Читать книгу The Risk / Friends With Benefits - Margot Radcliffe - Страница 14

Sebastian

I WAS HARD again almost instantly, as if I hadn’t emptied myself down my little dancer’s lovely throat.

She was glorious.

I’d controlled the way I fucked her, watching in a kind of greedy disbelief as she rode her own hands and then came. Again and again, red and shuddering as her hips rocked.

It was the hottest blow job I’d ever had.

There was a part of me that was tempted to repeat the experience, again and again, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

But I changed my mind as she rose.

Because that body of hers was like one long, perfect muscle. And I already knew that she was flexible. Lithe and lovely onstage, and even more so naked.

She made my mouth water.

And she did as I asked, reaching down and picking up those feathered wings of hers from the gleaming marble in the foyer, then dragging them behind her as she came toward me. I wondered if she knew the picture she made, my distinctly fallen, sulky angel swaying toward me on her bare feet, her breasts jutting high on her chest with her nipples hard. That mouth of hers swollen from my cock.

And her eyes all over me, filled with a kind of bright, hot wonder that I wanted badly to be real.

I tried to shove that urge aside. It was naive at best, and I was not a naive man. This was a transaction, not a romance, and I needed to remember that. I’d never needed to remind myself such a thing before, but this woman was like a drug. The kind of drug I never permitted myself to sample, too certain was I that it would wreck my control.

And I was nothing without my control.

Or so I assumed, having never released my grip on it after the singular, epic failure that had destroyed my relationship with Ash.

I certainly wasn’t going to lose it tonight because of a woman, no matter how she danced or what she did with her talented mouth.

She stopped before me, there in the middle of the suite’s great room. There were wide, inviting sofas all around, and handy side tables, but no inconvenient coffee table perched on the soft rug in the center. Nothing to work around.

I didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, and that, too, was a first.

Instead, I helped her tie those wings onto her shoulders again. Then I crouched down to hook my fingers in that sparkling bikini bottom she wore, tugging it down from her hips.

She lifted an absurdly graceful hand and rested it on my shoulder with the lightest possible touch as she swayed to help me, lifting one leg, then the other. I had the distinct impression that she didn’t actually need my help to balance herself. That she was touching me because she wanted to touch me.

Maybe I was a fool. But I couldn’t seem to care when my own personal angel was so close to me, smelling of sex. And me.

I’d had some vague intention of doing this or that to her delectable body once I’d finally got her naked, but now that she was I found myself transfixed by her pretty, swollen pussy.

“Hold on,” I told her.

That was all the warning I gave her.

I drew one of her legs up and over my shoulder, and she made a soft sound that might have been a sigh. Then she shifted, and I felt her balance again in an instant—confirming what I’d thought before, that she didn’t need any help finding it. That if she held on to me, it was because she wanted to.

I didn’t let myself bask in the pleasure of that, because there was far more pleasure right there before me. And I thought that if I didn’t get my mouth on her, I might die.

I wrapped my hands around her ass, bringing that sweet, soft pussy to my lips at last. She didn’t simply meet me. She bent back. All the way back, arching herself like a bow.

She was the hottest thing I’d ever had my hands on. And she tasted like sugar.

Sugar and cream, and I growled my lust and approval as I took her clit between my teeth. I tugged at her, then bit down gently.

She came again, flooding me with her scent and taste and impossible heat.

I bent to the task. I ate her like a starving man, growling every time I heard that hitch in her breath or felt her pussy quake against my tongue.

There were ways to fake almost anything, but not this. Not the way she flooded me. Not the way her clit pulsed in my mouth, and not even the way she shook and then ground her pussy against me, as if she wanted to fuck herself straight into oblivion.

Her body was a marvel. She stood with only one foot on the ground, her other leg hooked around my shoulder, and her hands on me from time to time. But she wasn’t gripping me in any way. She swayed with me, as if this was another dance. A beast devouring a beauty like every fairy tale I could recall, and all she did was arch herself back and raise her hips.

I was so hard again it was as if I hadn’t had sex in years.

And she wasn’t simply coming now in those sweet, hot bursts. She was crying out as she did it, her voice getting hoarser with each cry.

If she was faking this, she was the best I’d ever seen. And if she was faking this, she was far better at fucking than she was at dancing, and God knows watching her dance had nearly killed me where I’d sat.

She came again, her whole body flushing with the heat of it. She went red and pink everywhere as she rocked herself against my mouth and let out one of those raw little cries.

I pulled away from her, shifting to set her other foot on the ground. As I rose, she swayed there before me but stayed on her feet. She looked dazed. Drunk, almost.

Something roared in me, triumphant and hot.

“Do you come like this with all your customers?” I asked her.

I didn’t know where the question came from. I had never been a possessive man. I never compared myself to others, and not because I worried comparison might steal my joy or whatever the fuck motivational nonsense people liked to splay all over their mugs of tea. Quite the opposite. I felt confident I had no peer.

If I’d had one at all, he’d stopped speaking to me years ago when I’d lost all his money.

And I wasn’t precisely jealous now, either. It was something else. I wanted to mark her, perhaps. I wanted to leave an indelible mark on her supple, remarkable flesh. I wanted her to remember this—and me—forever.

I did not want to analyze why I had this urge. I just wanted it.

She blinked, then smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And I don’t know which one of us was more surprised by that, her or me. But I was shocked when I...laughed.

I wanted to throw her down and bury myself inside her—right now—but I didn’t. My own laughter felt like a tension breaker. Like another kind of coming and, oddly enough, it made me feel something like... Exposed.

I studied her body instead. I had been too consumed with the need to bury my cock in her before to take a good, hard look.

I remedied that now. And took my time.

“What kind of dancing do you do?” I asked. Because she was a lithe, taut column of muscle, but she was bruised here and there. And sported the kinds of scrapes that spoke of a body well used.

And her feet.

Her feet were a disaster.

“Don’t look at my feet,” she said, and when I looked up I thought I saw something on her face for second, but it was gone too soon to name it. “I have a horrifying addiction to high-heeled shoes.”

“High-heeled shoes do...that?”

Her feet were so battered that they called to mind something inside me, some memory I couldn’t quite place, of an image—

“You have to be brave to be beautiful,” she told me, with another one of those wicked, mischievous smiles that I wanted to taste. “That’s what my mother always told me.”

“Is your mother dead?”

My little dancer let out a laugh. “I certainly hope not. As far as I know, she’s alive and well and competing for the title of best hostess in the whole of—” She stopped herself, and her smile was rueful. “I apologize. The last thing you want, I’m sure, is a whole lot of unsolicited personal detail.”

This would ordinarily be true, no matter how I’d met the woman in question. But she was...different, somehow, from all my previous dates and conquests.

“It’s not unsolicited. I literally solicited it. Just now.”

Another tilt of her head. “Do you talk about mothers every time you buy a woman?”

I laughed again, but surely none of this was funny. And stranger still, it only made me harder. “What if that’s my kink?”

“Then you can call me Mommy while you come.” Her eyes were alight with a wicked sort of promise I wanted to lose myself in. “If you must. But somehow, I don’t think that’s your thing.”

“Indeed, it is not.” Still, I studied her. “Does your mother know what you do?”

“Of course.” Her smile widened. “She supports my dancing wholeheartedly.”

That made me laugh again, and it was like a light switched on inside me. From pitch-dark to blazing, laughter and secrets and need, and I was done. I needed to fuck her, hard and long and now.

Right now.

I rose then, and she must have seen my intentions on my face, because she sobered as she tipped her head back to look at me.

“Time to fuck, little dancer,” I told her. Softly.

And I watched, in pure delight and no little wonder, as goose bumps broke out all over her skin.

There were things I could do if I was willing to take my time...but I couldn’t wait. Not now, with her taste in my mouth and the evidence that she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her written all over her flesh.

I felt edgy and wild. So close already, as if I might explode or topple over some cliff and lose any semblance of control.

That set off an alarm, deep inside me, but I didn’t care. Not now.

I couldn’t wait another second. I reached down and slid my arm around her waist, then lifted her into the air.

She was a little thing, though she was all muscle. Still, she felt like air, particularly as she flowed with me, wrapping her legs around my waist as if I’d ordered her to do it. And then she held herself there, with thigh muscles that made my head spin around and around with lust, and her arms around my shoulders.

My God, she was a wonder.

I gripped her ass again and began lowering her, but for a heady sort of moment I couldn’t tell which one of us was doing the work.

Was I holding her up? Or was she the one holding herself against me, then lowering herself down, with a kind of impossible precision that made the blood in my cock pulse?

“You have a lot of muscle control,” I managed to say as she inched down my torso the slightest bit more, then the slightest bit more than that, so I could almost feel the heat of her with the head of my cock.

She let out a laugh, her hard nipples brushing my chest. “For a whore, you mean?”

“For anyone,” I managed to get out.

“You saw me on that stage. What did you think? It was all smoke and mirrors?”

Something inside me tore open. Something greedy and dark, an uncontrollable storm of need and longing.

And instead of fearing such a thing, I wanted to lose myself in it.

In her.

“Prove it,” I dared her. “Fuck yourself silly.”

A smile broke over her face, wicked and bright and all mine.

“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice rough and husky.

And then, at last, she obeyed me.

Darcy

Being lifted was nothing new for me. But this was different.

Everything about this was different.

He held me easily, and it was almost like dancing. It was almost like the pas de deux.

Almost.

I adjusted my hold on him and let myself slide until I could feel the thick head of his cock at the opening of my pussy.

I had the mad thought that all those years of ballet training had been for this, all along.

For this moment, when I could look up and hold his bright blue gaze, then lower myself down on that hard, hot length of his.

I was so wet it should have embarrassed me though it didn’t. I was wildly soft and deliciously hot, and even so, I had to adjust to the size of him. He was thick and long, but I dedicated myself to the task of taking him.

One hot inch after the next.

Slowly, carefully, I lowered myself. I waited for my body to accept him, then I went farther.

And we were both sweating by the time I finally made it all the way, my pussy flush against him.

And that glorious huge cock of his buried deep inside of me.

I felt myself begin to quiver. And his gaze shifted, his expression turning almost cruel with hunger and command.

“Don’t you dare come,” he told me. “You need to work for it this time.”

One hand gripped my hair again. The other shifted to my waist, holding me against him as I arched back a little.

But nothing else was up to me.

And I loved it.

First, I had to fight off my own orgasm. And once again, it was years of fighting back my body’s various urges that helped me. I didn’t dare to disobey him, but I didn’t ask myself what I thought he might do if I did.

I fought the need to come. I caught myself at the edge, shook with the effort but pulled myself back.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly.

And that went through me like another shudder.

I glanced to the side, thinking a break in the intensity might help me maintain my control.

And I could see us in the window’s reflection. Whoever we were.

A big, strong man. And an angel.

My wings flowed over the backs of my arms, and I arched my back to make them fall even more beautifully toward the floor. A move that lifted me up and got his cock even deeper inside me.

And then I rolled my hips, experimenting with the feel of it and ignoring the protest in my thigh muscles.

I didn’t care if it hurt.

All I cared about was doing exactly what he told me to do.

Again and again, until it swept us both away.

I used my thighs and my core, and my grip on his wide shoulders. I lifted myself up, using my internal muscles to grip his cock all the way. And right when I got to the tip, I settled myself down again.

And that felt so good, so deep and full and glorious that I laughed a little.

I saw him look to the side, taking in that same reflection. I arched back even farther, dramatically, then gasped a little when he put his teeth to the side of my neck.

And then I did what I’d come here to do.

What he’d told me to do.

I fucked myself silly on him.

I found the count, the pattern. The lift and then the settle. The shimmer in my hips.

Again and again I rose up, then dropped myself down, until I lost track of the fact that this was another kind of performance. I was too drunk on the sensation of it. Too wild.

“Please, sir,” I said, then began to chant. “I need to come.”

“Too bad,” he growled in reply.

So I fought my body even as I shook and grew wetter, hotter. Wilder by the moment.

There was no sound in the room save the two of us.

Our bodies, wet and hot, coming together over and over. Harsh breathing, his or mine, I could hardly tell.

I was used to orchestras, but this was a symphony all its own, and I couldn’t tell the difference between the blood pounding in my head and the sounds I made.

“Please,” I begged him. “Please.”

I thought he would ignore me. And he did, for what seemed like forever.

Then he shifted. He wrapped his hands around my ass, easing the tension in my thighs, which felt like its own release.

“Come, little dancer,” he ordered me. “Now.”

Before I change my mind, he didn’t say. But I heard it all the same.

And I exploded. I burst into flame and fury and a thousand pieces of glorious shrapnel.

It was as if all the orgasms that preceded this one didn’t count. They were insubstantial. Releases, that was all.

This was a bomb.

This was life altering.

I felt the way I had the first time I’d danced in my point shoes, spinning around and around as if made of light and air. I felt like I was flying.

The orgasm walloped me and kept going. I thought I heard myself scream.

And then he was turning us around, falling back against one of the sofas, bringing me down astride him with my wings all around us.

He waited until I stopped sobbing against him, there where my mouth had fallen against the crook of his neck.

I lifted my head, though it felt too heavy, and looked down at him.

He was beautiful. He was hard inside me and cruel in all the right ways.

I felt soft all the way through. Even in my heart, though I cautioned myself against such nonsense as best I could when my head was still spinning.

He smiled then, this man who had bought me and had already given me more pleasure than lovers who’d claimed they knew me.

And his smile was a dark, erotic promise.

“My turn,” he said.