Page 42 of Forbidden Mistress

His shadow moves toward me, and I feel his strong hand smooth down my bare arm. “You are everything I want,” he whispers, his voice urgent.

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes, because I believe him. I can hear the sincerity in his tone. I take a deep breath. “I’m not saying I’m not interested in a little pain, but too much too quickly is obviously going to be a problem. And I’m not your sub. This world is new to me. You need to ease me into it, help me.”

He takes my chin between his fingers and pulls my face toward his. His warm breath is feather-light on my lips. “You are so fucking magnificent.” I can hear the relief in his voice, and it makes me smile. I was being truthful. The exchange of power, pain and submission is intriguing to me, and so far, I’ve mostly liked what I’ve encountered. But I need to go slow.

He kisses me again, and when his lips meet mine, I can feel every ounce of desire pour out of him, and into me. His tongue invades my mouth forcefully as he drinks me in, his hands moving over my dress, unhooking every clasp, pulling the fabric off my body. I’m not wearing a bra, and after I step out of my heels, my panties are quickly discarded.

“Get on the bed,” he orders.

I can see the outline of the bed, and I walk over to it. The blankets smell like Hart, and I inhale deeply as I lay out on the cool fabric of the comforter. I hear a rustling in the shadows as Hart shucks his clothing. God, I wish I could see him right now. The ropes of muscle lining his abdomen, the dark hair dusting his chest. He’s so beautiful it’s almost a sin to turn off the light so I can’t appreciate him. Even in the dim light, I could just sit and stare at him for days.

I’m brought out of my fantasizing when a drawer opens and closes. Hart is handling something metallic, and my heartbeat kicks up about ten notches. His shadow approaches the bed, and I tense a little. But when he touches me, it’s gentle. His hand smooths up my leg, to my thigh, to my knee. The mattress dips as he joins me on the bed. He’s on his knees, looming over me.

“Let’s start by working on your obedience.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Okay.”

“First rule,” he says. “You may only speak when given explicit permission.”

I frown, absorbing that. Do I acknowledge that? That would mean speaking, so I opt to say nothing.

“Second, I will push your boundaries and take you to the heights of pleasure, but it’s imperative that you trust me.” His voice heavy, serious and husky with anticipation. I can tell the thought of what he wants to do to me excites him in a way he can’t disguise. “Do you trust me, Little Fawn?”

His words—and the way he says them—send heat pulsing through my body. No man has ever been so focused on my pleasure—only in how much pleasure they can take from me. Hart’s unwavering attention on me is so foreign I don’t quite know what to do with it. But I do trust him, trust that he already knows my body and its capacities better than even I do.

Though it’s silly to do, I nod in response.

“Speak, Cassandra.”

“Y–yes,” I say, my voice raspy. “I trust you.”

A rumble of approval erupts from deep in his chest, and he presses the back of his fingers against my cheek. “Good girl.”

With a hand still on my knee, he pulls my thighs wide. Cool air washes over my center and makes me shiver. I can still see the outline of his frame as he sinks between my thighs. I feel his nose brush down the inside of my thigh. “Now, where did we leave off?” he asks. He continues moving downward, until he reaches my entrance. His tongue darts out to taste me. “Mmm, I’ve been thinking about this for days.” His accent is so thick I can hardly understand him. “I’m fucking obsessed with the taste of you.”

I lift my hips a little to encourage his tongue. I want it inside me. I’ve also been obsessed with the thought of this for days. I need him so bad, I can practically taste it. My heartbeat is throbbing in my clit, my throat, my fingertips. I can barely suck in enough breath.

Just being here with him, naked, on his bed, is more than I can really handle. His head is between my legs, lavishing attention on my sex and sending me quickly into oblivion. This need he’s stoking is all-consuming so that I can’t focus on anything else, just the obsession of wanting to rub out an orgasm, just to get it out of the way.

As his tongue runs along the seam of my entrance, my hand finds my clit, and I start rubbing. Hot pleasure races through my blood. Oh, yeah. Now that’s where it’s at.

He laughs, the deep rumble vibrating against my center. Then, without missing a beat, he catches my wrist in his large hand and pulls it away. “You are a greedy little fawn. But you’ll just have to wait. You won’t come until my cock is buried deep inside you.” He emphasizes the word deep, and I clench my jaw to keep from whimpering. I need him now, but I know begging him will get me nowhere, so I press my head back into the mattress and just focus on the feel of his mouth devouring me.

His tongue finds my aching, pulsing clit, and he takes it in his mouth and sucks gently. My legs stiffen. My. God. I can’t take it. It’s too much. Then the edge of his teeth graze the sensitive little pearl, and I nearly launch off the bed. He holds me firmly in place, pinning me down. And then, God, his tongue pushes inside me while he’s still sucking, and I can’t help it, I release a long, anguished moan.

“Oh!” My body twitches, and I pant. “My God, please.”

All of the sudden, he’s gone, pulling away from me completely. It’s reminiscent of two days ago, when I asked him to stop, and he just left. I realize my mistake right away—I spoke when he told me not to. Fear streaks through me with icy fingers.

His dark, ominous tone confirms it. “I told you not to speak. There are consequences for disobedience. I’m generous enough to give you one warning only, and this is it.”

Oh, shit.

I nod briskly, desperate for him to come back. My body is on fire, sweet little tingles zipping through my center. I need him. I need him now. My legs are still wide open as he lowers himself back onto the bed. This time, it’s his fingers that find my center.

“You are so fucking wet for me,” he rasps. “This sweet little pussy is ripe for my cock.”

One long finger pushes into me, and I swallow a gasp. Yes. This is what I need. I silently pray he’ll finger me to climax. I need it so bad. He uses his thumb to apply pressure to my clit as his finger pumps in and out, in and out. My eyes squeeze shut and my chest rises off the mattress. My entire body is wound so tight, I fear I might snap. And not in a fun way, but a mental-health-crisis kind of way. Can people go clinically insane from edging? And how long did he intend to make it last?

---