Page 42 of Devoured
“Don’t get cocky.”
He stood up and held out a hand. “Come on. I have something planned for you.”
My mouth went dry at the thought, wondering what he meant. I took his hand and he helped me up. I slipped into my lacy black cover-up and Roland put on his shirt. We walked through the lobby to the private elevator, then we waited in silence as we went up the floors. His dark hair was pushed back, and though we had been in the shade, he looked sun-kissed. The ripples of his exposed arms made my mind wander.
But it was more than that, seeing him like this. Knowing that we were equals when it came to business made me see him differently. Made it so that I could accept him, whether I liked it or not.
“You know, Roland,” I said, keeping my face straight, not wanting to look at him as I said this, “You’re all right.”
He glanced at me, that stupid smirk obviously beaming. “That’s high praise coming from you.”
I blushed and looked away. “Don’t get used to it.” I squeezed my lips together, then found the courage and faced him, locking eyes. “Seriously though. For a man. You’re okay.”
The cocky attitude faded, but he kept smiling. It must have been genuine. “Thanks,” he said.
The elevator opened into a small waiting room with a few doors off to the sides. He held his phone to the scanner, and the door clicked open into a dream. I had scanned the place earlier, but something about it now seemed different. The sun was descending, casting long shadows over the huge balcony. The tropical decor, the high mattress. I fully intended on relaxing on the balcony some more, but as soon as the door closed behind us, Roland picked me up from behind and tossed me over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I asked. He slammed me down onto the bed. My body stretched out before him, my feet at the edge of the mattress, he smiled down at me, his eyes drinking me in.
“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked.
“Every day of my life,” I said as a joke, in reference to the submissives at the Dahlia District. He grinned at the response.
“Good,” he said. He licked his lips, still staring at me. My entire body blushed, and I was sure my skin was beet red. But his eyes marveled at me. The artwork on my skin. The softness of my curves. The flat areas, the dips, every part of me was like a gem in his eyes. Had I everfeltthis beautiful before?
No. Not like this.
He pulled the string of my bikini bottoms, first one, then the other, leaving the strings loose at my sides. I nodded at his swim trunks.
“It’s only fair,” I said.
“We’ll get to that.”
He climbed on top of me, kissing down my neck, his facial hair tickling me, but I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensations for once. His masculine scent, mint and lime and sweat and musk. A hint of coconut sunscreen beneath it. I may have had to do what he wanted, but it wasn’t as bad as you would think. His strong jaw. His perfect nose. That stupid, cocky grin with those white teeth. Muscles heavy on top of me. I ran my hands over his back, pulling him closer, but he paused, his mouth working its way down the curves of my breasts, skimming the sides of the triangle topped bikini.
“Hands on the bed,” he said in a low voice. I hesitated. “Relax,” he breathed. “This isn’t about me yet.”
Yet.
I closed my eyes, trying to let go of that word, to let the sensation of his lips take me away. Eventually, it did. His tongue struck me in warm strokes, the cold air from vents followed, giving me goosebumps. His hands stroked my body, his palms engulfing my back, working his way up, massaging me, making my eyes heavy with sleep.
He pulled my bottoms out of the way. A gust of warm breath settled on my hip. His tongue brushed my thigh, painted the other. I bit my lip, waiting for what I knew was coming, wanting it too. Then he licked my slit, ending on that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I shuddered deeply.
He was lying on his stomach, resting on the bed too, and moved so that his cock was rubbing against me, twitching through his swim trunks as he continued to flick his tongue in slow circles around my clit. A low heat built inside of me with each careful movement of his tongue, creating a thick flush on my skin.
I ran my fingers over the back of his head, moaning, pressing my hips closer to him. Then he grabbed my hands and pressed them back onto the bed, gently but with careful determination.
“Hands on the bed,” he repeated. His mouth hovered above me, and I bucked my hips, trying to get closer to his mouth. “Any time you disobey me, you won’t get what you want. You know this, don’t you, Iris? And trust me, you want this.”
He was right. I groaned, clenching my fists, letting myself fall back onto the bed. His tongue resumed its succulent desecration of me, electric waves coursing through each nerve ending until I could hardly stand it.
Pleasure like this—being forced to relax, to endure it inside of me—wasn’t something I had ever experienced before. Riding a man’s face because he wanted you to, because he was paying you to suffocate him with your pussy, was fun, but it was still work. I kept my mind elsewhere. Pretended that the club member was literally a plastic dildo. It was the only way I could get off. But this?
This was something else.
Roland continued, his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, and I couldn’t help but buck my hips, trying to get more of it, always more, and in response, he moved his hips against my leg, showing me how turned on he was. How hard he was. To be fucking me like this. He was hard for me.
“You like this, don’t you?” he said. I lifted my head, about to yell at him to keep licking, but his finger coaxed inside of my pussy. I shuddered all over.
