Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (34 page)

Mad with desire, he dropped a hand to cup a
buttock and hold her thigh against his hip. She ground herself at
him as his lips moved from her mouth down to her neck. She craned
her neck to allow him better access. The fragrance of the pomade
she used in her hair filled his nostrils. He wished she would use
less of it, but he could still smell
her.
He could not
describe it, but it stirred his blood, as the scent of a prey might
rouse a wolf.

While feasting upon her neck, he reached up
and pulled the end of the scarf. It unraveled from her wrists. He
swept her into his arms and placed her upon the bed. He returned to
kissing her upon the mouth. She grasped his head with both hands,
threading her fingers through his hair, and held his head in place
as they took turns ravaging each other with lips and tongue. When
she bit him gently upon a lip, he growled and clamped his mouth
about her, kissing her with a desperate fierceness. Somewhere in
his head, caution advised him against such actions. He had been
careful throughout Miss Katherine’s lesson. Why put all that
forbearance to waste?

But all misgivings were overruled by desire
to take her and make her spend, to give her the ecstasy she had
waited for. It would be unfair of him to make her witness both Miss
Katherine and Lord Wendlesson attain that rapturous end without
achieving her own glorious finish. He wanted that ecstasy for her.
For himself.

His hand gripped and caressed the length of
her body from shoulders to waist to leg. Every touch elicited from
her a gasp, sigh or moan. Reaching beneath her shift, he grasped
her arse. Remembering that he had walloped her good last night, he
turned her toward him to better view her backside. It bore no marks
and was as fresh and smooth as that of a babe. His cock stretched
at the sight of such shapely orbs gleaming in the light of the
lamp. He dug his fingers into the flesh before giving it a playful
smack.

She was planting kisses along his jaw, and
he gasped when she thrust her tongue into his ear. One of her legs
slid along his, and he felt his attention pulled in several
directions. She clenched his hair till it pulled upon his scalp
while kissing him voraciously, pressing her tongue at the soft spot
beneath his chin.

He took both her wrists, and she allowed him
to pin them above her head. Holding them in place with one hand, he
loosened the drawstring of her décolletage. There was one other
part of her he had desperately wanted in his mouth. Pulling her
shift down, he scooped a breast. The nipple pointed hard at him.
Too overcome with desire, he dispensed with more gentle ceremony.
His mouth swooped down upon the bud. She exclaimed and writhed, but
he had her wrists pinioned and half his body pinning her to the
bed. He suckled and licked the nipple. She arched her back. She
thrust her hips. She yanked her arms. Her movements fueled the fire
in his veins, and he knew there was no hope of desisting now.

Knowing her cunnie wanted attention, he
moved his hand between her thighs. They were soaking wet between,
making his head swim. He stroked her folds, then nestled his thumb
at her clitoris. She whimpered. He petted the little bud, coaxing
it to engorge. His mouth was still locked to the other bud, and he
alternated between licking the one and caressing the other before
bearing down on both. Her body bowed off the bed.

“Please!” she cried. “Please…I want
your…fuck me…”

No siren’s song could equal those two little
words.
Fuck me.
What mortal could resist such a plea? With a
groan, he sat up and nearly tore the buttons off his fall. His
erection freed, he positioned himself atop her. Glancing at her, he
found himself pulled into the brightness of her eyes. It was the
one thing that made him pause when every fiber of his body yearned
to sink into her.

“Now,” she whispered, lifting her pelvis to
his. “Please.”

He met her and pressed his hardened shaft
into her soft, wet folds. The heat encasing him was utterly divine,
and he could not refrain from pushing more of his length into her.
Exquisite. Marvelous. Wondrous. There were not words enough to
describe how she felt.

She flexed about his member, making him
shiver, then ground her hips at him, her desire perhaps more
impatient than his. Her hands reached into his hair once more,
pulling him down to her lips. He took them into his mouth as he
buried himself to the hilt. She gave a satisfied grunt and wrapped
a leg about his, her cunnie grasping at his cock while she devoured
his mouth.

Her aggression astonished him, but he was
excited by her unabashed hunger. Her body strained against him,
wanting to spend, needing and using his body to reach her
objective, but her motions were a bit haphazard in their zeal.
When, in her fervor, she pulled too hard upon his hair, he grabbed
her wrists and pinned them once more above her head. He shoved into
her forcefully.

With a gasp, she gave him her attention.
Though he would have been glad to pound her cunnie in wild abandon,
he forced himself to thrust with a controlled rhythm. He wanted to
ensure she spent. On his cock.

She followed the rolling of his hips and
gave him not the soft pants of Miss Katherine but deep, ravenous
groans. In unison, their bodies rocked the bed. He drank in the
sight of her physiognomy. Every furrow of the brow. Flutter of the
lashes. Pouting of the lips. For a while, she held his gaze, but as
she neared her climax, she began to close her eyes. The blush upon
her cheeks spread, and light perspiration gleamed upon the tip of
her nose and the cleavage of her breasts. He quickened his motions
to shorter, faster thrusts, smacking his groin against her.

With a cry, she trembled and bucked beneath
him. He surged toward his own apex as the beauty of her spending
filled his senses, but he withheld himself. He was not without
gratitude for her assistance with Miss Katherine and Lord
Wendlesson tonight, and he would show his appreciation by making
her spend again.

He managed to stay his own urges till the
convulsing of her cunnie about his cock quieted. Allowing her a
moment to bask in her finish, he brushed a tendril from the side of
her face.

She opened her eyes and curled her lips.
“Thank you, Master.”

His heart warmed at the radiance in her
face. He returned her smile. “You forgot to ask permission.”

“Oh.” But the lapse in her smile was
fleeting. “Was it agreed that I am your submissive?”

“Do not feign ignorance with me, Miss
Terrell.”

Dropping his head, he pulled aside her shift
to bare a breast and took the nipple into his mouth. He sucked till
the whole of her back arched off the bed. As he nipped and bit her,
she squealed, a little too loudly for comfort, for the door to
their room remained unlocked. He reached for the scarf that had
landed upon the bed and stuffed it into her mouth upon her next
cry.

He stared into her eyes. “You must always
ask permission to spend. Even a novice submissive knows that.”

The scarf stifled her response, but he
imagined her to be asking how she would do this with the scarf in
her mouth. He withdrew and flipped her onto her stomach. Pushing
aside her hair, he feasted upon her neck, then kissed her
lower.

She inhaled sharply when his lips brushed
against the top of a scar. He would not repeat his error of last
night. Instead, he threw the lower part of her shift up over her
arse and admired the backside he had bared. Such curved succulence.
Such pristine buttocks. His heartbeat quickened at the prospect of
remedying that. He sank his fingers into one orb, then smacked
it.

She wriggled her arse, inviting him to slap
it some more.

He accepted. He rained several blow upon one
cheek till a rosy glow formed.

Already hot and uncomfortable from before,
he decided to remove a few articles of clothing. Straddling her to
keep her in place, he swiftly removed his waistcoat, cravat, collar
and braces. After pulling off his shirt, he resumed the walloping
of her derriere. The sharp sound of his hand connecting with that
firm, full flesh was made more melodious by her muffled grunts and
cries. He pushed his erection at her rump. Had she not said he
could claim her back paradise? How many men had received a similar
invitation from her?

His cock strained against his trousers, but
he would not permit himself the sweet invasion of her arse. Not
yet.

But he would take her cunnie again. He
reached a hand below her buttocks and found her thighs newly wet.
She moaned and said something into the scarf. He could not decipher
the words but thought he understood the tone. He pushed his
trousers down. Laying his body atop hers, he speared himself into
her.

She exclaimed and mumbled into the scarf.
His cods were at a boil the instant he was inside of her with his
groin pressing against her derriere. Taking in a deep breath, he
brushed his lips once more along the nape of her neck. He pinned
her wrists once more above her head as he slowly sawed his shaft in
and out of her.

In this position, with her arms locked in
place, there was little she could do but submit to him. She could
widen her legs to provide him better access, but from her anxious
groans, he surmised the angle of penetration suited her. He saw her
fingers digging into the bedclothes below. Her speech quickened. It
sounded as if she said, “Master…please.” After that, he could not
discern if she even spoke words.

To pleasure her further—and make matters
worse—he dropped a hand and insinuated it under her pelvis,
searching for that accessory to her undoing. He found the still
engorged bud and stroked it. Her hand grasped his arm, pulling at
it, but with only partial conviction. She struggled, knowing she
ought not spend without gaining his permission but wanting to
surrender to the delight.

He provided her a moment of relief when he
ceased his caress and pinched the bud. Hard. Her hand tightened
upon his arm. He released the bud and returned to stroking it. She
shivered and raised her hips as if to escape his hand, but she was
trapped beneath his body with nowhere to go.

She grasped and pulled at his arm. Shaking
her head, she tried to speak through the scarf. He suspected she
cursed him. She bucked as if to throw him off or interfere with his
penetration, but he only hastened his thrusting, slapping his groin
against her rear. Realizing he was too strong, his weight too much
for her, she relented. She squeezed her eyes shut and held onto his
arm, the concentration writ upon every inch of her face as she did
her best to hold the dam against the flood of rapture.

Not without struggle to stem his own growing
tide, he pulled the scarf from her mouth.

“P-Permission…” she stuttered, her voice dry
and raspy.

“Granted.”

Shoving himself at her, he pushed her over
the edge into a pool of paroxysms. As if attempting to swim upon
the bed, her limbs flailed beneath him atop the bedclothes. Her
cunnie convulsed about him, sending ripples of pleasure down his
legs. He drove himself into her with greater fury to achieve his
own end, which erupted inside him with such force he wondered that
his body could contain it. His body bucked uncontrollably against
her, his roar mixing with her continued cries. He slammed into her
several more times, as if the only means of saving himself was to
bury his cock as deep inside her as possible.

Spent, he allowed his body to settle atop
her while he gulped for air. He could feel his seed mixing with her
nectar about his shaft. His cock throbbed in the comfort of her
heat. Her cunnie would flex briefly about him, making him gasp.
When the pulses up and down his legs began to abate, he lifted some
of his upper weight off her and kissed the crook between her neck
and collar and across the top of a shoulder. She purred and relaxed
into the bed.

“Thank you, Master.”

He slid off her and pulled her to him. His
heart beat strongly still, but holding her had a calming
effect.

“It is I who should thank you,” he replied.
“I do not think Lord Wendlesson would have been as pleased if the
lessons had continued as I originally intended.”

“Then you do not regret my intrusion?”

Not knowing what to make of it all, he made
no reply at first. Did the end justify the means? He supposed that,
if the Wendlessons were satisfied, he ought have no complaints.

“I do not condone your interference into my
affairs,” he said, partially to warn her against future thoughts of
the same. “As I have said before, your behavior is far from that of
a perfect submissive.”

She turned around to face him and propped
herself upon his chest. “Instruct me then. I can be taught to
become the perfect submissive.”

Touched by her earnestness, he cupped the
side of her head, his fingers threading through her curls. Like the
hair of Oriental women, it was thick and coarser than that of
English women.

“I can instruct you, but your wayward nature
does not predispose you to well-behaved submission.”

“You would enjoy instructing me.”

He said nothing. Doubtless he would take
great pleasure in it. His hand remembered how fine her arse had
felt. He would like to see it quiver once more. But it was useless
to entertain such prospects. He tucked his free hand behind his
head.

“It would be a fruitless endeavor,” he told
her, marveling that her mouth lost none of its sensuality when she
frowned. He ran his thumb against her lower lip.

“Are you not up to the challenge?”

He started, then gave her an admonishing
look. “I will not be cajoled by your wiles.”

She looked at him through lowered lashes.
“Do you fear failure?”

He forced her head to look him more fully in
the face. “The amount of discipline required to turn
you
into the perfect submissive would be more than you could bear.”