Page 59 of Root

There are two bedrooms, the huge living room, a balcony, the open kitchen and two bathrooms. There’s even a laundry. I’ve used this place for hook ups that can’t wait, but I don’t tell her that. I’m looking at my phone when she comes back up to me.

“Should I trust you, Rush?”

“Of course,” I say. “Look at me. I’m totally trustworthy.”

“Are you?” She suddenly pushes me into the wall and leans on my chest. “Because back at your gigantic mansion you felt me up, you got my jeans half off and almost gave me an orgasm and then…you took it away.” Her eyes narrow. “Not exactly trustworthy, is it?”

“I was being” —untrustworthy— “a gentleman.”

“A gentleman would finish what he started. Unless you’re all rumor and no substance.”

Before I can argue she puts a tie around my throat. Silk. One of Nikolai’s old ones from when he’d stay in the city. She ties it badly and then winds the ends around her hand and tugs it tight.

“Hey!” I push fingers between the silk and my throat to stop her choking me, and I stumble as she steps back. “Let me go.”

Jess tilts her head to one side. “No.”

Then with her free hand she pulls her skirt up.

I stumble hard, falling to my knees.

Oh fuck. Jess is wearing black lace underwear. Crotchless lace underwear.

“You had those on the entire time?”

They’re cheap, tacky and quite possibly the most exquisite panties I’ve ever seen.

I think they’re the panties of my dreams.

Her pussy’s way prettier than I thought. Waxed, and on display. Glistening with arousal. Tight. Pink. Her mons is tattooed like so much of her, pretty tiny butterflies. And her little clit is right fucking there, basically begging me to suck it.

Jess leans against the wall and spreads her legs, then she dips a finger lightly into her cunt.

She tugs the tie and I hurry closer on my knees.

I could get out of this in seconds. I could have her trussed up and be fucking her hard. But there’s something fucking hot about this, that she wants me enough to force me to my knees in front of the only altar I’ll ever worship at. Call me the Pope of Pussy.

Fuck. Me.

She wipes her finger slowly over my lips. Then pushes that digit in.

Double fuck me.

She tastes so sweet, a touch of salt. I need more, and it takes all I am not to move.

“I think I like you here on your knees, Rush. And I think you need to come closer and eat me out.”

Her words are fucking aphrodisiacs, hanging in the air, shining bright, and I move forward on my knees, mouth watering as her sweet cunt calls me. I nudge her thighs further apart, settling so her legs are pushing into my shoulders, and my prize is right there.

I lick her, along the edges of the panties, the dichotomy of the rough lace and the warm silk of her skin is heaven. Christ, she tastes even better when drinking at the source and I lap her, tracing all the lines and creases of her outer and inner lips, slowly making my way on every upward sweep, to her clit.

Her legs are shaking as a moan breaks free. She tugs me closer and I’ve dropped my hand. I don’t care if she chokes me. All I care about is her heat, that sweet nectar, the way she responds to my tongue, lips, teeth.

Finally, I close in on the prize.

Her clit is perfect. I suck, running my tongue over it, letting my teeth graze lightly, and I feel the thrumming beats of a tiny orgasm. I suck harder, pushing her, and this time, I use my hands, gliding up her thighs until I hit pay dirt, her ass and her cunt. I push a finger into both and she shrieks as her legs shake and the spasms of a big orgasm hit her.

But I’m not nearly done. I use my strength and push her into the wall, and though she fights, I hold her there. The captor turned captive.

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