Page 12 of Only For Your Touch
Slowly, he untied the knot of material at the nape of her neck. The halter top drifted to her waist, leaving her in a black strapless bra. He bit back a groan at the sight of all that golden flesh cupped by dark silk. Served up to him like a delicious treat he could feast on and never be satisfied. Skipping the bra for the moment, he knelt before her and slowly unzipped and removed each boot. Rising to his feet again, he captured her gaze, giving her an anchor in this new sea she was diving into. He unfastened her pants and slid the leather down her legs, leaving her clad in only a pair of black panties and her bra.
Christ.
He slowly exhaled, praying some of the lust whipping through him like a damn tornado would escape so he wouldn’t tear the remaining scraps of clothing from her and climb on top of her like an animal.
She was gorgeous. He spoke two languages, and yet neither contained a word adequate enough to accurately describe her. But Jesus, she defied description, even in the wig that was just wrong against her pale-gold, lightly freckled skin. Corrine wasn’t thin; she possessed curves that women paid surgeons to get. Full, firm breasts that her bra deserved a medal for supporting. A tiny waist and a sexy flare of hips his fingers itched to grab and dig into. And that ass. He swallowed an almost feral growl. The leather pants had molded over the flesh, but the high cut of her panties highlighted its perfection. Any Renaissance artist worth his brushes would’ve begged and pleaded to paint her lush beauty. Throw in the intelligence that gleamed in her emerald gaze, and the unexpected and a little quirky humor. She was a gift.
And she’d come to him—a disgrace, ex-thief, and sex-club owner.
“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice rough.
Pink tinged her cheekbones and the top of her chest, but with an almost imperceptible nod, she pivoted, giving him her back. Presenting that sexy ass to him. Unable to not touch her, he shifted forward, plastering his chest to her shoulders and notching his cock right above the curve of her behind. Hissing out a breath, he stroked his hands up her thighs, over her hips, and over her belly until he cupped her tits. Squeezed them. Moaning low at the feel of her silken flesh in his hands, he swept his thumbs over the stiff little nipples that poked at him through her bra. Her whimper teased his ears. Made him hungry for more of those sounds. She’d issued a challenge downstairs—make her scream. He gladly picked up the thrown gauntlet.
“Look at how they’re staring at you,lisichka,” he murmured in her ear, quickly unhooking her bra and dropping it to the floor, then returning his hands to her flesh. Without the barrier of clothing, he teased and pinched the hard tips, watching over her shoulder as the color deepened from pink to a dark rose. “See how they’re getting aroused by these beautiful tits, wishing it was their hands squeezing you, their hands filled with you.” He abandoned one breast and stroked a palm down her stomach, not stopping until his fingers encountered her soft sex and liquid heat. He groaned, planting an openmouthed kiss under her ear. Sucking the thin skin.
“They’re wishing it was their fingers sliding through this tight pussy, their fingers drenched with your sweet juice.” He circled her clit, and she jerked in his arms, her hips rolling against his caress. “Look at them,lisichka. See their hunger. They want to fuck you, want to see your pleasure, want to feel it.” He wasn’t lying; several more people had filtered into the playroom to watch this woman with the blushing skin come undone. Their eyes were fixed on her sensual undulations, on her body that twisted and arched. More than one cock was out—more than one woman was being fingered, even screwed, as they greedily observed Sasha and Corrine’s show. “But they’ll have to be satisfied with staring, won’t they? Because no one gets to touch you but me.”
Before he finished speaking, he turned her around and laid her on the smoked-glass table behind her. He dropped to his knees, hauling her close to the edge, then yanking her panties down her slender, long legs. Baring her pink, swollen, glistening folds to him. A small, neat triangle of hair framed her sex, turned a dark auburn by the moisture coating it.
“Krasavitsa,” he crooned.Beautiful. He dragged a finger through her slit and drew it back soaked with the evidence of her lust. Her cry ripped through the room, her hands clutching at and releasing the smooth glass of the table. With a hum, he sucked her juice clean, and God, the flavor of her. Sweet, tangy, fresh…her. The one taste had his gut clenching in hunger, demanding more. “And good. So fucking good. I want more. I want it all,” he finished on a growl.
Then he took.
And took.
He lashed at the clit cresting the top of her sex, torturing it with gentle licks then firm sucks. The engorged nub pulsed and jumped under his tongue, standing at stiffer and stiffer attention with each caress. And it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. He dipped his head, spreading her thighs wide as he speared her core with his tongue, thrusting it as far as it would go. Lapping up every bit of wetness that coated her entire sex.
“Sasha,” she screamed, her short nails scraping over his shoulders, her hands grabbing at his head. “Please. Oh God, please.”
Whatever shyness she’d harbored at the start of their play evaporated under his mouth. Curses she probably wasn’t aware of uttering fell from her mouth as her body bucked and rolled in a frantic rhythm. Settling an arm across her hips to control her wild movements, he returned to her clit, circling the distended little nub, sipping at it even as he sank two fingers deep in her pussy.
A cry that probably could’ve been heard downstairs if not for the soundproofed walls tore from her throat. Her back bowed high, leaving only her head and hips on the table. Around them, matching whimpers and moans dusted the air, but he didn’t give a damn about the people watching. Couldn’t have given two fucks if they got off on Corrine’s screams and pleas, because every one of them was for him. All he cared about was her pleasure, about wringing her dry with it.
He withdrew his hand, then plunged back inside her, repeating the strokes, riding her so hard, his fist bumped her soaked folds. Her clit fluttered and shrank under his tongue, alerting him that an orgasm was barreling down on her. As if the almost brutal spasming of her pussy hadn’t telegraphed that. Clenching his teeth, he buried his fingers inside her once more and curled them, massaging the patch of firm, smooth skin behind her clit. At the same time, he pursed his lips over the engorged peak and sucked.
She stiffened. Exploded. Drenched him. Seized him so he almost couldn’t fuck her through the orgasm. But he did, her sex clutching at him, quivering around him. He didn’t stop until his ears stopped ringing with her screams. Even then, he gently, tenderly worked her. Only because he hated leaving the tight, smooth confines of her body.
Delivering one last soft kiss to her clit, he rose and strode over to a cabinet against the far wall. He removed a small cloth, wiped his mouth and chin, then selected a blanket. Returning to Corrine, who hadn’t moved, he crouched down beside her.
“Sit up for me,lisichka,” he murmured, helping her.
The small moan she released did nothing to calm the throbbing erection in his pants. He hurt. Needed to ease the pain. Yet, his first concern was comforting her, making sure she was cared for. He didn’t need a crystal ball to figure out this was her first foray into exhibitionism, and after her lassitude passed, she might feel embarrassed, exposed, confused at her behaviors, at enjoying what they’d just done.
And then there were the unprecedented cravings she stirred in him. The need to loosen the control he always insisted on. The desire to follow where she led.
The hunger to submit.
The unfamiliar urge unsettled him. So he needed to end this here, keep in control of their interactions. Not let her touch him until he figured out what the hell she drew out of him.
He wrapped the blanket around her and, standing, lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he brushed a kiss over the strands of the wig. Instead of taking her to one of the private rooms, he carried her farther down the hall to his office. Not analyzing the motive behind his decision, why he needed to tend to her in his personal space, he gently set her on the couch in the sitting area. He tucked the cover more securely around her neck, legs, and feet before crossing the room to the bar. With minimal fuss, he poured red wine into a glass and retraced his steps back to the sofa. He set the drink on the coffee table.
“Let me,” he said and, reaching under her hair, untied the mask and removed it. “Drink some of this.” He picked up the wine and, kneeling beside her, held the glass to her lips while she delicately sipped the alcohol. The weight of her gaze touched him like a seeking, curious caress, but he didn’t meet her eyes. At least not immediately. Just as he didn’t question why he’d brought her to his inner sanctum, he couldn’t answer why he tended to her with wine, personally serving her. He couldn’t explain to her—or himself—that this wasn’t him. His aftercare was usually limited to wrapping his partners up, offering a soothing word or two, then exiting the room until they were recovered enough to leave. Not special attention.
Yet, he didn’t go. Instead, he continued to serve her until she finished the wine, and then settled on the couch, her bright-green-painted toes nudging his thigh.
“Is it totally cliché to say I don’t do things like this?” she asked, a wry note in her hoarse voice. When he thought of why it was so raspy, the lust that had never abated flared into flames.
“Yes.” When her gaze jerked to his, a dark red eyebrow arched high, he shrugged a shoulder. “It is. Besides, there’s no need to tell me that. I already know.” Tilting his head to the side, he studied her. “Regrets, Corrine?”
