Page 158 of The Holiday Heartbreaker

She kept her eyes on his as she dropped to the ground. He exposed himself, the long, thick length of him familiar now, but exciting all the same.

“You know what I want. Your mouth. On me.”

She nodded, and leaned in, curving her hand around his hardened arousal, taking the tip between her lips, slowly, very slowly, taking in as much of him as she could. He was far too big for her to handle all of him, but she loved the taste of him. Loved that in this submissive pose, she could make him shake. Bring him close to the edge.

It was the thing she found to be one of the more exhilarating truths about sex.

That it was the one in the pose that would be described as weak to the outside world that usually held all the power.

That as heady and delicious as it was to be under his command, he only had that command because she gave it to him. Because there was a line, and he would not cross it. Because there was no coercion, only joyful, willing submission.

Because if she refused, then he would be the one left standing there, vulnerable, having asked for what he wanted most, and being denied it. The one who conducted the dance was the one who risked the most.

It made her feel sheltered, cherished and protected that he took that role.

And pleasuring him like this made her feel strong.

She sucked him down, and then slowly released him, moving her hand along his shaft before sliding her tongue from tip to base and back again.

She drew him back into her mouth, watching as the muscles on his stomach tightened, shifted with the effort that it was taking him to keep it together.

She did this to him. She, who had been a virgin up until a few weeks ago, could push him here. Could take him to the brink.

It was beyond belief. The most glorious thing she could have ever imagined.

It still wasn’t enough.

He began to thrust his hips forward in time with her movements, the tip of him touching the back of her throat.

And she took him.

Because he wanted her to. And that made her strong.

He cupped the back of her head with his hand, and she was lost. Consumed by him.

“Enough,” he said, pushing his fingers through her hair and grabbing hold of it, drawing her head away, pinpricks of pain dotting her scalp.

“I want all of you.”

She nodded. She agreed. Without even asking what that meant. Because she didn’t care. Because it didn’t matter. Because she would give him whatever he desired. She was his.

She was his.

And somehow that still felt like not enough.

He guided her to her feet, and they looked at each other. He had a cool, remote gaze in his eyes, and she knew it was a game. The part that he played when they were in the space. And there was something about that that locked him into place. That made her not feel like he was quite so distant. That made him feel close. That made this feel real.

She looked down. Because that was her role.

And she could feel his satisfaction coming off of him in waves.

“Go to the bedroom,” he said.

And as she walked into the room, she could feel his gaze on her.

She stopped when she got into the room. Because on the bed, coiled at the center of the mattress, was some shimmering black satin. Like a necktie, but longer.

“I told you. I want all of you. I want you to trust me.”

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