Page 79 of Carnal Urges
I take a moment to catch my breath. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you’d say.”
“I’m going to bathe you. Then feed you. Then fuck you, in that order. No, close your mouth. No talking.”
Trembling, I bite my lip and stare up at him. He smiles.
First, he discards his tie to the floor. Next, he shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it aside. He unbuttons his white dress shirt, his strong fingers working deftly until they reach the bottom button.Then he pulls the shirt off and stands there with it dangling from one hand as I struggle to draw another breath.
The man is art.
Hot-as-fuck, tattooed, muscular art.
Had I known what he looked like under his tailored Armani suits, I might have been nicer to him sooner. I’m lucky I wasn’t standing up for this, because I’d definitely have melted into a puddle at his feet.
“Are you drooling?” he says, his smile growing wider.
He’s relishing my obvious lust and astonishment, but I ignore him.
He’s covered in ink, from his shoulders all the way down both arms and all over his chest and washboard abs. There are roses and skulls and angel’s wings, crosses and sunbeams shining through clouds. I glimpse other Biblical stuff, including a line from scripture, inked in heavy black serif right over his heart:Vengeance Is Mine.
And he’s ripped as hell, like all he does is eat lean protein and work out twelve hours a day. His shoulders are wide, his lats taper to his waist in a perfect V, and why am I only now just noticing that even hishandsare gorgeous?
Someone should sculpt this person. This kind of masculine beauty should be on display in a museum.
Please, God, let him have a good dick. Nothing skinny or crooked or short. Do me this one favor, and I’ll start going to church again.
I stop praying when Declan leans over me and plants his hands on the mattress on either side of my head.
“My turn.”
He hooks a finger into the open collar of my blouse. His expression turns thoughtful. “I just remembered… you didn’t ask for any bras on that clothing list you gave me.”
“Yes, I did. You just didn’t buy them.”
“Must’ve slipped my mind. Speak again, and I’ll spank you.”
He stares deep into my eyes as I suffer through a moment of existential angst trying to decide if I should obey him and be quiet or burst out singing the national anthem. Which will earn me an orgasm first?
He smiles again. “Ah, such a tough decision. I’ll wait.”
I smile back. “It wasn’t all that tough.”
He flashes a grin, then rolls me onto my belly and spanks me, the blows hard, his palm stinging me right through my jeans. When he finishes, we’re both panting.
But I’m the only one who starts begging.
“More. Please. With my pants down. Pretty pretty please.”
“I appreciate the ‘please,’ but next time add a ‘sir.’”
I flash murder eyes at him over my shoulder. “You’re on drugs.”
“No, I’m your captor. And this is my game you agreed to play, remember?”
Without waiting for a response, he flips me back over, takes the front of my blouse in both hands, and rips it wide open. Buttons fly everywhere. I gasp in surprise.
Nothing else happens for a while, because Declan is too busy looking at me.
It’s excruciating, lying there helplessly, not knowing what he’s thinking as he silently takes me in. I’m naked from the waist up, my shirt in tatters, my arms thrown overhead and my chest heaving.
