Going Down (8 page)

How many times had she sensed that zing of alarm tonight? No matter, it was back again. “You want simple,” she teased. “I can do that. Bottom line, I want to fuck you. Sorry but I can't get any more basic than that.”

He had the good sense to laugh, and if the sound was forced, she couldn't do anything about it. Being bound to the chair was bringing out the hidden submissive in her. No matter what she told those she trusted, no matter what she firmly believed about herself as the modern and independent woman, a small and—to her mind—weak element craved being controlled.

So feed off what he's uncovered.

No!

Do you have a choice?

Disgusted with and a little unnerved by the internal argument, she refocused on Reeve. “Where is this going?”

F
unny how quickly things can take a right turn,
Saree thought as she watched Reeve shuck out of his shorts. Now, like her, he was naked from the waist down.

The size of his cock didn't surprise her. True, seeing it in all its engorged glory filled in whatever blanks there might have been in her imagination, but she'd known he'd be larger and longer than average. Not only had she touched him there when he was still clothed, but she'd seen enough of the suckers to consider herself an expert.

Strange thing about a man's cock. No matter what individual differences there were, not a one failed to elicit a response from her. Those responses had all boiled down to one thing: she wanted it in her. Whether it took up residence in her pussy or mouth or even her ass didn't matter that much. She'd take her pleasure however it came. But if she had her choice—

“Condom.” She spoke the word without hesitation. “You better have one.”

“Yeah, I think.”

He thought? Did that mean he hadn't anticipated their having sex tonight or had he thought she'd supply the one covering she always insisted a man wore? Maybe—and this possibility made her grit her teeth—he hadn't thought enough of her to concern himself with protection.

It's protection for you, too, you idiot. Just because you think I'm some kind of whore—

No, she wasn't going to go there! Facing how some people thought of her solved and resolved nothing.

Mentally shaking off the argument she knew she'd never resolve to her satisfaction, she noted that he had picked up his shorts and was going through his wallet. When he pulled out a condom packet, she nodded approval. She even entertained the notion of helping him into it.

His expression unreadable, he opened the package, removed the condom, and rolled it onto himself. Seeing him sheathed like that distanced her from the fantasy element that came with being on a boat on an ocean bay at night with a mysterious and wealthy man. Protection was reality, plain and simple. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“You shouldn't have had to ask. I'm sorry you did.”

How polite and considerate he was, how normal. Why then couldn't she completely shake the sense that something was going on beneath the surface?

Because you don't do things like this. And because you don't tell strangers about your parents.

She'd been leaning forward watching him, but now she sank back into the chair. Suddenly unsure, she moistened her fingers by putting them in her mouth and sucking. Then, acutely aware of his dark scrutiny, she spread her labial lips and dipped into herself. As strong as it was, the sea smell didn't completely cover her own scent. She was soaked, nearly dripping.

“Is that for your benefit or mine?” he asked, cupping both hands around his cock.

“A little of both. What about you?”

“Just trying to keep myself under wraps until you're ready for the next step.”

Once again she was struck by how gentlemanly he was; maybe it came with extreme wealth. Watching him sustain and control his erection via a series of pumping movements kicked her own arousal up a notch. And since there was no reason not to let him know, she splayed her legs even more before pushing deeper into her hole. Her role as a bondage model meant she seldom had access to her body, and although she usually had no problem with that given the ultimate reward, tending to her own needs had become a treat.

Still, she wanted
his
hands on her, not hers.

Maybe he knew what she was thinking when he erased the distance between them and closed his fingers around her wrist. Pulling gently but steadily, he forced her to vacate her hole. Then, his expression intent, he lifted her hand to his mouth and drank from the juices on her fingers.

Suddenly shy, she concentrated on returning his gaze. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

When he pressed his free hand on her mons, her harsh gasp said it all. Unhinged, she struggled to pant through the heady pressure. He wasn't touching her sex; she had no idea when or how or if he'd do that. But it didn't matter because the core of her sexuality rested just beneath his hand, and it was waiting for him. Hungry for him.

There. A finger stroking her wet opening while others spread her sex lips. Something between a cry and a groan escaped despite her efforts to keep at least some small element of her reaction from him.

When the intrusion dove deeper, her head thrashed of its own will. Another crying groan broke free. Desperate to keep from drowning, she reached for his cock, but although her fingertips found it, she couldn't hold onto him. And with his finger in her, she couldn't think, couldn't command her muscles, couldn't see. “Not fair, not fair.”

“Tell me to stop then.”

Like hell I will.
“Later.”

Although her attempt at humor earned her a deep chuckle, the sound was forced. Why? Because he'd sensed uncertainty on her part? Damn it, she knew how to turn men on!

But most of the time she turned them on because she was a hell of an actress, if not award-winning caliber, at least sure of her role. This was exploration and hesitation, being in his world with his hands on and in and around her and about to drown in the waves he'd created.

Past knowing how to fight those waves, she dropped her arms to her sides, all but slid out of the chair, and turned herself over to him.

He came at her with fingers and mouth, with his knuckles and breath. All thought of fighting the waves gone, she drifted in a heated sea. If others were out tonight and spotted his boat, they might think they were looking at two clad strangers having a private conversation, but if they came close enough, they'd discover that clothing ended at the waist and the positions were intimate. She hoped the hypothetical others would respect their need for privacy, but even if they turned out to be voyeurs, she wouldn't stop what was happening. She couldn't.

Reeve understood the female body and its needs but lacked the finesse of the pros she worked with. Still, although at times his finger worked too fast or slow and the amount of pressure was off, she wouldn't change anything. His slick finger invaded and withdrew, randomly touching her inner walls as if searching for something. The lack of rhythm forced her to stay with him, in the moment, instead of slipping off into the world created by her body and mind. And yet much as she needed to float, to simply
be,
this way made it possible for her to remain in control. A climax was there, humming in the background and awaiting its chance to break free. She taught it patience by listening to his quick breathing and pondering how his fingers had become calloused.

When he knelt and tongued her labia, she grabbed his hair, half rose, nearly came. But his gift was short—and tentative. He stood, covered her pelvic bones with his palms, and held her in place while nibbling at the side of her freely offered neck. Then that changed.

He was on his knees again, spreading hers and leaning so close that his hair brushed her inner thighs. Moaning, she rolled her pelvis at him. Her arousal seeped from her, prompting her to try to clamp her hands around his head and hold him in place.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he muttered with his head between her legs. “Relax. Just relax.”

Instead of pointing out that she was hardly a novice when it came to cunnilingus, she ordered her muscles to heed his command. But how could she when a second later, the tip of his tongue slipped between her cunt lips? Her arms had grown so heavy; her legs were like lead. What choice did she have but to sink into the fighting seat and continue to offer herself to him?

This time, instead of the brief and unsettling contact he'd given her before, he stayed with her. His tongue all but milked her, and his lips, his damp satiny lips, pulled her loose flesh into him until she wondered if he might swallow her. Closing his mouth around her, he held her captive, drew back only to release the pressure moments later. She hissed, mewled, gasped, and offered herself to him, handed herself over to him, gave up ownership.

“What do you want? What do you want of me?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she'd have given anything to have them back because she didn't want him to speak. Not now.

But maybe his answer was in the pressure of his tongue pushing past her outer tissues and finding her waiting heat.

“Yes. Yes. Oh yes.”

Floating again, drifting, becoming mist, hovering on the brink, losing herself, mostly losing herself and not giving a damn.

Someday, maybe, she'd teach him the nuances of what he was doing, but this was good. Wonderful. Alive.

An image of her shattering like ice formed in her mind. She'd changed from a woman to a dry dandelion caught in a breeze. Bit by bit she was losing form, parts of her drifting off into the air.

Why was he doing this for and to her? She understood men's needs and egos and had never doubted that they put themselves first. No matter what they might profess, their pleasure came before their partner's. Once a man had climaxed, if he could remain awake, he might return the favor, but the opposite simply didn't occur to any man she'd ever known—unless he was being paid for the performance. Other women might rail about their partner's selfishness, but she didn't blame them for being what nature had intended. After all, wasn't it a man's
job
to spread his seed?

Reeve was as virile as any man. He knew what she was, at least how she earned her living, so surely he'd concluded that she knew what male selfishness was all about. He wouldn't have to pretend to be the sensitive male with her; he could be all stud, all selfish.

Questions about the truth behind Reeve pulled her back to the real world. Not completely of course, but she ceased to exist solely as a drifting cunt and became a woman again. He was still kneeling before her. His tongue continued to draw wetness from her, but she was no longer blind and stupid. Instead, she was determined to get answers. Somehow.

“Your turn,” she blurted. “Let me do you. I want—you deserve—”

“Don't you trust me?”

She wasn't sure what made the most impact, the loss of that incredible tongue of his or his question. “I don't know. Should I?”

“No.”

No?
What the hell did he mean by that? By sending an order to her muscles, she managed to sit up straight once again and closed her legs. And if he was amused because she couldn't keep her hand off herself, to the hell with him. “Is that what you usually do? Off with a woman's clothes and right to the goodies? Get her so hot and bothered she'll let you do whatever you want with her?”

“Is that how you see it?”

He stood, and with his arms folded over his chest, she didn't know whether to laugh at his half-clad state or take his cock into her mouth. “You have me off balance, that's all.”

“It works both ways.”

Again he planted a foot on the riser. Not sure what he had in mind, she assessed her chances of getting past him: none. Before she could decide what to do with her knowledge, he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her off the chair. At the same time, he stepped onto the riser and turned so his back was to the chair. Easily holding her in place, he sat down.

Being taller than he did nothing to lessen his impact, not that she wanted that. Besides, all it took was a look at his cock to make her decision. He must have known what she had in mind as she straddled his legs because his hold became more a caress and less restraint.

Keeping her eyes on him, she slid closer. Once she was in position, she took hold of his cock and aimed it between her legs. Except for a series of blinks, he didn't react. She supposed she could state the obvious, but she preferred to see whether he approved or stopped her attempt to mount him.

Mount him. What a wonderful thought!

Making sure she was in position wasn't the most graceful thing she'd ever done and probably would have been impossible if she hadn't been in good physical condition. As it was, she had to rely on him to steady her while she stood on her toes. A little careful bending of his nearly unbendable cock and his tip rested against her entrance. A little spreading of herself followed by a cautious lowering of her body—and there! There he was. In her.

Still depending on him for balance, she continued her descent. He filled her, invaded her. She was becoming part of him and, she told herself, he was surrendering himself to her. This union of male and female parts was forever new, forever heady. Her mouth dried, prompting her to swallow. Once she'd replenished the vital moisture, she went back to studying him. Shuttered eyes said it all, shuttered with the window to his emotions locked away. And yet sexual hunger lived in their depths. He was showing her his animal side, nothing more.

Fine. She'd give him animal in return.

Throwing back her head so she'd have ready access to all the oxygen she'd need, she started bending and then straightening her knees. She should have started slow and in control, tested her endurance and the vital alignment, but she was so damn hungry. So eager to feel his gift and feed off it.