Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (25 page)

Lowering her head, she engulfed his cock
with her mouth. He stiffened against the chair, groaning despite
himself. She swirled her tongue against his shaft and sucked till
her cheeks caved.

“Miss Terrell!”

She released him from her mouth but replaced
the grasp with her hand, smoothing her salivation over its length.
He shivered when she grazed the sensitive underside. She slid her
hand down to cup his cods.

“If you proceed,” he warned, “you may
consider this your last night at the Red Chrysanthemum.”

Defiantly, she squeezed her hand about his
sack. He emitted a loud grunt and would have bent over were he not
tethered to the chair.

“Do not make me punish you, Mister Gallant.
I vow I can be as severe a mistress as Mistress Scarlet.”

He looked puzzled by her statement but was
distracted once more when she took his cock into her mouth. She
allowed it passage to her throat.
My God, he tastes fine.
She felt him pulse inside her mouth and relished the fullness of
him. Relaxing her throat, she slid more of him into her. She wanted
all of him, wanted to swallow him as deeply as she could.

“Miss Terrell!”

But his cry emerged as a haggard gasp this
time. She took him into her throat until her nose tickled the hairs
at his pelvis.

“Damnation,” he whispered.

It had taken her much practice not to choke
when she took cockmeat deep into her throat. She had trained
herself using dildos long and wide. Ruth had explained that the
accomplishment would drive his sex mad with arousal, and this had
indeed proved true. Master Gallant was no different.

She released him and immediately wanted to
take him back into her mouth. Not only did he feel marvelous, the
motion distracted her from the trembling inside of her. Her heart
was beating madly, and she felt herself on fire from head to toe.
Through the torrent of emotions and thoughts warring inside of her
rose one that did not confuse: desire.

“Do you wish me to stop?” she asked.

Their gazes locked, and the seconds passed
like hours. All the considerations that had passed through her
moments ago no longer mattered. She wanted only to pleasure him, to
give him that divine ecstasy and thereby claim him. For a brief
moment, he would be hers and only hers.

“No.”

She blinked. “No? You wish me
not
to
stop?”

His breath was haggard but his speech firm.
“Do not stop.”

Relief and joy washed over. Taking a deep
breath, she eased her mouth onto the crown. Grasping his shaft with
both hands, she licked and sucked vigorously at the head of his
erection.

“My God,” he gasped.

Showing him no mercy, she encased him once
more to the hilt. She would make him spend as he had never spent
before. With her mouth, she pulled at his cock, sucking as hard as
she could, as if she could detach his member with the force of her
mouth. Her lips caressed his length as she moved her head up and
down his shaft.

From his fierce grunting, she could tell
victory would soon be hers. She cupped his sack and squeezed. He
roared at the pain. She alternated between swallowing his cock and
pressing his cods together till he thrashed in the chair. Worried
he might fall over, she abandoned the scrotum and concentrated upon
pleasuring his cock. She sensed the subtle thrusting of his hips.
If he were not bound in place, she was certain he would be pushing
his cock deeper into her.

His surrender was imminent. She fit two
fingers beneath his cods and anus. She pressed and rubbed the small
but sensitive area.

It was his undoing. His roar filled her
ears. His hips bucked against the restraints. Hot liquid shot down
her throat. She had to release some of him to prevent herself from
gagging. She tasted him upon her tongue, savored the convulsing of
his cock, and milked as much of his mettle as she could. There was
a faint and familiar saltiness to his seed, and a tang that did not
seem to exist elsewhere. She drank her fill, then licked him
clean.

He shuddered several times before his
shoulders relaxed. He looked at her without expression, his eyes
glazed, pupils dilated. Triumphant, she licked at his cock. He
grunted, his member being overly sensitive.

Desire, hot and heavy, burned through her
veins. Though his climax gratified her as much as her own might,
she needed to release the pressure inside her. It was madness how
much she desired this man, even after all that he had said. And
despite his declarations, he had spent at the hands of a
blackamoor. She could have exalted in her victory and made known
his hypocrisy to him, but, at present, she only wanted to spear
herself upon his cock. It would need to harden again first.

Sitting down upon the floor before him, she
spread her bent legs. The ends of the scarf covered her intimate
parts. She caressed the insides of her thighs.

“Your cock makes for a fine meal, Master
Gallant,” she said and licked her top, then bottom lip, “the taste
of your mettle sweeter than any confection.”

He breathed deeply still and stared at her
in silence.

“I would swallow your cockmeat whenever you
demanded,” she added as her hands slid toward her cunnie. Leaning
back on her left arm, she slipped her right hand beneath the scarf
to fondle the button of pleasure there. “Would you like for me to
dine upon your cock a second time?”

He said nothing. She stroked herself with
her forefinger, then raised the digit to her mouth. Pretending the
finger to be a cock, she closed her lips about it and sucked while
fixing her gaze upon him. Though softened, his cock shifted. She
swirled the finger inside her mouth and sucked harder. His eyes
fixed upon the digit she pulled and pushed between her lips. Having
coated it well, she returned to caressing the bud beneath the
scarf. She flexed her cunnie, causing the pleasure to ripple
through her nether regions.

Still caressing herself, she lay fully upon
the ground. She lifted her hips, and he would have stared directly
at her cunnie but for the covering of the scarf. For several
minutes, she gyrated and writhed upon the floor, her desperation to
be filled growing. She panted and moaned. Her hips went up and
down. She rubbed herself harder and faster. With her free hand, she
touched herself all over, the breast, waist, and belly, imagining
it was his hand that caressed her body. Knowing that she performed
for
him
made the whole enactment more erotic for her.

She glanced through lowered lashes to see
that he had not looked away. With his mouth dropped open and his
eyes molten, his expression differed little from that of Sir Arthur
when he had born witness to the sight of her frigging herself.
Satisfied, she closed her eyes. The tension in her body could coil
no further, and she allowed it to release in spasms through her
limbs. With loud gasps, she convulsed upon the ground.

When the climax of her pleasure finally
began to ebb, and all tremors had dissipated from her body, she
removed her hand from beneath the soaking scarf and looked over at
Gallant. There was a hard set to his jaw, and he did not look
pleased.

But between his thighs, his cock protruded
tall and hard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

D
amnation.

Charles felt uncomfortably hot, and it was
not all due to his exertions against his bonds. His cock was stiff
once more and tense, as if he had not spent—gloriously—but moments
before. What manner of witchcraft did the Negress before him
employ? He knew the answer entailed no sorcery at all, but only her
nubile body and an uncanny ability to employ its qualities in the
most mesmerizing movements. He moved his gaze from the sodden scarf
between her thighs—he had both wished to see it removed and prayed
for it to remain—to her eyes, bright with desire still. The blood
pulsed to the tip of his cock.

He stared at her supple lips, lips that had
wrapped his shaft in the most exquisite pleasure. Where had she
learned to swallow cock in such magnificent fashion? How many cocks
must she have taken into that bewitching mouth of hers? His cock
had never been sucked so deeply, so vigorously. He had fought the
desire to spend, though he had known, within seconds of being
inside her mouth, that resistance was futile. And did he not
immediately regret his surrender. The climax that had erupted from
him could have launched his body to the rafters.

But he ought to be furious with her. Furious
that she had ignored all his warnings, his pleas. Furious that she
had succeeded in proving his weakness. Furious that she had dared
restrain and force herself upon him. She had lied. She had said she
could be the most perfect submissive. Instead, she had done the
very opposite and treated him as the submissive one. He had no
trouble assuming the role provided he had agreed to it. Far from
being consulted, he had been manhandled and pushed unwillingly into
the position. The audacity of Miss Terrell was beyond any he had
ever witnessed.

But none of that mattered to his cock. The
damned member would betray him once again. It wanted to be buried
inside her mouth, his hand fisted in her hair, pushing her face to
his pelvis till his hairs tickled her nose.

Miss Terrell rose to her feet, not in the
slightest tired. “May I partake of the main repast?”

She straddled him and locked her hands
behind his neck, her cunnie hovering perilously close to his
erection.

He wanted to say no. Or yes. He wanted to
say yes, but pride would not permit him to grant her a second
victory.

Placing her lips beside his ear, she
whispered, “I will take your silence as a ‘yes.’”

He did not dispute her. She sank herself
onto his length. There was no protesting now. Her hot, sopping
cunnie sheathing his cock had wiped out all thought. She gasped,
her mouth widely agape. Perhaps she had not intended to take him
into her so fully or swiftly, but the heavy moisture in her cunnie
allowed his cock to glide easily into her. He felt her flesh caress
him, and he had to close his eyes to keep from bursting inside of
her.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them
moved. He did not want to give her the satisfaction of spending
twice, but being inside her cunnie was every bit as marvelous as
being inside her mouth. Her cunnie had to have seen heavy use, but
it was extraordinarily tight, as if she might have been a virgin
still.

Bloody hell
, he cursed when her
cunnie rippled along his cock. He opened his eyes to find her
smiling at him. The minx knew just how to provoke him, provoke his
body. She wriggled, then ground herself on him.

“Oh…
yes
,” she murmured.

And this, too, provoked him. He recalled her
words:
I would swallow your cockmeat whenever you demanded
.
How many men would have leaped, stumbling over themselves, at such
a proclamation? They would deem him an undeserving fool if he
refused such an offer. Indeed, he was tempted to determine if she
spoke true. After all that she had said and done, he was not
inclined to trust her. Perhaps he ought to accept her declaration
and punish her by demanding her mouth to exhaustion. The thought
made his cods boil.

She pressed herself up till only the crown
of his cock remained inside her. She flexed her cunnie, making him
groan, then fell atop him. His cock rammed into her. He grunted,
amazed at the pleasure engulfing his shaft. Threading her fingers
through his hair, she yanked his head upward and covered his mouth
with hers. He thought he could, at the least, resist the raping of
his mouth. But the soft texture of her lips proved too much. He
parted his lips to allow her tongue passage and thought he tasted
his own seed upon her.

She kissed him with vigor, her tongue
exploring every crevice of his orifice, sucking his lips till they
tingled. His head swam. He needed desperately to thrust into her.
That he could not because he was bound to the chair only magnified
his desperation.

Pushing aside the linen about his throat,
she licked and kissed him there. When she began to suck his neck,
he cursed.
God help him.
What man of flesh and blood would
not succumb? He wondered that he could resist responding to her
ministrations if his life depended upon it. She tightened her grip
in his hair, and he welcomed the pain. He would have preferred
another slap in the face to what she did next.

She pushed herself up his shaft, her cunnie
pulling along his member. When she slid back down, her cunnie
pushed against him. It was beyond glorious. He wished his hips
free, that he might meet her thrusts and drive his cock deeper into
her. As he was bound, however, all the exertion was hers. He had
but to sit and enjoy the hot, wet cunnie embracing him as it went
up and down his shaft. He was going to spend. The only unknown was
when.

“You must not,” he grumbled. “A condom…”

He had to force the words, for his cock
wanted none of it. It wanted to remain pulsing in her wet heat,
skin to cunnie.

“Fear not,” she murmured between soft bites
of his neck. “I am barren.”

He heard her words as if from the end of a
tunnel. He tried to grasp their meaning.

“You cannot be certain,” he said.

“I am.”

He wanted to believe her, but she was
doubtlessly too young to claim herself barren. She quickened her
motions, her legs showing no signs of tiring, though she had begun
to pant in earnest and perspiration glistened upon her brow, her
nose, and bosom. He made one last effort at protesting, but the
primal part of him wanted to stake his claim of her and spill his
seed inside of her. He wanted also to see her spend upon his cock.
That alone gave him the forbearance to withhold his release.