Page 46 of The Secrets That Kill

But right now, he’s too busy torturing me because he’s some kind of diabolical master in the art of sex to see how I am unraveling in his hands.

So it really wouldn’t matter if I close my eyes and turn myhead into the back cushion of the sofa.

Except…he told me not to close my eyes.

Instead, I stare out at the bright whites and splashes of color in my living room. Thank God I pulled the privacy blinds over the windows and door that open to the terrace.

He’s brutal in the way he refuses to give me what I want. Evil.

And I want to cry.

Right now I don’t care about anything but climbing down into the wildness of the moment. I don’t care about anything other than getting off.

Desire is thick in me, cloying in my throat and in my veins. The need and desire and dark urges turn my blood to molasses and my limbs into wet spaghetti noodles.

He has the power to make me come.

Why won’t he?

I’ll call him master, sir, anything he wants to just reach that nirvana only he seems able to give me.

Like recognizing like.

I think that’s what Mercer said.

Creatures who know each other.

If that’s true, why can’t he see I need this more than I need anything in the world right now? I’ll beg, demean myself. I’ll?—

“Pollyanna.”

One word. The name I hate. Fusing itself to me on an elemental level. Pollyanna and Sir. Master and his Pollyanna.

He’s stopped touching me. I whimper.

“What do you want from me? Isn’t it enough that I’m begging?—”

“You forgot Sir.”

“Sir. Master. Mr. Vale.Please…”

“You’re quite good at begging…for a novice. But I want to dine. You’re dinner and fucking dessert. Lift your ass.”

I do. I don’t think, I just react. He shifts and then blows on my pussy. A shiver tears through me.

“Sit on my face, Pollyanna. I want you to ride my mouth.”

I risk looking down at him between my legs. His dark head is on the sofa’s seat. I glance back farther and he’s sprawled out behind me on the floor. Those whiskey eyes look up, but he makes no move to continue.

Cruel bastard.

“Eyes front, Pollyanna. Ride me.”

One of his hands slips around my thigh and he pulls me down to his mouth. This position. Oh. My. God. This position is magic. He licks, sucks, bites, explores. He goes soft and then hard, fast and slow, and with each little gasp or moan or hard rock from me, he adjusts.

Soon two fingers invade me, and he’s found something that’s beyond magic and is the stuff of legend.

Hate or love. Coercion or free will. Slave or equal. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this, grinding into him, chasing the high. Or is he leading me there? I don’t know. I’m blooming with burst after burst of sweet aching pleasure, each one pulsating deeper and releasing more and more bliss.

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