I’m not saying she has to give me a blowjob, but I’m not saying she doesn’t either. Depends on if she’s asking me or my way too-easy-to-forgive companion between my legs. I’m the mouth, but he’s the one in control around here.
Men rarely surprise me anymore. I could show up naked instead of in couture, and Ian would still strut around with the biggest bruised ego in France.
What I should have done, apparently, was give Damon my classic cold shoulder and pretend my shit was too hot for him to handle. Excuse me, however, if Damon Monroe is a bigger charmer than my own boyfriend. That’s not a knock against Ian. He’s charming, sure, but Damon takes it to another level. He makes you feel like the most important, most stunning woman in the room, and all he has to do is glance at you with those burning brown eyes…
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t want to leave this bed until I say so.”
Oh, right, we’re doing this.
My hands are above my head, touching the soft cotton of the pillowcase. Beneath me, the large bed sinks, and not just from my weight. My boyfriend has me pinned down, his legs straddling my waist and his eager erection digging into my stomach. Wow. He usually doesn’t get this stiff this quickly.
I must be that hot in this dress!
“I’m not going to say you can leave until I’m sure you know who I am.”
I play with his collar and the top two buttons already left undone. The more I feel, smell, and gaze at my man, the more I want him to make good on his promises. What were we quibbling about earlier, again?
“Why, you’re my boyfriend, of course.” My arms loop around his shoulders. His lip-biting tells me he wants to kiss me until we both suffocate. How much self-control is he practicing right now? More than I deserve. “You know what my boyfriend gets to do to me?” Nails tease his skin. He’s going to lose it, and I’m going to get it.
Ian whispers exactly what I’m thinking. I don’t think I have to tell you what my boyfriend gets to do to me.
“I’m not just your boyfriend.” His teeth touch my cheek, hot breath doing crazy things to my ear.
“That’s right.” My legs coax his hips to come closer to mine. Although layers of clothes exist between us, Ian has no problem riling me up with that hard cock rubbing against me. “You’re my Master, aren’t you, sir?”
Ohoho, he really loves it when I talk kinky. This man loses his mind when you relinquish all control to him. I admit, I love giving him that control. He’s the only man I’ve ever trusted to do that. If he thinks I did anything even remotely kinky – rough vanilla sex doesn’t count – with Damon, then he’s an idiot. Ian Mathers is the only man who gets to spank my ass, come on my tits, and call me deliciously filthy things.
I’m really open to those ideas tonight. Not only would I like to see him prove something, but we’re in Paris. Even I’m warm at the thought of giving up who I am while the early summer scents tickle my nose and views of the clear night sky spread beyond our hotel window. I don’t even care if some perv can see us. Hope they enjoy the show.
“Damn straight I am,” he groans into the crook of my neck. “Say it again.”
I draw out the word as if it’s my last breath. “Master.”
Before I know it, he’s surging against me, stealing away that very breath. Ian wants this dress off my body. Good luck, is all I can say. It’s so tight and there’s no zipper in the back. Just a million tiny eyelets and the glass buttons to go with them.
At least he doesn’t rip my dress off. He’s done that before, but I probably made enough noise about this acquisition earlier that he knows better, even with all the blood in his system rushing to his cock.
As the frustration mounts, he mumbles the hottest things. “Open your fucking legs.” “Don’t close your eyes. I want to see them.” “Fuck these blasted buttons. I’ve seen your tits a thousand times. Let me have your cunt.” “How can you be so wet already?” He calls me one of the dirtiest names in the book we wrote together. In everyday life, I’d kick his ass for calling me that. In bed, however, when he’s asserting himself all over my body and getting deep in my head (and other places,) I can’t wait for him to unload every nasty word he’s biting back in polite situations.
When I thought of making love with my boyfriend in Paris for the first time, I thought the usual: champagne and city views, massages, slow, sensual love… or at least a hardcore kink scene that lasts half the night and ends with me completely blacking out. Yet here we are, falling asses first into bed and on the brink of a dirty quickie without our clothes bothering to come off.