Page 28 of Changeling
“No?” I writhe under him, pressing us together with as much leverage as I can muster from this position.
“No.” He withdraws his hips.
I can’t help the whine of protest that rises from my throat. “Why?”
“You’d prefer I give the orders.” He grips my chin in gentle fingers and turns my head to face him. Challenge shines from his gaze. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
The words send a jolt of heat rushing down my spine to settle between my legs. He’s not wrong. “Anything,” I offer. “Whatever you want.”
“That’s more like it.” His plush lips spread to a soul-warming smile, revealing straight white teeth. If only he’d kiss me.
He doesn’t. Just stares down as if he’s a thirsty cat and I am made of cream. I squirm under his heavy gaze.
Past him, on the ceiling, I notice the polished metal glint, reflecting the image it holds within. I gasp. Dominus over me, his beautiful bulk eclipsing my smaller frame entirely.
I’d forgotten about the mirror, so focused on the man himself it hadn’t occurred to me to gaze beyond him, but oh! Oh, that picture he makes, his broad back flexing under my hands.
His tail coils around my calf, leathery and soft, holding tight.
I’m ensnared by him in every way.
The room fades to gray. If there are noises beyond our quick breaths, I don’t hear them. My world becomes lavender skin, blue eyes, the scent of roses in springtime, and a deep, desperate longing I feel down to my curled toes.
“Sebastian,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I’m going to make you come for me. I’m going to feed off your pleasure. All you have to do is keep your hands over your head.”
It takes a second for the command to register through the thick cloud of lust his words inspire. I slide my arms over my head, watching as my mirrored image does the same. I look as needy as I feel.
“Very good,” he murmurs, and I bring my gaze back to his.
Waiting for him to touch me is agony. My cock twitches where it lies trapped in my sleep clothes. My skin is on fire, burning for him. He’s so beautiful like this, sitting over me, the bare skin of his muscled chest on display.
Trembling, I ask, “What will you do to me?”
“Anything I like.”
He doesn’t touch me. Instead, he tweaks his own nipples as I watch. The pebbled buds hold shining moonstones tonight, as does his belly button, the same color as his cream silk pants. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and my eyes follow the movement with jealous longing.
His enormous cock is rigid, forming a tantalizing tent of silk, already damp at the tip. I want to know how much of it will fit in my mouth. My lips hang open in offering.
His pupils are wide as he leans in, shoving my shirt to my armpits. Though the air between us is warm, it’s welcome against the heat of my skin. And so is his touch, which when it finally comes, is gentle, almost reverent, over my chest, grazing my nipples.
I mutter affirmations, lost in my yearning, dazed.
When Dominus lifts his weight from me, I could cry. I might. My need is so great my body throbs with it. But he isn’t leaving, merely adjusting us. With his knees, he presses my legs together, then crawls over me and rifles in the bedside drawer. His scent is stronger as he stretches, armpit close to my face. I want to hold him there so I can lick it, but my arms must remain over my head.
He straddles my thighs and sits on them. “You’re doing well. Very pretty like that.”
His voice is thick as molasses, low and gruff.
I like that I’ve affected him so by doing nothing but lying here and craving him. I preen, arching my back. Since he won’t kiss me, I suck my lower lip into my mouth.
He holds a small open bottle of oil in one hand and hauls his cock free with the other.
My god, it’s a work of art. A masterpiece. Both broad and long, several shades darker than his skin with a plump purple crown thrusting proudly from its foreskin as if it knows this unveiling has my mouth watering for a taste.
“Please.” The word falls from my lips without permission, but I’m too overcome for even a hint of shame. Begging will be worth it if he lets me suck him.
Dominus smiles, eyes dark as a rainstorm over the Mediterranean. “Patience.” He dribbles oil onto the tip and down his long length slowly, drawing out the torture of waiting.
