Page 41 of Serving the CEO

“I’m not much of a ‘conversation’ type of guy. I’ve got a couple of people who are upfront with me. That’s enough.” The words sounded stiff, even to my ears.

“And chances are, they’ve all known you long enough that they’re blind to some of your….” She pursed her lips for a moment, then smiled sweetly. “Flaws. I’m not. Besides, you didn’t put anything in our contract requiring me to kiss your ass. I’m not going to cater to your whims to keep my job, please you, or anything else, which, truthfully, is a damn good thing because kissing the asses of arrogant men has never been a strong suit of mine.”

Damn.

“I don’t want you kissing my ass,” I said sourly. Looking at her lips, I added, “Other parts of me…sure.”

Her lids flickered, and her breathing hitched. “I’m not sure I’m interested in kneeling for you.”

“I’d be willing to reciprocate.”

I could see the mad flutter of her pulse in throat. Reaching out, I twined an errant curl around my finger, releasing it, then stroked the side of her neck, brushing my thumb against that pulse point.

“As a matter of fact, I’m pretty damned excited at the thought. I really want to taste your pussy, Jessica.”

She twitched in her seat and I knew I’d effectively changed the course of our conversation.

“And now you want it, too.” I slid from the booth. “Come. Let me show you around.”

She looked at her drink.

“Bring it.”

We walked past a couple more rope displays taking place on the main floor and paused by the stage at the far end where a woman was bound to a St. Andrews Cross, the open-caged leather design of her lingerie doing nothing to conceal her body, leaving both her breasts and pussy bare for the velvet whip her master held.

She had a gag in her mouth, but we were close enough that the soft music didn’t muffle her cries as the masked man with the whip brought it down, letting the lashes land with a flick across the tender folds between her thighs.

I eyed her taut muscles, the way her belly worked.

“If he gives her one more, she’ll come,” I told Jessica.

She jerked at the sound of my voice and gave me a glassy-eyed look. “What?”

I touched Jessica’s chin and guided her gaze back to the woman on the cross. “Watch. He’s about to make her come.”

The whip came up between the woman’s legs, and the sub climaxed, thrashing and jerking and sobbing against the gag. The man put the whip down and went to her, pushing his mask up just enough to bare his lower face before kneeling and licking her swollen, flushed folds. She whimpered under his touch, and I wondered if Jessica saw the gentleness, the tenderness there.

I cupped the back of Jessica’s neck, my cock aching and my hands itching to touch.

The woman climaxed again, this time against her master’s tongue and he rose, freed her from the restraints, and picked her up to take her to the padded table in the middle of the stage. There, he rubbed her shoulders and moved his hands to her back muscles.

“Being bound like that can strain the muscles,” I explained. “A good master—or Dom, whatever label a person chooses—will care for his sub when he’s done or when she’s done. It’s how it works.”

She nodded. “I can see that.”

“Want to see more?”

When she didn’t say no, I took her hand and led her to the stairs, then up to the second floor. Small alcoves made up much of this section, and I selected one, taking up a small couch in a shadowy corner where we watched a Domme teach a male sub how to take an anal plug and then had him lay down while she sat on his face.

Jessica was quivering by that point, and I stroked my fingers along her thigh and nuzzled her neck, always watching for any indication that she wanted me to stop.

Suddenly, she turned her head and looked at me, mouth parted, and cheeks flushed.

“Jessica…I…”

She kissed me.

It startled me for a second, but the taste of her hit my system hard and fast, and I shoved my hand into her hair and pulled her close.

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