Page 6 of The Mistress
I shuddered at my caresses, my skin sensitive and alive. I could feel the wetness between my legs, and fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Instead, I parted them, my knees spreading wider on the carpet for him to see, and I touched my cunny.
Churning butter, page fifty-one.Seeking self-pleasure, the woman curls her middle two fingers into her channel, seeking the position of ecstasy.
I was soaked, my fingers slipping easily through my folds. I stroked myself gently, my touch light and teasing. I wanted to build my pleasure slowly, to draw out this moment of ecstasy. I circled my clitoris, my body jerking slightly at the contact, and I moaned around the Duke's cock.
His hand tightened in my hair, his grip firm, the tugging just shy of painful. He guided my head, his hips beginning to move intandem with my mouth. I could feel his control, his dominance, and it…itexcitedme.
“Look at yourself,” he grunted. “Fucking your fingers like a slut while you slobber on my cock. You’re a needy little whore, aren’t you?”
I should be ashamed, horrified by his words. Why wasn’t I?
Instead, my fingers slid inside my channel, my body clenching around them as I stroked that sensitive spot within. I kept my attention on the Duke and his cock, my jaw beginning to ache from my ministrations, agoodkind of ache…but I still stroked myself like a good girl.
I curled my fingers, my palm pressing against my pearl of pleasure, creating a delicious friction that made my hips buck. When I moaned again, the sound was muffled by his cock in my mouth, I felt his grip tighten further in my hair.
I matched the rhythm of my hand with the movements of my mouth, my body undulating as I pleasured both him and myself. My breath came in short gasps through my nose, my heart pounding in my chest as my arousal built. I could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, as my tongue swirled and my lips nibbled.
My other hand moved back to my breast, my fingers pinching and pulling at my nipple. The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure from my cunny, creating a heady sensation that had me writhing on my knees. I could feel the wetness dripping from me, my body begging for more.
I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his dark gaze. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared,somethingin his eyes. And Iknew: the Duke of Ironhenge was enjoying this show, enjoying watching me touch myself.
I was on display. Forhim.
My body was on fire, my skin flushed and my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel my climax building, my body coiling tighter and tighter as I stroked and sucked. I moaned and whimpered, the sounds vibrating around his cock, each stroke bringing us both closer.
My crisis hit me suddenly, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me. I cried out, my mouth falling away from his cock, leaving him to stroke himself as he watched me with hooded eyes, his gaze unreadable.
That, more than anything, allowed me to open, to let himseemy climax, let himseeme come around my fingers. My thighs quivered as I bit my lower lip, thrust out my abused breasts, andlet him see.
Soon, though, my fingers slowed, my touch gentle as I stroked myself through the aftershocks. I looked up at him, my eyes glazed with pleasure, and I saw…saw disapproval?
The Duke’s hold on my hair had softened to gentle pets through my ecstasy, by now he twisted his fingers through my curls and pulled my head back.
Still stroking his cock, he leaned over me.
“Did I say you could come?” he growled.
I stared in shock, my body still humming in pleasure.
He yanked my hair, tipping me back farther, and I gasped, tears of surprise coming to my eyes.
“Did I say you could come, slut? Answer me.”
His voice was hard with control again, and I couldn’tnotanswer. “N-no, Your Grace.”
“From now on, you can come when I tell you to, and only then.”
Such a thing…it was impossible, surely? I could barely breathe for his closeness, his lips only inches from mine. What would I do if he leaned closer, if hekissedme the way Reggie liked to be kissed—softly, gently—before we made love?
I should have guessed that the Duke of Ironhenge wouldn’t expect such a thing.
“Do you understand?” he rumbled.
“Yes, Your Grace,” I whispered, my body’s thrumming pleasure fading to confusion.
“Good.”
He turned, but he didn’t release me. Still holding my hair, he strode toward the settee, and I gasped, stumbling after him on my hands and knees, the pain from the hair making my eyes water.
