Page 44 of Redemption's Inferno

Watching her sniff her panties brought his cock to attention so fast Chains had to reach down and stroke it a few times to relieve the tension. When she held out her panties, he took them and did exactly what she’d done: held them to his face and breathed in deeply. Damn, he loved the smell of a woman’s sex. He turned to meet her gaze and said, “Now lie on your back, open your legs and use your fingers to arouse yourself.”

She lay at an angle, lifting her knees and spreading her thighs so he had an unobstructed view of her already glistening channel. She was wet, so turned on by his voice and these two commands, she was afraid she would come before he had a chance to touch her. That was probably his intention, but she vividly remembered the way she’d come undone with just his cock inside of her; it was the only time it had ever happened that way and she wanted to experience it again. He was forcing her to be patient, though, so she brought the second and third fingers of her right hand to her clitoris instead. She began to stroke it with a smooth, circular motion, using her natural wetness to keep her lubricated. She took her time, hoping to delay the inevitable orgasm, but she was too worked up after four days of him not touching her.

His eyes filled with sheer lust as he watched, and combined with the fact he’d told her to pleasure herself brought her over the edge far too soon. She cried out, her hips jerking as she came, her juices coating her fingers.

“Now put them in your mouth.”

Chains’ gruff command startled her but she slowly put her fingers between her lips.

“Suck them and tell me what you taste like.”

“Sex,” she whispered, letting him see her tongue slide up and around the two fingers that had just been between her legs. “And apples.”

“Apples?” He smiled faintly.

“It’s my favorite flavor,” she murmured, “and when I taste myself, or a man’s cum, I enjoy it so much it reminds me of apples.”

“My favorite flavor is cinnamon,” he murmured, sitting up and leaning over to run a finger through the wetness pooling at her swollen entrance. “Does your pussy taste like cinnamon, Emilie?”

She sighed as he slid his finger into her and then pulled it out, waiting for her answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “If you want it to, it probably will.”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “I like that theory.” He turned onto his stomach and moved between her parted thighs. So sweet and pink and already practically quivering with need again. She’d been so beautiful when she came, and this time he’d been able to watch every nuance of her face. Her head had fallen back, mouth opened slightly, and a pink tinge covered her skin as she’d bucked against her own hand. This time, she would buck against his mouth. He nipped at the tender skin of her thigh and licked a trail down to where her legs came together. Instead of sliding his tongue into her the way he wanted to, he moved to the other thigh, using his lips and hands until he felt her starting to tremble.

Her pussy grew more and more sensitive as he teased her, kissing everywhere except where she needed it most. He licked the tender skin on either side of her clit and then switched to a swirling motion, moving around the hard little nub but never quite touching it. He repeated the process over and over, making sure she was always on the edge of release but not allowing her to reach it. When she got to a point where she was whimpering in frustration, practically humping his face, he held her firmly by the hips and slowly pushed his tongue into her. She let out a cry, her fingers digging into the sheets as she endured so much incredible torture.

“Not yet,” he teased, nudging her thighs even further apart with his broad shoulders and feasting on her succulent lips and folds. He was definitely in pussy heaven with Emilie; she was made for oral sex. Every part of her was pink and soft and so very sensitive; he could do this for days.

“Chains…”

“Darryl,” he corrected softly. “When you’re with me like this, it’s Darryl.”

“Darryl, please…” She was beyond ready to go again and when he slowly trailed his tongue along the crease of her thigh, she moaned in frustration.

“You actually do taste like cinnamon,” he murmured, “and I can’t seem to get enough.” He put a finger inside of her as he began circling her clit again and waited until he could feel her squeezing him with need. She would come hard now, she was so prepped and ready; plunging two fingers into her, he flattened his tongue on top of her clit and smiled to himself as she shrieked and exploded around his face. Her cries filled the room until she was reduced to tiny little aftershocks that made her shudder again and again.

“I don’t taste like cinnamon,” she whispered, a small laugh escaping her.

“Then you don’t taste like apples either,” he grinned, hauling her on top of him so her chin rested on his chest and her startling blue eyes met his. They were heavy with lust now but still as gorgeous as ever, and he brought his hands up on either side of her face so he could hold her head in the exact position he wanted it. Just as she was right now, her naked body entwined with his, she seemed to be looking straight into his soul and it was as terrifying as it was enchanting.

“What shall we do next?” she asked, an impish smile on her lips.

“We aren’t doing anything,” he chuckled. “You are simply going to lie there and let me explore every inch of your body and see how many ways I can make you come. When I decide you’ve had enough, which may not be for two or three days, we’re going to see about having dinner somewhere.”

“All right.” She relaxed into his warmth. “Let me know when you want to start.”

Chapter 17

After making love all afternoon and then taking a nap, they showered and had a late dinner at the hotel. They took a taxi to a club they were both familiar with, where many in the BDSM world hung out regularly, and tried to look like any other couple out for an evening of fun. With Emilie wearing a simple pair of tight jeans, a low-cut leather vest that laced up the front and back, and her long hair falling freely down her back, Chains had never seen her look so sexy. She wore heavy black mascara, making her eyes appear even bluer, and the blood-red lipstick on her lips made him fantasize about having them wrapped around his cock. He’d taken her at least four times this afternoon, and it still hadn’t diminished his desire in the slightest. Something told him he had no idea whatsoever what was in store for him in terms of this whole relationship experiment, but he had to admit it was exciting as hell.

She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known. Under her demure, gentle exterior, she was tough as nails. He’d seen her bring an experienced dom to his knees at Club Inferno with one flick of a whip—that never even touched the man. He’d also seen her charm his mother, giggle on the floor with her infant daughter, and stand up to a contractor who’d tried to cheat her. She was so multifaceted she almost reminded him of himself, except softer and sexier. And damn, she was sexy. Her round ass swayed in those jeans and he couldn’t help but admire her as she walked. Even as he surveyed their surroundings and made a mental note of the exits—he did this instinctively almost everywhere he went—he didn’t miss the admiring glances she got as she approached the bar.

She ordered a glass of red wine for herself and a pint of ale for him. As the bartender walked away, Chains glanced down at her. “Should you be drinking?”

“Two sips,” she smiled. “One because I’m going to miss it for the next seven months or so and the second in case anyone is watching.”

He inclined his head. “Good plan.”

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