Page 86 of Oliver
"You pick up interesting skills at Foxy's," he said, tugging at the binds to show me they were secure.
My breath caught, my eyes widening at the sight of him—his body stretched taut, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his abs flexing with each breath, his erection straining against the denim encasing it.
He was beautiful. And he was mine.
His eyes were blazing, hungry, like he was desperate to ravage me but couldn’t. “You’re in control, Zahra. You could walk out right now and leave me here."
The deliberate surrender was calculated, not in Oliver’s typical controlled way, but in a thoughtful manner. This wasn’t just about pleasure or release.
He was giving me trust. Choice. Power.
A gift so profound it made my chest ache with the weight of it.
“Icouldwalk away,” I said, straddling Oliver’s knees and undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. “But I won’t.” I tugged them off his legs, tossing them aside and climbing him again, aligning my face to his. “Not ever.”
The way his breath caught, the thudding of his heart under my palm, it told me everything I needed to know, and I kissed him. Long and deep, but languid. We had time now, and I was going to use it to show Oliver I was here to stay this time.
My hands wandered as I explored his mouth, tracing the contours of his chest, my fingers mapping the hard ridges of his muscles and the faint scars that told stories I longed to know. My lips followed the path they blazed, kissing the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling the rapid pulse beneath my tongue.
I cataloged his responses—the sharp intake of breath when I grazed his nipple with my teeth, the low, guttural groan when my fingers skimmed below his navel. When I traced the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his briefs, his entire body tensed, his hips jerking slightly.
I freed his cock, deliberately slow, and bit back a moan. I hadn’t gotten a good look last time, but today I was going to take my time learning Oliver’s body.
I took him in hand, his cock hot and heavy, already leaking precum. When I gently traced the pulsing veins, Oliver let out a soft groan. It was tantalizing, the way his cock jerked when I touched it, how it curved just right.
I was playful, teasing, taking him to the edge and backing away, watching his face as pleasure and frustration warred in his expression. His jaw clenched, his eyes dark and pleading, his breaths coming in ragged grunts that had me gushing, ruining my underwear.
It was a high I’d never experienced before, and as needy as my pussy was for his attention, I wanted to see how far I could push the infallible Oliver Beck before he broke down and begged.
His eyes grew wide when I slid off the bed, lip caught between my teeth, and then I took off my bra and panties.
“Look what you do to me.” I dangled the drenched piece of fabric on my finger, resuming my stance above him. “Do you want to feel how wet you make me?”
“Yes,” he moaned. A deep, desperate sound that was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
I lay the panel on my palm, and wrapped my fist around his cock again, sliding the soaked fabric up and down, twisting my wrist, wringing the choked sounds of a man on edge from him.
“Zahra…” He spoke my name like a prayer, like a broken surrender, and I wanted more.
I took him into my mouth. His salty, musky flavor blended with the taste of my own arousal. An intoxicating blend that made me moan. The vibration drew a desperate, “Fuck, Zahra,” from his lips. His wrists strained against their bonds, the leather creaking, but he never asked me to release him.
His surrender was absolute, his trust in me a heady aphrodisiac that made my core throb with want.
My lips popped off him with a whimper. I was panting, my body trembling with barely restrained desire.
"Tell me what you want." It wasn’t a demand. He was begging, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow, his voice rough with need. “Tell me how to worship you.”
I bit my lip, suddenly shy despite our position, my cheeks flushing as I met his gaze.
“With your mouth,” I whispered, the words barely audible, but the heat in his eyes told me he’d heard me loud and clear.
His eyes closed with a groan, his head falling back against the pillows, the sound so raw it sent a shiver through me. When they opened again, they were dark with heat, a predatory edge that made my core clench in anticipation, arousal slicking my thighs.
“Lumina,” he said, the nickname making my heart stutter, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me. “You can sit on my face anytime, anywhere, no questions asked.”
The raw desire in his voice banished any lingering hesitation. I moved up his body, my knees settling on either side of his head, the heat of his breath teasing my inner thighs.
His bound hands couldn't guide me, but his eyes—hooded, thirsty—coaxed me down until I felt the first brush of his tongue, warm and wet against my clit, and I gasped, gripping the headboard for support.
