Page 92 of Leather & Lark
Either way, there’s no stopping it now. I wouldn’t want to if I could. Not when Lark isright there, nearly within reach, so desperate for friction that she’s nearly squirming on the bed.
“Take that dress off, but leave the harness on,” I say.
Lark pauses as though the words take a moment to cut through the haze of lust that’s descended between us. Then she guides one of the thin straps off her shoulder, slipping it beneath the leather that loops toward her back. She does the same on the other side. With balletic flexibility, she pulls each arm free, careful not to tear the delicate fabric. Then she holds my eyes to drink in my reaction as she slowly pulls the layers down beneath the harness, exposing her breasts and pebbled nipples, the smooth expanse of skin around her navel, the narrow strip of hair leading to her pussy. She drags the dress down her legs and holds it up before she lets it drift to the floor.
Every breath she takes is unsteady as I take my time to just look. The black leather lines and tiny stars. The way they trace the contours of her breasts, the ridges of her ribs. My art embracing her flesh.
It takes everything in me to stay in the chair.
We exchange a silent conversation with no more than a glance, and I know Lark understands that she can say whatever she wants. Whatever she feels. She can be whoever she wants to be. I will take her in any version of herself she’s willing to give.
My voice is as dispassionate as I can manage when I ask, “What are you?”
“Your whore.”
“Then get down on your hands and knees.”
Lark slides off the bed, gets down on her hands and knees, and waits. And waits. Andwaits.
I take the blade from my pocket and unhook my stropping belt. As I slide the sharp edge across the leather, I watch her tremble with the chill of anticipation. When she can’t take it any longer, when I thinkI’mabout to give in to my desires, she finally whispers a single word.Please.
I close the blade and flip it over in my hand. “You’re not my wife,” I say, and there’s a flash of panic and hurt in her eyes. “You’re justmine. Nowcrawl.”
Relief flickers in Lark’s face.
One hand and one knee after the other, Lark crawls toward me. Her eyes never stray from my face. When she stops at my feet, she doesn’t touch me. Instead, she waits for my next command. There’s not a single thing in this world that’s more intoxicating than seeing her kneel before me but knowing that she’s still the one in control. It’s so clear in her willing gaze, the way she folds her hands in her lap and pushes her breasts together against the leather straps, encouraging our little game. She wants to be ordered. To be used. To be filled and denied and degraded. To be rewarded when she’s ready. She’s in control. And I will give her anything she wants and more.
“Belt,” I say, and I let go of the strip of leather so she can free the buckle and open it wide. “Zipper.” She pulls it down. “Now take my cock out.”
I lift my hips so Lark can lower my pants and briefs, freeing my erection. It’s painfully hard, ready to plunge into the heat of her mouth, a bead of pre-cum gathered at the head. Lark stares at itwith ravenous desire. She bites her lip and wraps her hand around the base.
“Spit on it and stroke it.”
Lark does as I ask without hesitation, spitting on the head before she starts languid passes of her hand from the base to the tip. The pace is slow, her grip strong. A moan rumbles in my chest as I sink farther back and resist the urge to close my eyes so I can watch her lavish my cock with her attention. I’ve dreamed of her touching me like this so many times, and it’s a thousand times better than I imagined.
And it will never be enough.
I trace my knuckles across her cheek and thread my hand into her hair to gather it into my fist. “You remember the traffic lights?” I ask, and Lark nods. “Good. Tap my leg twice for orange. Three times for stop. Otherwise, you’ll swallow every fucking inch I give you, understand?”
Lark gives me a single nod and a flash of a dark smile before I push her mouth down onto my cock and fall into heaven.
“Christ feckin’ Jesus,” I hiss as Lark swirls her tongue over the crown and firms her lips around my flesh. The wet heat of her mouth sends my blood roaring in my ears. A held breath burns in my chest until I finally let it go. I let her take a few shallow passes to get acclimated to my length before I firm up my grip on her hair. “I thought you said you were my wicked little whore, duchess. You can do better than that.”
I push to the back of her throat and Lark gags as tears shine in her eyes. I do it again and she moans. A third time and she moans again, the tears streaking down her skin, the sight of her ruinedmakeup and her swollen lips and that fucking harness making me feral with need.
“There’s nothing like turning a perfect princess into a fucking slut,” I grit out as I pick up a rhythm of deep thrusts. “I bet your pussy is so wet it’s dripping down your thighs.”
Lark whimpers.
“Take your fingers and show me.”
Lark drags her hand down her body as I continue the cadence of thrusts, each one hitting the back of her throat as she moans and whimpers. Her eyes flutter closed as she touches herself and then she brings her hand between us, the proof of her desire glistening across her fingers.
With my free hand, I capture her wrist and bring her fingers to my waiting mouth and suck.
Sweet and salty, her flavor coats my tongue and I nearly lose my goddamn mind.
I pull Lark’s mouth off my cock and with a swift motion, I band an arm around her middle and hoist her into the air to deposit her on the bed. She barely has a moment to orient herself before I’ve pushed her onto her knees, pitched her forward onto her hands, and kneeled behind her to bury my face against her pussy.
