Page 59 of Start With A Slap

“I’m sorry,” he cocked his head as he removed his cuff links and shed his shirt, “is that supposed to dissuade me?”

She sat up. “Your sheets...”

He eased her onto her back. “Are washable.”

Her hand magnetized to his chest muscles. His hand magnetized to her inner thigh. She quivered at his touch.

“Pity about the dress. Looked so good on you.” Fingering the scrapped, damp hem, he said, “Take it off.”

Eyes level with his, she guided his hand to her shoulder strap. “No. You.”

God, he liked this girl.

“All right.” Reverently, he rolled the strap down her shoulder, slackened the torn fabric and bared her breasts. Her nipples, two strawberry cream dollops, tautened under his gaze. He noticed an alluring little beauty mark on one breast, another on her ribcage, one by her navel, another on the hollow of her hip... and committed each to memory, just as he had the three on her back.

He pulled her dress down her legs and exhaled, taking in her flame-lit form. “You aresolovely.”

Trembling, she swallowed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say things like that.”

He clasped a hand over her throat. “You’d rather I was rough and mean, that it? Want me to hurt you, give you cause to hate me and yourself?” Nostrils flaring, he tightened his grip. “You’re in my bed now. I say and do what I want.”

Her eyes blazed with defiance, but her body betrayed her titillation.

“Youare so lovely,” he said again, releasing her neck to trace the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. Softly, he kissed one beauty mark, then kissed them all in a zigzag pattern.

She could hardly contain her gasp and quiver when he kissed her mons — what would she do when he made direct contact?

Inhaling her lush fragrance, he teased her outer labia with soft kisses, then gave her one exploratory lick up the center.

“Ahh!” Ivy cried out and spasmed forward. Panting, she said, “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

Calming her shakes, she grabbed a cigar from the provisions array. “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

She leaned against the headboard, stuck the cigar between her teeth. “Take off. Your clothes.”

Sever chuckled.Not a bad imitation.“Right. Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

He gave her a slow, playful show, starting with his socks and ending with his briefs. Though this role reversal put him in a vulnerable spot, the sight of her — nude, intently watching, cigar jutting from her mouth — more than made up for it.

Cock pointing at her, he asked in French, “Is there anything more you desire, my mistress?”

With a nod, she dragged the wet end of the cigar down her torso and tapped it on her clitoris.“Oui.”

“Oui! Oui! Oh, fuck oui!”Soaked in sweat and champagne, voice going, Ivy agitated rhythmically against his palm, three of his fingers curved inside her.

“Good girl,” he praised in French, feeling her juices gush into his hand. “My little Parisian wildcat.”

Sever had started off slow — really slow. Spent quality time gazing at and tasting and smelling every peak and valley of her irresistible flesh, coasting his hands up and down her gorgeous body, frothing her into a delirious lather.

When he’d finally clasped his mouth over her swollen sex, she lost it, thrashing and sobbing in gratitude. She came in less than a minute, and kept coming while he fingered her and suckled her nipples.

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