Page 36 of His to Teach
I nod, so eager for him to continue I have to shove my hands behind my back to keep from touching him.
“Normally I would talk to you about limits and contracts before things go any farther. But we’re already way past that, wouldn’t you agree?” He waits for me to nod. “So we’ll do this, instead—if at any time you want me to stop, you simply tell me. You can also ask me to slow down or pause.”
“No safe word?” I murmur, surprised by his words. I hadn’t expected a man like him to throw out the conventions so easily.
“You don’t need it. Not tonight. Tell me to stop and I stop. Tell me no and I stop. Tell me to slow down and I will. Understand?”
I nod, feeling his fingers tighten on my arms, loving the roughness of it. He leans closer, his lips hovering over my ear now. “Unless you ask me to stop or slow down, you will do as you’re told. You will not complain. You will follow all instructions. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
One of his hands releases my arm and I feel a slight sting as he smacks it against the side of my ass. “One more rule,” he whispers. “While we’re doing this, you will call me sir.”
The command sends a shot of desire straight to my core. “Yes, sir.”
He releases me, his eyes wide and clearly excited, his breathing heavy. I know that he’s every bit as aroused by this as I am, and the realization has a surge of power running through me. He wants me. This beautiful, angry, demanding man wants me.
“Go into the living room,” he says, tilting his chin to the left to show me which way. “Stand in front of the couch. And take off your clothes.” His eyes have gone so dark, so intense, and I feel my breath hitch in my chest. “Do it. Now.”
I’m not sure my legs are strong enough to get me there, but I turn in the direction he had indicated. Nate doesn’t follow meright away but the lights come on in the foyer behind me, giving me enough illumination to see my way into the living room.
There’s a fireplace on one wall, a dark couch opposite it. The decor in the room is colorful. Warm. Before I can look around too closely, I feel Nate’s presence behind me and I hurry to take my place in front of the couch. He watches from the doorway as I move to the buttons on my blouse, my fingers trembling. I pull the top over my head and my hands go to the bra clasp.
“No,” he interrupts me. “Skirt first.”
Nate comes into the room as I work on the zipper of my skirt, turning on a side lamp as he makes his way to the couch. He passes close enough to touch but says nothing, grabbing a remote as he takes a seat on the couch. He presses a button and the unmistakable sound of a fire crackles behind me.
My fingers feel clumsy as I work my zipper but I finally get it free, bending as I pull the tight skirt down to my ankles. I briefly glance up at Nate’s face, finding his eyes fixed on my breasts, which are basically spilling from the cups of my black lace bra as I lean toward him. I swallow thickly, kicking off my skirt and straightening.
Nate is settled on the couch now, looking comfortable and at ease, expression unreadable. His gaze flicks up and down my body. “Now your bra.”
My heart is pounding wildly as I reach behind me to undo the clasp, then slide each strap down my arms, letting the garment fall away from my body. There’s an audible intake of breath from the couch and I try to hide the smirk that threatens at his reaction.
“Don’t move,” he whispers hoarsely, standing. He crosses the few steps to me, eyes never leaving my body. When he’s close enough, he reaches out and ghosts his fingertips over the swell of my breasts. Involuntarily, I close my eyes, my head falling back.
“Open your eyes.”
I meet his gaze and heat pools between my legs. There’s intensity in his eyes, pure fire that threatens to scorch me. I’m more than a little afraid and so, so aroused. I love how much he wants me. Without breaking eye contact, he squeezes my breasts, gently at first, and then with increasing pressure. Just as it begins to hurt, he slides his hands down, thumbs brushing my nipples as they descend, making me whimper slightly.
His hands are so large, it feels like they could cover every inch of me as he slides them down over my belly and around my sides, igniting my skin everywhere he touches. He squeezes my hips briefly, and then gently turns my body, directing me to face away from him. Behind me, his hands continue roaming, feather-light now as they smooth over my back, my shoulders, my waist. Teasing me. When he reaches my ass he rubs me gently over the lace—thank God I thought to put on a matching set—and then he removes his hands from my body.
I feel the absence of his skin on mine acutely. For several long moments, he doesn’t touch me and the tension inside me ramps up. I can feel him behind me, can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin. So why doesn’t he touch me? He finally begins to move, slowly walking around me, staring at me, inspecting my body, gaze roaming over every inch—and still never touching me.
Something about being exposed to him like this tugs at a place deep in my belly. To be looked at but not touched is strangely erotic. I feel on display for him, owned by him, entirely vulnerable, and it turns me on for reasons I can’t possibly articulate. Every nerve seems tensed in anticipation, like my skin is screaming with desire, begging him to touch me.
Just when I think I won’t be able to stand it any longer, he leans forward and touches his tongue to my left nipple. I moan at the sudden contact, but as unexpectedly as it happened, he moves away, walking over to the couch to sit again. I stare athim, unsure what to do. For a while, he simply studies me. Then, “Come here.”
I walk to him on shaking legs and stand before him.
“Take off your panties.” I don’t hesitate at all, merely bend down and slip out of the black lace quickly. “Now get on your knees.”
My stomach dips in anticipation as I kneel before him. “Take my cock out.” His voice is low, tense, and my fingers tremble when I reach up and undo his belt, then slide down his zipper. He’s hard, straining against his boxers, and I want to feel him.
When I pull his dick free, the only word in my head isbeautiful. His skin is silky over the hardness, his length impressive but not overwhelming. I slide my fingers up and down the shaft, slowly, tentatively.
“Stop that,” Nate orders. “Take your hands away.”
“Why?” I ask, surprised.
