Give In To Me (18 page)

Chapter 15

R
ogan could barely breathe as he waited for April to come outside. The idea of her
perfect pussy being drenched for him had him hard as a rock. She’d gone into the bathroom
and removed her panties so easily—like a true submissive sex slave. And from that
moment on, he’d just been plain gone—wild with wanting her.

As they’d stepped into the restaurant, he’d spotted the entryway to the small courtyard
where he now stood. He was pleased to find that while it was a softer setting than
their alley outside the Café Tropico—the walls draped with vining roses and sporting
an old tree that grew up between buildings that had been here a far shorter time—it
felt the same in terms of risk. Chances they’d be caught here were slim, but they
would be outdoors, in a small common area between several buildings that held art
galleries and restaurants, so it still felt dangerous. And hot as hell.

The second she walked through the arched trellis that served as the entrance, he was
on her. He hadn’t planned it that way—to be rough and fast—but her easy obedience
had moved him unlike any other time she’d given in to him before. Or hell, maybe it
was just being outside with her again, someplace that did feel a little racy, risky.

Shoving her up against the nearest brick wall, he dropped to his knees and pushed
her serious-looking skirt to her hips in one upward thrust of his hands. Her thighs
were soft and supple beneath his rough fingers—and God, her naked cunt looked more
delicious than any sweet treat he’d ever eaten.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed, and before even giving her a chance to comply,
he thrust his hand between them and drove two fingers up inside her. She cried out,
and he loved knowing the sound was one of heat and pleasure.

He didn’t waste another second before pressing his face into the moist pink flesh
visible between her legs. He licked deeply there, tasting her sweetness, smelling
it as well, and listening to the skittery moans of delight from above. Maybe it made
him all the more a selfish bastard, but he loved that she seemed inexperienced at
more urgent and extreme forms of sex—it made her extremely responsive, and being the
man who opened her up to more than she’d had before felt like a special privilege.

“This pussy tastes so fucking sweet,” he pulled back to murmur after one particularly
deep, luscious lick into that most intimate part of her.

“Oh, lick me—please lick me,” she breathed—and he nearly came in his pants.

Of course, a truly dominant man would chastise her for daring to make a command of
him—but this new openness on her part excited him far too much for him to want to
punish her for it. Instead, he decided to go another way with it. “Beg me, baby. Beg
me some more. Tell me what you want.”

And she did, without hesitation. “Lick my pussy, Rogan—please! Don’t make me wait—please
lick me.”

“More,” he said when she stopped, feeling a twinge of wicked guilt for withholding
it.

Above him, she whimpered, clearly desperate, and he loved it. “I’m going crazy. I
need your mouth there so badly.
Please
.”

Mmm, nice.
And his dick was even harder for her efforts.

And so then, thinking of it as a reward, he simply did as his sexy little submissive
bid him—he licked her hot cunt like it held the gooiest, tastiest chocolate ever.
He licked her long and deep, listening to her every response, and feeling the contractions
of her wet pussy around his tongue.

When he dragged his attention upward onto her clit—ah, damn, it was so fucking swollen
with excitement that his instant urge was to suck it deep into his mouth like an engorged
nipple. Above him, he could sense her biting her lip to keep from crying out, and
the female flesh around his mouth trembled with lust.

He sucked more, harder, finding a rhythm that led her to fuck his mouth. And when
her fingers threaded through his hair, as she pulled his face tight against her mound,
he thought he’d die from pleasure. He was dominant by nature, but there were moments
when it felt strangely powerful to give that up—it felt powerful to deliver that much
pleasure by making himself into a tool, a toy, whatever she needed him to be in order
to make her come.

When the orgasm washed over her, he felt it echo through her pussy and outward through
his mouth. “God, yes—
yes
,” she bit off through clenched teeth, her drives against his face that much harder
now as the heat and release took her away.

He gave her a moment to come back to herself—gave himself a moment, too—before he
pushed to his feet, ready to reassume control here. Game face on, he cast a steely
glare on his hot little Ginger and said, “On your knees. Suck my hard cock, baby.”

And when she parted her lips to answer, Rogan almost expected some sort of protest—because
that was their history, what he’d gotten used to—so it pleased him all the more when
she said, “There’s nothing I want more right now than for you to fill my mouth.”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen April as enthusiastic as when she dropped down to her
knees on the old paving tiles lining the courtyard and practically tore into his pants.
She was like a rabid animal, and by the time she got to his dick, he feared he would
come too soon.

So he struggled to get control, even as perfect as she looked and felt wrapping her
hand around it, even as amazing and beautifully obscene as she appeared vigorously
going down on him.

And damn, she worked magic with her mouth and within seconds had him pumping between
those pretty, welcoming lips of hers. Her hair had started out pulled neatly back
from her face, but now long red locks had snuck free and fell across her cheeks as
she delivered a perfect blow job.

So perfect, in fact, that it wasn’t long before he had to pull out of her wet and
lovely little mouth.

It was both frustrating and exciting as hell when she objected. “No, I want more.
I want you to come in my mouth, Rogan.”

Aw God. At that, his cock nearly exploded in her soft, warm hand instead. And he wanted
to argue in a way. Just because that wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He’d wanted to
haul her back up on those sexy high heels, turn her to frisking position again the
wall, and fuck her naughty little brains out from behind. And besides, he couldn’t
let her keep calling the shots here—he needed to remind them both exactly who was
boss.

But for a woman like April to make the offer to suck him off—shit, how was he supposed
to resist that?

So he didn’t. But he turned the tables, took back the position of authority. If she
wanted him to come in her mouth, he was going to make sure she knew she no longer
had a choice.

He was so excited that when he spoke, his voice came out in a deep rasp. “All right
then, babe. I’m gonna come hard and deep in your hungry little mouth—I’m gonna shoot
my come all the way down your throat. Now suck that cock, baby—suck it good and hard
and deep until I fucking explode between your lips.”

April had never wanted this before, but now she did—she wanted it like she could scarcely
remember wanting anything before. That was how it was with Rogan—her wild desire for
him kept surpassing itself again and again.

Now she didn’t think, or fear anything—she simply followed the hot compulsion to suck
his big cock like there was no tomorrow. Like she needed it in her mouth in order
to stay alive. Like nothing else mattered. She wanted to feel the power of his perfect
erection erupting between her lips, wanted to taste the hot come, even if the sensation
overpowered her.

He prodded her onward with more sexy, dirty talk. “Suck it, baby—suck that big dick.
You love my cock in your mouth—you love having me stretch your lips wide as I thrust
it toward your soft little throat.”

Lord, every word he said felt insanely true. And even as she experienced one brief
moment of wondering who on earth she had become with this man, a much bigger part
of her let all that go because she knew the woman she’d been with him in the beginning
didn’t exist anymore—he’d made her into someone new. Someone freer. Someone happier.
And someone who—oh Lord—had possessed no idea how wildly much she loved and craved
sex until he’d come along.

“That’s right, baby—suck it. Suck that big cock. Keep on. I’m gonna come so hard in
your mouth. I’m gonna come . . . aw fuck,
now
. I’m gonna come
now
, baby.”

She instinctively went still on him, trying to brace herself for the ejaculation.
And then he was pumping between her lips harder, faster, but in blessedly short strokes
that didn’t overwhelm her.

And then came the shocking burst of warmth.
Swallow. Swallow it.
And then it came again, again.
Keep swallowing. So warm.
Somehow she suffered the sensation of that warm wetness spreading all through her
pussy, too, even though it was nowhere near there.

The second she released him from her mouth, two things happened. She experienced that
sense of what he’d alluded to—of her lips feeling stretched, tired, sore, well used.
And he yanked her to her feet by one arm and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.
And it was the most amazing kiss they’d ever shared, because even if it came without
words, she understood. She and Rogan didn’t always
need
words. But she knew that he was needing
her
the same way she’d begun to need
him
.

And as much as it was still about hot, kinky sex, in other ways it had begun to be
about much more than that.

* * *

A
n hour later they’d driven back to South Beach and sat on the sand, staring out over
the water, the neon lights of Ocean Drive’s art deco hotels behind them in the distance.
April had long since given up worrying about how her skirt and blouse would come through
this night, but they shared a laugh over it, agreeing he was hell on her wardrobe.

They stayed quiet for a while, too, simply holding hands, and April was again filled
with a lovely sense of closeness to him. He was so different from any other man she’d
dated, and yet she’d slowly come to appreciate his quiet strength—and in fact, now
even found it quite mesmerizing in ways.

At the same time, though, she wanted more from him. She couldn’t help it. She
wanted
that closeness, but she didn’t know how to
be
truly close to someone who wouldn’t open up to her.

“Don’t suppose you want to tell me any more about your family,” she suggested, half
smiling, half playful, but also serious.

As usual when she broached this topic, though, he stared straight ahead, this time
out at the rippling waves. “Nothing to tell.”

“I think you’re lying,” she said teasingly.

“Think whatever you want, Ginger,” he told her, not sounding angry, just matter-of-fact.

Okay, another strikeout. But that didn’t mean she had to give up entirely. “Then . . .
tell me more about the girl, the one you loved in Michigan.”

That’s when he turned his head her way. “Why are you so nosy?”

Fortunately, she felt connected enough to him at this point that the accusation didn’t
even begin to daunt her. She simply replied, “Because maybe I care about you or something.
Now tell me.”

He lowered his chin in a chiding way. “You’re not being very submissive,” he pointed
out.

But she simply shrugged. “Sometimes that works for me. Other times not so much.”

And even as he took a long, deep breath next to her, it surprised her when he actually
began to talk, began telling her about a girl named Mira who ran a bookshop and who
was now engaged to marry a friend of his this coming summer. “She’s a good person—you’d
like her,” he went on to say. And she was touched by how honest she sensed him being,
and she held his hand tighter as he confided in her further about the relationship.

“And that afghan you asked me about at my apartment?” he said after telling her how
things finally ended between them. “Just so you know, my neighbor made it for me after
I tried to get her back but couldn’t. And even though Mrs. Denby never said, and it
wasn’t like we chatted a lot, I always kind of thought she just knew I was in a shitty
place after that, and maybe she noticed I didn’t have a lot of people in my life.
And the fact is, when she gave me that afghan . . . well, it meant something to me.
I’m not sure anybody’s ever made anything for me before. Or since. So there. Now you
know the whole damn story. Happy now, Ginger?”

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, like I said last time we talked about this, not happy you
were hurt, but happy you told me.”

And maybe I’m also a little bit happy that Mira didn’t take you back—because if she
had, I wouldn’t have you now. Thank you, Mira—wherever you are.

* * *

A
pril sat in her living room, looking at her phone like a silly schoolgirl; she was
rereading text messages from Rogan. Yesterday evening, just after she’d eaten dinner,
he’d texted her, informing her she was to be at his place Saturday night at nine.

She’d not argued—for the usual reason; it had grown shockingly easy and even pleasing
to be compliant with him. And she’d realized that, deep down, it didn’t really take
away any of her power, especially now that she had learned to accept her desire to
be with him and felt like they’d actually developed a relationship of sorts. And besides
that, Allison often came looking for a babysitter on Saturday nights, and she wouldn’t
mind in the least having a good reason to say no.

But what really had her looking at her phone, feeling a little giddy and romantic
inside, was the fact that he’d texted her again later, closer to eleven, and the message
had contained two simple words:
GOODNIGHT, GINGER.

Which maybe wasn’t a big deal. But it just meant that he was thinking about her. And
not just about dominating her—meaning his every thought about her wasn’t about sex,
just as her every thought about him was no longer only about sex, either. And it just
felt . . . normal. Like what people in a normal relationship did.