees finding the soft cushion, putting him exactly where he longed to be—at her feet, between her legs, his face level with her sweet little pussy.
When he leaned forward, letting his hot breath wash over her damp curls, she seemed to understand. She half-sat up, propping herself on her elbows, and looked down at him. Not with desire, but with something akin to fear and disbelief.
“Wait… is this what you mean by ‘being of service?’ You want to…”
“I want to eat your sweet little pussy until you fucking come all over my face, Mistress.”
He couldn’t keep the raw need—the sheer desperate want—out of his voice.
It wasn’t just desire. All Kindred males had a biological imperative to taste the woman they loved…
to drink her honey…to bond through oral intimacy.
Since he’d become so attuned to Kaitlyn, that need had metastasized into a physical ache—a hollow hunger in the pit of his stomach.
He didn’t just want to eat her pussy—he needed it with every fiber of his being.
It was a compulsion as vital as breathing.
But Kaitlyn seemed to have a hard time believing he really meant it.
“But…” She shook her head, her cheeks flushing. “Are you sure? I mean, my ex—he never wanted to, you know, go down on me. He said it was…um, unpleasant.”
A low, possessive growl rumbled in Braze’s chest.
“I thought we already established that your ex-mate was a fucking idiot,” he snarled, the hunger inside him sharpening to a painful edge.
“How could he have such a beautiful, curvy, mature Elite and not want to taste your pussy? To drink your honey?” He forced his voice to drop, into a tone of pleading reverence.
“Forget about him, Mistress. Please. Just let me be of service to you tonight. That’s all I want.
If you want to reward me for saving you… let me taste you. Let me have that.”
She studied his face, her eyes searching his for any hint of reluctance or duty. She found none—only stark, undeniable hunger.
“You really want to do this, don’t you?”
“More than you fucking know,” he growled, the ache inside him swelling exponentially. He could feel the radiant heat of her soft little pussy against his cheek, and he could smell her—that rich, sweet, utterly feminine scent of her desire. It made his head spin.
Gods, how he wanted her! Wanted to service her…to please her with his tongue until she came apart for him…until she let him drink her sweet honey right from the source.
At last, she nodded, a slow, tentative movement.
“Well… if you really want to…”
“I do,” he interrupted, his voice fervent. He caught her eyes with his, holding her gaze. “Watch me, Mistress. And I’ll prove it.”