He slowly rolled his hips, drawing his length in then out of the hole I created with my fist. He was already leaking desire from the tip, coating my palm.
“Get rid of you?” He let out a shuddering sigh. “Absolutely not. If anything, the dominant in me would realize that you need a refresher course.”
My lips trembled as my own desire wet the crotch of my panties, heat firing like pistons all over. “And if I decide I just want a taste--” I lowered myself to my knees, my eyes never leaving his as I brought his swell from behind the fabric. I ran a finger around the head of his cock, watching the way his mouth twitched, the way his muscles tightened as he tried to restrain himself. When a moan--low and barely audible--fell from his lips, I broke eye contact and leaned forward, taking the tip in my mouth. Suckling his sticky sweet nectar.
My tongue ran around the mushroom head, over its contours, dancing into the slit then holding, sucking, anticipating the delicious lick of pain when he’d take the control back. Punish me. God, I must have been a mad woman egging him on, not knowing what discipline was in store. But that was the fun part. Not knowing.
Just as I started taking more of him in, he gripped my hair, stopping me.
“You like being bad, don’t you?” he said huskily. “Making me punish you?”
“Yes sir,” I said breathlessly.
His touch slackened and something softer raced across his face. “It’s been too long since we’ve indulged, Leila. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Absolutely.” I wanted to submit to him. I wanted to give him control. I wanted to give him all of me.
His eyes smoldered. “Strip. I want you naked, on your knees, hands behind your back.”
****
If I'd blushed standing just inside, with the doors open and the off chance that someone caught a glimpse after our tryst on the dining room table, every bared inch of me was red as I knelt before him now. Before, it could have been explained away. A trick of the light. But there was no mistaking the fact that I didn't have on a shred of clothing with me kneeling butt na**d on the balcony.
"How do you feel?"
"Naked," I quipped. My joke was lost on him, his eyes slivers of cobalt blue. "Exposed."
"I know you, Leila." He crossed his arms. "Exposed is lazy. I want you to tell me how being na**d in plain view of the condominiums across the street makes you feel."
I let his request ripple over me as the same word remained on my tongue. I was exposed. The crisp breeze was a reminder of my nakedness, caressing my warm skin. I felt my arousal licking my inner thigh and I was very aware of my untamed, greasy locks spilling past my shoulders. The wind swept brown curls back and forth across the curve of my br**sts. But it was the chance that I’d be seen that dominated my thoughts. I imagined a man or a woman having a lazy cup of coffee on their balcony and seeing my nakedness. It made me hunch over, trying to make myself smaller. Invisible.
"I don't want them to see me like this," I murmured, my face on fire.
"To see you like what?" he probed.
I nibbled my lip, wincing a little as my knee cut through the woven rug to the concrete below. "To see me naked." Exposed, I thought rebelliously.
"And why is that?"
I glared up at him and his cool gaze drank it up. He really did miss the power play. Taking me out of my comfort zone. Showing me who was really in charge.
"Because I'm sure if they had their druthers, I'd be the last person on Earth they'd want to see naked."
The sparkle of mischief was snuffed out, replaced by disappointment. "I thought we were past this, Lay."
I gasped as my nickname flowed from his lips. It had never been my favorite; just some offhand thing my mother called me until it stuck. But he turned a single syllable into something beautiful. Something erotic. Looking up at him, seeing the way his eyes caressed my nudity, I tried to see what he saw. But I just felt naked.
“You want to know what I think?”
I nodded.
"I think you're the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
I brought my lids down, not wanting him to see my complete and utter disbelief. I didn't doubt that he was attracted to me, that he wanted me, but the whys were hard to accept or believe.
He came forward, hooking my chin then tipping it up.
"Everything about you is sexy," he said smoothly. "The way your curls bob in the wind before crashing around your delicious curves."
I hitched a breath, the moan trapped in my throat as he brought his hand from my chin, dragging a single finger down my chilled flesh and making a wide circle around my areola. Even though he was several inches away from my ni**les, they hardened to rocks.
His hand spread over my abdomen. "You have a lover's body. The kind of body songs were written about. That wars were waged over."
I held my breath, feeling how close he was to going deeper. To sinking his fingers inside me.
Instead, he rose up to his full height, the hand that should have been indulging in my heat gesturing at the wicker chair. "I want you to have a seat--" He waited until I blinked up at him before he finished. "--and then I want you to touch yourself."
My eyes bulged, his command drawing me from the haze of lust, back into the uncomfortable arms of self-consciousness. "T-Touch...you want me to finger myself? Out here?"
His voice sharpened. "I know it's been awhile, but I can assure you I'm still no fan of repeating myself." When I continued to stare, hesitation gluing me to the rug, he came forward, yanking me to my feet.
He spun me around, so my back was against his chest and his erection made itself known. We could have been in the clutches of summer in the city, the sun pounding down on us if the desire heating me was any indication. When his lips brushed my ear, my inner core pulsed in time with my heart.
"Do you need motivation?"
A spanking? The very thought of it nearly made me come. It really had been too long--I wanted to prolong this...hold onto these conflicting emotions of wanting more and wanting to stop. Of wanting to bend over, ass in the air and wanting to run for cover.
I found my voice and it was almost unrecognizable. Sultry. Longing. "No sir."
I moved forward, slowly lowering myself onto the cushion of the armchair, bringing my trembling legs up until I felt the ottoman beneath them. I was sitting in a pike position, hands on my thighs, my limbs locked and apprehensive. I made the mistake and looked out, the knots in my stomach multiplying as I saw the countless windows in the building across the street.