Cori giggled and speared another piece of chicken. “Was he really hearing a voice?”
“Yep. We’re searching the guy’s house when Tommy and Eve start laughing, trying to get control because they don’t want the poor man to think they’re laughing at
him
. We all go take a look and they’re standing in the hallway. Tommy’s pointing to a smoke alarm on the ceiling, and the thing is saying,
Battery low, battery low
.”
He loved the sound of her throaty laugh, the firelight illuminating her tiger eyes and golden skin, setting her hair ablaze. Loved everything about her.
“You don’t look hungry for food anymore,” she said, lips curling into a wicked smile.
“Can you blame me? I warned you early on that you might wish you’d let this sleeping dog lie, remember?”
“Oh, I certainly do, and you were wrong. I’m going to have fun proving it, too. Right now.” She rose and gestured to their Styrofoam take-out boxes. “Finished?”
“With the food? Oh,
yeah
.”
“Eager, are we? Let me get rid of these. Then I’m going upstairs to put on something more . . . appropriate. When I return, I expect to find you standing in front of the fire. Naked.” She waltzed into the kitchen to toss their scraps.
Damn! His crotch tightened to the point of strangulation. When she came out again, he waved a hand at himself. “Junior and I want to lodge a complaint about us getting naked while you stay dressed.”
Stepping close, she ran a hand down his chest. Slowly. “Are you or are you not my love slave who’s oozing with that marvelous stamina we discussed?”
“Shit,” he breathed, cock jerking behind his zipper. “One love slave, at your service.”
Tossing him a saucy wink, she flounced up the stairs. He gazed after her butt swinging to and fro for a moment before he shook himself from his stupor and headed up after her. In the guest bathroom he’d been using, he brushed his teeth, then spent a minute studying his reflection in the mirror.
Not bad. A little geeky, maybe, a naked love slave wearing glasses, but Cori preferred them. That settled any question of removing them for what Tommy called better
coolage
.
He grinned at himself.
I don’t have to be cool. Cori loves me the way I am.
Shucking his clothes, he tossed them on the guest bed he hadn’t used in weeks. He felt ridiculous jogging down the stairs, erect penis waving like a banner, but his discomfort evaporated as he wondered what she had planned.
For several minutes, he gazed into the fire and tried to envision sexy scenarios, but a vivid imagination wasn’t his strong suit. Or maybe he was simply naive. Whatever the case, in his wildest fantasies, he couldn’t have predicted her scheme.
“My, my. What a fine backside. And it’s all mine.”
Turning his back to the fireplace, he gaped in awe. Cori was dressed as a harem girl. Or an Arabian princess. Yes, that was it. His woman was pure, stunning royalty.
Skeins of diaphanous sapphire material flowed along her arms and down her long legs to her bare, pretty feet. Lustrous honey brown hair fell past her shoulders. Scarves were draped around her slender neck and hung past the glittering bra, emphasizing the gorgeous swell of generous breasts, to her navel. Her innie had been adorned with a matching blue jewel. Jesus, he wanted to trace it with his tongue. And lower, to the triangle of material barely covering her sex in front.
“Like what you see?”
“God, yes,” he croaked, taking a step toward her.
“No, stay right where you are. Don’t move.”
Padding to the stereo, Cori turned it on and selected a station playing slow, bluesy instrumental music reminding him of whiskey and sex. Fists clenched, he waited in torment.
He didn’t have to squirm for long. She walked to the dining room, and returned with one of the straight-backed chairs from the table. Placing it in front of him, she gestured to it.
“Sit,” she ordered, the command hot and sultry as the middle of August. “You’re my captive audience. Literally.”
He did as told. Hardly registered the cold wooden seat pressing on his ass and balls. Something told him they wouldn’t be cold for long.
“What now?”
“Do you want to go wherever I take you, my sexy slave?”
“Do you have to ask?”
She gave the erection throbbing between his legs an arch look. “I suppose not. All right. From here on out, don’t speak, just . . . feel. Forget who we are and let yourself slide away.”
The easiest order he’d ever received, since he could do nothing
except
feel. When she began to move to the music, he couldn’t have said a word anyway. All speech deserted him as she raised her arms over her head, swaying. Her hips undulated in time to the lazy beat. She watched him, her movements a perfect mime of making love.
She was performing one of her exotic dances for him, he realized suddenly. In a way he fervently prayed she’d done for nobody else. In the next instant he no longer cared. She wasn’t a dancer; she was his princess. He existed solely to satisfy her however she desired.
Mesmerized, he stared as she removed one of the scarves from around her neck. Twirled and swished it in the air, creating fascinating patterns. Ramping up the anticipation.
Next, she danced to him, taking her sweet time. At his side, she draped the scarf around his neck, trailed it down his chest. Goose bumps broke out on his skin at the decadent sensation of the material sliding down to his belly. His aching groin. She bent low, her breasts near his face, close enough to taste if he turned his head to the side. But this was her show, and he was dying to learn what she planned.
“Put your arms behind you and cross your wrists,” she said softly in his ear.
He complied, his heart thumping a mad tattoo behind his sternum. Surely she didn’t intend—
By God, she did! A protest almost escaped, but he squelched it, unwilling to end their play. He sat in disbelief as she bound his wrists with the scarf, tied them to the back of the chair.
Making a satisfied sound in her throat, she came to stand in front of him again. With a catlike smile, she removed the remaining two scarves and trailed them down his body in the same manner as before, leaving him quivering.
This time, she knelt at his feet. His eyes followed her, and he blinked at the pearly drop of pre-cum beading on the tip of his penis. Christ, he hoped he was able to hold off the explosive orgasm building in his balls. He’d finally experienced the joys of lovemaking, but he’d never been seduced.
Taken.
“Spread your legs even with the legs of the chair.”
The position made him completely vulnerable . . . especially when she tied each of his ankles to the chair’s legs. He was spread naked before his lover, hers to do with as she wished. A dark thrill coursed through his veins, drugging him.
He wanted this—to be claimed by her—more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Standing, she surveyed her handiwork, began to sway again to the music. “Gorgeous,” she murmured. “A feast to be savored.”
Teasing him, she presented him with her back and began to remove the filmy material from her arms and legs. The covering detached easily, leaving her clad in only the bra and the thong. He couldn’t peel his eyes from the sparkly string parting the creamy globes of her ass.
Reaching behind her, she undid the clasp of her top, let the straps fall free. Then she untied the strings around her neck, tossed the bra aside. Turned to face him.
Zack sucked in a breath. Silky hair framed her bare, ripe breasts and rosy nipples. This goddess was his. He still had difficulty believing his good fortune.
She approached, knelt between his splayed knees. Leaned forward, licked the bead of cum from the tip of his cock. “Mmm. So good. You like being at my mercy, I see.”
She suckled the crown, snatching the air from his lungs. Coherent thought fled and he was truly a slave to her ministrations, his body hers to lick and sample. Her pink little tongue swept along his feverish length, laving every contour. Slim fingers manipulated his balls, drawn and taut with arousal. Then she took him in her mouth, sucking him deep, tormenting the turgid flesh. The sight of her lips stroking his cock almost finished him, and his hips bucked off the seat. A low moan escaped him, a plea without words.
Releasing him, she stood. Swung her legs wide and straddled the chair, her thighs on the outsides of his. The position thrust her breasts to his nose and placed her womanhood dangerously close to his cock.
“And now, for your private lap dance, honey. Relax and enjoy.”
Lowering her mound, she squatted over him, allowing his penis to brush along her sex as she writhed in hypnotic rhythm. Just the light contact of heat against slick femininity. Nothing more.
Hands on his shoulders, she threw back her head, causing a shower of honey brown silk to cascade around them both. Held his gaze through half-open lids, an alluring sexual creature who loved the power she held over him.
So did he. His breath sawed in his lungs and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. He was desperate to be inside her when he came, where he belonged.
She ghosted a kiss over his lips, trailed her fingers down one cheek. “Tell me what you want, slave.”
“God, please . . .”
“Say it.”
He was lost.
“Fuck me, please!”
Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she guided the tip of his cock to her entrance with the other. She paused with him inside her an inch or so and he thought his heart would burst.
“Watch me fuck you,” she said.
“Yes, I . . . ahh, god
damn
!”
A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple. His eyes fastened on her sheath swallowing his pulsing length. Bit by bit, torching him from the inside out. Down, down, until she sat in his lap with him buried inside her.
She began to ride him, up and down, and his mind checked out. He was hers, her toy, her instrument of pleasure. Never anything like this, so dark and sensual. Totally owned by another, never wanting the torture to end.
“Yesss, baby! Fuck me, use me . . . please, don’t stop!”
With a throaty moan, she increased the tempo, impaling herself on his rod. Faster, harder, her feminine walls squeezing and stroking him into a frenzy. He thrust to meet her, unable to help himself. Out of control, their bodies slamming together.
She rode him with abandon, rushing them headlong toward the edge. The now-familiar gathering of the impending explosion tingled at the base of his spine, and then . . .
“Oh! Oh, God, baby! Yes!”
He shot deep inside her womb with a hoarse shout, blessed, exquisite release. On and on, his cock milked of every last drop. Arms linked around his neck, she ground against him, shuddering with her own orgasm, incoherent little cries spilling from her lips.
She fell against him and they remained locked together, struggling for air. For how long, he didn’t know.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “That was . . . incredible.”
She gave him a naughty grin. “You liked?”
“Seriously, what do you think?”
“That Junior will never be the same.” She wiggled on his lap for emphasis.
“Baby, you blew the top of my head off. Can you see my brains?”
“Nope, just one unbelievably sexy man.”
Well, he was far from sexy. He wasn’t, however, about to argue. “Promise me something,” he said suddenly.
“Anything,” she replied without hesitation.
“Swear to me you’ll never perform a lap dance for another man again.” Even though she’d never allowed a client to touch her, the idea tore him to shreds.
“I’ll go one better, fireboy.” She leaned in, nibbled along his jaw. “What would you say if I told you I’d retired from exotic dancing . . . except for when I dance for you?”
Had he been standing, his knees would’ve buckled from sheer relief.
“I’d say that’s the best news I’ve ever heard, beautiful.”
“I’ll find a way to finish paying for my education, Zack. One that doesn’t involve dancing or touching Alex’s dirty money.” She smiled, her love reaching out to wind tendrils around his soul. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
“I’ll finance.”
“
We’ll
finance, like the rest of the population does.” He kissed her nose, the only part of her he could reach while bound hand and foot. “Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I be your love slave more often?”
“Anytime.”
He sighed, happiness no longer an intangible ideal forever out of reach.
“That’s the
second
-best news I’ve ever heard.”
17