Page 54 of The Villain
“Thank you for seeing me,” she murmured once she’d come to rest just before his desk.
Casting her gaze downward, she felt the weight of his stare, the way his gaze seemed to trace every visible inch of her. She shivered, feeling as if he’d peeled the clothing from her body with his eyes.
“I did not wish to, but you are as stubborn as you are reckless, little dove,” he replied. “I had thought to come out there myself, throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the stable, then throw you into the saddle of your horse. But then …”
She glanced up at him and wrinkled her brow when he fell silent. “Then?”
He met her stare boldly, a smirk curving his lips. The expression lacked all humor, the catlike motion more akin to a predator that had cornered its next meal. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and resisted the urge to run. He had allowed her back into the palace, and now, she must do whatever it took to get back into his good graces.
“Then I decided to let you convince me,” he said, inclining his head.
The lump in her throat expanded, the realization of what he was saying making it difficult to breathe. “H-how am I to do that?”
He made a little sound—a short huff of laughter—as if her ignorance amused him. Bracing his large hands against the edge of the desk, he pushed his chair away from it. Then, leaning back casually, he braced his hands behind his head and raised his eyebrows at her.
“Please me, and I will let you stay,” he declared.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her gut clenching at what his words implied. Please him? In almost every sexual encounter they’d shared, he had been the one in control. She had been a vessel for his use, and he had done with her what he pleased. Only once had she acted of her own volition. That day in the garden, when she’d knelt and taken him into her mouth.
Raising her chin, she reminded herself of the power she’d felt in that moment. Despite being upon her knees, she had drawn the sounds of pleasure from the back of his throat, had made him weak with nothing more than the touch of her lips. If she could do that, then she could certainly do this. Her livelihood depended upon it.
“I am waiting,” he added when she did not reply or move.
The impatience edging his tone was not encouraging. He was already in a dudgeon and angry with her for disobeying his commands. This would be an uphill battle.
Clenching and then releasing her hands, she began moving toward him. Forcing her hands to work, she reached up to begin unbuttoning her coat while rounding the desk. Still regaining their feeling, her digits were clumsy and unwieldy as she worked to remove the garment. He stared up at her with a blank expression, his eyes a deep, dark brown that betrayed nothing as she edged into the space between him and the desk.
He slouched and spread his legs, inclining his head and watching her expectantly. Taking another fortifying breath, she sank to her knees on the carpet. Reaching up with both hands, she braced them on the strong thighs trapping her between them, smoothing her palms over the fabric. He was hot to the touch, as always, his hard body humming with barely concealed power. She stroked up toward his pelvis, edging her way to the noticeable ridge pressing against his fall. He was at least half-hard, the imprint of his cock through the fabric making her mouth water.
She reveled in the sensations caused by looking at him like this, not bothering to fight the lust he inspired. Now was not the time for maidenly reticence or resistance. She needed to please him, and while he claimed to like it when she fought him, just now, it would not be enough. With him sitting passively, watching her every move, she must act like the whore he’d often accused her of being.
Laying one hand over the bulge, she tested him, skimming her hand over him from base to tip, then back down again. She fondled him through his breeches, squeezing with light pressure now and then. With each squeeze of her fingers, his cock surged, growing and filling with blood in response to her touch. By the time she began unbuttoning him, it had become fully engorged. It fell free of the confining garment as if it had fought its way out, straining toward her with a mind of its own.
Wrapping her fingers around him, she gave him another stroke, using her thumb to caress his tip. He remained silent, staring blankly down at her while she worked him, smearing him in the wetness she coaxed from his slit. His stillness unnerved her, so unlike the other times they’d been together. She had become accustomed to his roughness—his hands fisting her hair, the brute force of his body relentlessly battering her.
Determination drove her closer, emboldening her to take him into her mouth. She detected the slight hitch of his breath as she took him in as far as she could, sucking her way back up to his tip. His cock twitched in her mouth, the thick vein running along the bottom pulsating against her tongue. The primal scent of his musk flooded her senses, making her cunt clench and the tips of her breasts tingle. Squeezing her thighs together, she took him in again, then again, fucking him with her mouth.
She grew bolder, flicking her tongue against his head with each pass, lightly scraping him with her teeth, joining her mouth with a hand to pump him. Before long, he began to move, his hips undulating beneath her, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. His breath quickened, becoming noisier and harsher the longer she sucked him. He seemed determined to fight her, to make it difficult for her, but she fought back, giving him everything she had. She took him in her fist and stroked him, lapping at his head and dipping her tongue into his slit. She gave him both her hands, still using one to stroke him, the other gently kneading the heavy sac below the thick root of his cock. After a while, he began bucking his hips at her, creating more friction between her hands and his cock. She relaxed her jaw, opening her mouth to take his tip in with each stroke.
Before long, she glanced up to find him watching her from beneath heavy eyelids, his lips parted as he sucked in ragged breaths, his chest heaving. The urge to take him into her body overwhelmed her, the pulsations of her inner channel having now become painful. Her face flushed at the licentious images flitting through her mind, fantasies of sitting upon his cock making her feel like the most wanton creature who ever lived. But, he was paying her to be a wanton, to act like a whore.
She ignored the rough sound of annoyance he made when she released his cock, gripping the arms of his chair and coming to her feet. His entire body had gone tense, his fists curled on the chair arms, fairly trembling as if he held himself in check. Yet, he remained as still as ever while she snatched up her skirts, then climbed onto him. Wedging her knees into the spaces between his body and the arms of the chair, she positioned herself so her naked quim rested just over his cock. She shuddered at the feel of him against her, his flared head brushing her inner folds. Rotating her hips, she enveloped his head just within her opening, then let her skirts fall.
His eyes burned green and gold, the prisms of his irises flickering with lust and depravity in equal measure. She held his gaze, her mouth falling open on a soft sigh of relief as she lowered herself onto his lap. Gasping, she let her head fall back as he filled her, her channel giving way to let him in, stretching and then clenching to hold him deep. She braced her hands against his chest and tested the motion of her hips. She rocked against him first, then swiveled her hips in a slow circle, one direction and then the other. Each movement sent a burst of pleasure through her, the grinding of her clit against his pelvis hurtling her toward her own end so quickly, it left her breathless.
Holding on to his shoulders, she found a rhythm she liked, her soft pants turning into moans that echoed from the room’s high ceiling. Beneath her, he was moving again, his hips matching her rhythm, his hands leaving the arms of the chair to touch her. He palmed her hips, squeezing and kneading her buttocks through the fabric of her gown before moving upward to cup her breasts.
“God, yes,” she cried, arching her back to fit herself into his palms, her nipples growing even harder in response to his touch.
He snatched down her bodice and plucked at them with his fingers, sending lightning strikes of pure ecstasy into her core. Her movements became wilder, less precise, and she rode him toward climax. Forgetting about pleasing him, she focused on what she wanted for a change, gritting her teeth and straining toward an explosive ending.
Swifter than she could prepare for, his hand came up to her throat. His palm covered her, his fingers digging into the veins supplying her pulse. Fear gripped her when he tightened his hold, his gaze burning hotly while he went on bucking up beneath her, drilling his cock into her while cutting off her air supply. Her blood roared in her ears, and the fear in her gut melted into liquid heat, making her even wetter, her cunt clenching around him in the beginnings of a climax.
She made a choked sound and closed her eyes, surrendering to his hold. Would he strangle the life out of her now, as he’d threatened to before? Was this how she would die—with his cock inside her and his hand wrapped around her throat?
“Breathe,” he commanded.
The pressure eased, and precious air filled her lungs, the blood rushing swiftly back to her head. She splintered, her lips parting on a silent cry as a powerful climax tore through her, exacerbated by the sensation of flying that washed over her at the exact moment he released her throat. The orgasm slammed into her with the force of a hailstorm, twisting her insides violently, then releasing in a heavy rush that stole the strength from her limbs.
