Page 83 of House of Cards

She flinches when I spit between her cleavage, adding some much needed lube.

Christ, if her tits feel this amazing, what a fucking experience her pussy will be.

I feel lightheaded with pleasure as I fuck her tits in this carefully staged room that smells of pencil shavings and chalk. My heart pounding, my guts churning, a dark need building at the base of my spine at the thought of my cum streaking Zoey’s unwilling body.

Until I realize she’s not panting out of fear anymore.

I’d been staring down, watching my cock slide in and out of her tits with every intentional thrust, but when I hear her breathing change, I glance up in time to catch her hooded eyes flicker with want.

Her nipples must be overly sensitive.

Can I make her come just by teasing them?

My thrusts speed up as I pinch and knead her tiny buds between thumb and forefinger. Her eyelashes flutter, nostrils flaring as she hauls in air. Her pupils were already blown out in the low light, but I can barely see a strip of muddy green anymore. She’s holding perfectly still, no longer writhing and bucking to force me off the chair.

Like any movement will plunge her screaming off the edge, too.

I pause just long enough to shift my weight, sinking one leg between hers. Her eyes go wide when I slide it up the chair until the top of my knee is right against her pussy.

Zoey mewls against the gag when I fuck her tits again. Probably because my leg keeps shifting, rubbing against her clit with every thrust. She tries to scoot back, to lessen the friction, but she’s already crammed tight against the back of the chair.

“Why do you keep fighting something that feels so good?” I ask, with genuine fucking curiosity.

She throws me a pleading look as I pick up speed, tossing her head to the side as a shiver races through her. When our eyes meet again, she chews at my tie like she’s convinced she can work through it before I’ve come all over her glorious tits.

I have to stop fucking her so I can hook a finger over that silky fabric and tug it down her chin.

She takes a big breath, and then whimpers, “Stop.”

When my only response is a low chuckle, she hangs her head, lets out a miserable choking sound…and starts grinding against my leg.

In seconds, my pants are soaked.

I don’t even taunt her. I can’t.

I’m too busy fighting back an orgasm. Her desperate bucking, the pathetic sounds escaping her mouth—they’re turning me on more than I could ever have imagined.

She comes seconds before I do, throwing her head back on a groan almost as loud as mine, muscles in her neck standing proud as her body spasms and shudders.

My balls tighten, cock pulsing between her tits as I shoot cum over her blood-streaked collarbones, the hollow in her throat, the pendant dangling from her leather collar.

I’m hunched over her like a fucking beast, shoulders arched, thighs tensed, but I can still feel her humping my knee as she rides out the last sliver of her climax.

I drag my finger over her skin, gathering up my cum, and while she’s still too dazed to fight back, I grab a fistful of her hair and wrench her head up.

“Open.”

Her eyes dip to my finger, lashes fluttering for one brief second before she parts her lips. And if I hadn’t just come, I’d be covering her in another load.

Christ,finally.

There it is.

Glorious, if reluctant, submission. Barely an ember of fight left in her furnace.

All it took was some nipple play and a leg to hump.

I wrap my hand around her throat as she swallows, shivering when I feel her muscles contract and move under my palm.

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