Page 34 of Mine To Break
She pulled her gaze back up to his. “I like that you asked me first, sugar. That’s real sweet. And yeah, I’d love your mouth on me.”
In a million years, he’d never have dreamed that playing with the Mistress of Dallas would be like this. She made it fun, not scary or humiliating. But more, she made ithischoice.
Deep down, he’d assumed she’d trick him into shit he didn’t want to do. Or try and force him. Maybe she’d torture him with desire until he’d do anything she asked just to get some relief. But Mal wasn’t about that. At all.
No, she just sat there, looking at him, waiting until he decided whether he’d play along or not. And he wanted to play, if that meant he got to put his mouth on her. Got to touch her. Got to stay. Here. With her.
Even on his knees.
That was a small price to pay to feel like this again.
No, that was a lie. He’d never felt like this. He’d slept with plenty of women in his day, but had never been this vulnerable. Raw. Open. Trusting. No one had looked at him with solemn golden-brown eyes and weighed his worth solely by his willingness to allow her to control the pace.
He took a knee-step closer to her, and now she opened her thighs to him. Sitting back against the cushions of the couch, wine in one hand, her pose casual and relaxed… she might have been settling down for a movie night. Not inviting him to try and get her clothes off with nothing but his teeth.
Of course he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it. Not completely. Her jeans were painted on with loving detail against every gorgeous curve. Even with his hands, he might have had to gain some assistance from her to shimmy them down. But it would certainly be fun to play along for awhile.
Bending lower, he kissed her denim-clad knee. She probably couldn’t feel much through her jeans, but he trailed his mouth higher, daring to grip her thigh teasingly with his teeth. Not a bite, exactly, but squeezing and massaging with his jaws as he worked his way up to her crotch. She didn’t shift or move restlessly against the couch, even when he nudged his face firmly against the vee of her thighs. He tried to lick suggestively, but again, the thick denim didn’t allow much friction or saliva to pass through. He crawled closer and nipped at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up a bit. It took some work to get the material to cooperate. Enough that he was starting to sweat, his knees ached, and his back muscles burned. But he didn’t mind. Not when he finally got his lips on the tender skin of her stomach.
He scooted closer and allowed the weight of his head and shoulders to rest against her lap, taking some of the strain off his back, with his face under her shirt. Her fingers stroked over his forehead, across his skull, and he closed his eyes. He’d thought the Mistress of Dallas would smell like latex, or at least leather. But all he smelled was warm, sweet woman.
“Giving up already?” she asked lightly.
“No, ma’am.” He kept his mouth against her skin, letting his lips caress her since his hands could not. “Just drinking you in.”
She sat up away from the cushion a moment, her hands tugging her shirt up and over her head. “I’ll make it a little easier for you.”
His breath sighed out. Trailing soft kisses up her belly, between her breasts, he tongued the lacy edge of her bra. “I don’t suppose you’d help me out by taking this off too.”
“Not yet, soldier boy. At least give it some effort first.”
He leaned more against her, unable to brace himself on his hands so he could lift himself up. The rope cut into his arms and chest, a constant reminder of his inability to touch her. Because he kept instinctively trying to do so. His fingers burned to trace the swells of her breasts, to flip open the bra so he could lick and suck her nipples. Instead, he had to be satisfied with nuzzling, mouthing her hardened nipples through the lace. And the more prominent her nipples became, the more his inability to touch her goaded.
He began to hate that material keeping his mouth off her flesh. Twisting his wrists as much as he could, he fought a moment, desperate to get that fucking bra off, and then groaned with frustration.
“Ah, there’s the sound I was looking for.”
Mal, damn her, sounded completely amused by his struggle. She would be, naturally. He turned his face up a bit, but without a stiff neck, he couldn’t even glare up at her. Her hands stroked over his head and down his shoulders, feeling the strain, the sweat, and she let out a soft, pleased little sound that almost made him thrash desperately like a fish on the beach trying to fling itself back into the lake.
That sound should be pouring from her lips while he licked her pussy. Not because he was tied up and unable to do what he wanted.
As soon as he thought it, he knew why she loved these games. Because it had nothing to do with what he wanted.
“Are you all tied up in knots yet, sugar?”
“You know I am.”
She shifted beneath him and his heart raced with hope. Only to be dashed to bits when she pushed on his chest. He sat back on his heels and glared up at her. Hopefully it was a glare, not a pout. That would kill him. Her eyes gleamed, heavy lidded and hot with desire, but she laughed softly, telling him exactly what kind of look he must have given her.
Shit. He bit back the words he wanted to say.Please, Mal, give me something.
“If you ask me nicely, next time I’ll wear my favorite stilettos. That way I can put you where I want you with a little prod of my shoe.”
The idea should have send alarm zinging through him. There was something so degrading about the idea. A woman stepping on him, maybe. Implying that he was at her feet. But the thought of how terrific Mal’s long legs would look in high heels almost made him drool like a dog.
“Foot or shoe fetish?”
He managed to shake his head despite the lust hammering through him. “Just thinking about your legs.”
