Page 11 of The Moon & His Tides
It was an offering that no man however disciplined could refuse. And I wasn’t disciplined; I was a hedonist and Savannah Meyers was quickly becoming a buffet of pleasure.
“Taste yourself,” I told her. “Take those fingers out of your sucking pussy and sink them deep between those pretty red lips.”
When she hesitated, I growled low and watched her shudder almost violently at the sound of it.
“Do it.”
She did. Her fingers trembled, slick with moisture that glowed silver in the moonlight spilling in through the tinted carwindows. I held her eyes as she brought them to her parted lips, then slowly slid them over her tongue and straight to the back of her mouth before closing her lips in a tight seal. I could hear the noise of her sucking, licking, and swirling. My cock was so hard it felt bruised and beaten, throbbing painfully in my unforgiving trousers. I squeezed a big hand hard around it for a long beat as I watched Savannah lick her fingers clean.
“What a good little slut you are, Mrs. Meyers,” I praised her, my voice warm because I wasn’t sure how she would respond to the degradation and I wanted her to know I meant it as the most perverted kind of compliment.
Her eyes, closed to focus on her oral skills, opened to half-mast and she purred with pleasure when she said, “Thank you, Sebastian.”
“You’re welcome. Now, add another finger to that tight pussy. If you ever want to replace it with my cock, you’ll need to get used to feeling filled up.”
She moaned softly, immediately returning her saliva-slick fingers to her cunt. I could see her wetness glimmer on the insides of her thighs above her stockings, on the rich leather under her ass, and a dark part of me, the part born in dark alleys and seedy backrooms, wanted to force her to lick up her cum from the seat when I was finished with her.
“Would you do anything to please me, Savvy? To be my perfect, gorgeous slut?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I studied her. She was still too lovely, too untouched by sin. I wanted her dirty, corrupted by my words until she spilled over, ugly but frank like garbage from a split bag.
“Has anyone ever played with your ass before?” I asked her.
“Oh, my goodness,” she panted, her fingers pumping faster.
I grinned darkly. “Tilt your hips and place one of your legs up on the seat beside you so I can see all of you. Then suck on your left index finger and trace it slowly over that tight asshole.”
She did as I bid immediately, so far gone that her flush was a permanent red stain under her normally flawless white skin, and her eyes were open to mere slits. I groaned loudly at the sight of her dusky rosebud as she opened herself up to me and then cursed viciously in Italian when, without hesitation, she sucked on a finger, traced it over her rim and then plunged it inside with a rumbling moan.
Her head thrust back against the seat and she squeezed her eyes tight, her features twisted into a grotesque but completely compelling look of pain-edged pleasure.
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” I taunted her softly. “You’re allowed to, Savvy. Show me what a dirty woman you can be. Imagine it’s me in that pussy, and your husband in that tight ass.”
“Fuck,” she shouted, her fingers beating into her flesh loudly, brutally.
I imagined it too, my cock inside her, rubbing against Adam Meyers, snug deep in her ass, our big bodies sandwiching her between us.
Ruthlessly, I squeezed my balls through my pants so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself by coming in them.
“Imagine us sawing back and forth inside you, filling you up until you don’t even have room to breathe. Would you come for us like that, dirtyduchessa? Show me how you’d come for us.”
With a hoarse shout, she came. I watched her wetness seep out over her pounding fingers, how her thighs shook and her breasts heaved. She was sweating, out of breath, her hair tangled into golden ropes, her clothes all in disarray, and I’d never seen Savannah Meyers so goddamn gorgeous.
“Good girl,” I muttered softly as she came down.
I gave her privacy to recover without my searing gaze even though I wanted to share that time with her, pull her soft, slaked body into my arms and fit her warmed curves to my granite edges. Instead, I started the Rolls and pulled back onto the road to take her home. By the time we reached her flat, my dirty Savvy was gone and proper Mrs. Savannah Meyers was back in her place, ankles crossed, hands loosely clasped. Only a few tangles marred her perfection, but my belly heated again knowing I’d been the one to muss her.
We made eye contact and I watched as her flush reappeared, a flash like a warning sign, before she reined in her reaction.
“I suppose we’ll do as the British do and pretend this never happened?” I said with a small wink, even though something in my chest was curling up with decay.
She opened her mouth, her brow furrowed in protest but then she closed it again and sighed heavily. After looking out the window for a moment, she looked back at me and smiled sadly.
“Thank you, Sebastian,” she murmured.
I fought the urge to laugh just as hard as I fought the urge to shout in misery. Who was I to think that a man like me could steal a woman like her from an international icon like Adam fucking Meyers?
