Page 67 of Savage Bosses

T

wo weeks later

Right on time, the first streams of morning sunlight filter across my bed. But I was wide awake and fucking rock hard. Had been awake for the past hour trying not to fist my dick. I groaned, rolling onto my back.

Disjointed memories plagued all my dreams lately. The same ones also tormented my peaceful moments these past two weeks since waking at the Filth Den in the doc’s quarters.

No one had an explanation for what happened and whoever had alerted the concierge’s desk was long gone before assistance arrived. What had I been doing in the corridor? That hallway led to the rear exit and I wasn’t one to duck out the back door of any establishment, least of all the Den.

I had drawn a blank trying to remember why I’d gone to the Den that night. It wasn’t one of my scheduled sessions and my brain got even hazier when I tried to recall what I’d done. Hazy but not void of memory.

Shea McCreath had filled in the blanks in respect to why I’d visited on a Thursday evening— I’d invited him and his new wife to the establishment since they were visiting New Orleans. But they couldn’t tell what I’d done or who I’d seen after parting ways in the basement.

The gentle scent of floral perfume always hit my senses first when I tried to recall that evening. It snaked into my nose and filled my lungs. I inhaled, wanting to latch on to the smallest detail. I wanted it to last. I needed to remember.

The memory of that single fragrance fluttered at the edges of my mind. Danced. It was close, but it did nothing more than tease me into frustration.

My skin tingled as it always did once the scent nestled under my skin. And I finally gave in to the urge that perfume stirred by wrapping my fingers around my throbbing length.

I’d tried and failed to quench this unwanted arousal but it wouldn’t be dismissed until I’m spent. Until my balls were empty and I’d pumped every last drop of cum into my fists.

Fuck! Remembering would be better. Finding the person responsible and making them pay for this constant ache, the person guilty of robbing my memories would make my predicament much easier to bear.

Slowly, I stroked myself. My hand slipped along my shaft from base to tip, letting the foggy glimpses from that night take over. The scent of flowers wrapped around me and sensual music filled my ears. Mixed in with the melody — if I listened close enough — cries of pleasure hummed a tune of their own.

Moments later, a long desperate moan, that didn’t belong to me, or any lover I’d ever taken to my bed, added to the gooseflesh prickling my skin.

My tongue, heavy in my mouth, yearned for the elixir swirling around me to coat my taste buds and drown me in flavor. One familiar taste…

That’s all I wanted to be able to remember that night.

Was I drunk on pleasure? So lost in the moment that I blacked out? The bump I carried at the base of my skull for an entire week proved otherwise.

Shit. I’d never been that lost in the Den before, so swept away in ecstasy that I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings. Was it even possible? I’d spent my life being the ruthless Sheik, the savage boss that ran his company to make billions in the oil business.

I didn’t submit to pleasure.

I immersed my lovers in that emotion until they begged for release.

Her voice eludes me and I close my eyes. I need to hear it. ‘I want to hear you beg for my cum, fatenah.’I pride myself on always being in control but imagining our whispered words pushes my limits. ‘And call out my name as you do it.’

Yet… I can’t deny the fleeting aroma the unique fragrance from that night carried. It burrowed deep in my memory and my dreams.

Pre-cum flooded the tip of my swollen crown and my body stiffened as I brushed the liquid over my over-sensitive head. Spreading the minuscule offering down my length. The precum was a small substitute for the release holding my balls in a vise.

My head rolled against the pillow as another flood of images burst free. Soft dark skin trembling under my touch. Was it the dim lighting? I’d never been with a Black woman. But the unmistakable richness of her skin, the shade of roasted coffee beans, was undeniable. I didn’t fight this insight. Not when there was pleasure in reach.

My hand glided along my shaft a little faster and my stomach clenched at the new discovery. I was desperate for the slimmest detail.

In my mind, her firm, round ass stole my breath. I gasped. Slowing my strokes and squeezing the base of my shaft staved off the impending orgasm.

I was angry that she’d left me in this hellish state. Jerking off was the only satisfaction I’d get until I put a face to the body and perfume that put an indelible mark on me, claiming my sanity, my desires, and my peace. That was until I find her.

Had she knelt for me? Her ass arched high in invitation…shoulders pressed against soft sheets. Did I bury my face between her perfect ass, sample her nectar on my tongue as she panted and begged for release? Did I rim her delicate rosette?

Fuck, that ass had my attention even when I couldn’t remember much else about her. I was never an ass man until the fleeting memory of her ass converted me. Now I would stand at the pulpit, worshiping, and singing praise for those glorious orbs until my last breath.

If I ever found her, I would ride her ass raw until she fit me like a glove, and welcomed my invasion as I thrust inside her tight back passage.

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