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“Whose. Cum?”
“It’s yours, Q.”
Maybe I imagine the shudder that runs through him. Maybe in saying those three words, something shakes loose inside me. Maybe I’m out of my mind.
“Mine,”he growls. “So let me ask again. Do you want to come, Lucky?”
“Yes. Please. But with your permission,” I reply. I’m a fast learner.
It earns me another kiss. Then another. The melting resumes, intensifies. My head falls back. My arms ache with the tight hold I have on the seat.
Hoarse sounds and electric hums mingle with my moans. I can’t escape the humiliating thought that what’s happening to me is being recorded. That I wouldn’t be here if the promise of an obscene amount of money didn’t wait at the end of my performance.
But I also can’t stop the onrush of bliss gathering between my thighs. I gulp in air and exhale on a jagged moan. My nipples, already tights points of almost excruciating pleasure, chafe against the russet half-teddy as my breasts swell.
Q alters the mood of his kiss. He lets go of my knees, curls his hands around my thighs, and uses his thumbs to part my pussy. The hood of my clit is exposed to his warm breath a split second before he tongues it with pointed, determined purpose. Just as I think I’m about to lose control, he dips lower, stabs my entrance with his tongue. The alternating attention teeters me on the brink, until colors begin to swirl across my bound vision.
“Q…oh, God! Please,” I gasp. “I want…I need to come.”
I don’t know if his deep grunt is permission or denial of it. He doesn’t relent in his ministrations.
Knowing how close I’m skidding to damnation, I try again. “Please, may I come?” My voice is thick and rough. I’m gearing up to plead again, in case I was incoherent, when he hums against my pussy.
“So fucking good. Want to keep licking this perfect cunt.”
A thunder-strong tremor moves through me. I’m not sure how long I can hang on. I try gritting my teeth, but the eruption is counting down in big, fat letters with each flick of that wicked tongue. “May…may I come? Oh God, please?”
“Taste it…” His voice is a hoarse, jumbled mess. “I want to taste it. Every drop.”
“May I?”
“Hmm. Yes, my little firecracker. Come for me… In my mouth.”
A sob rips from my throat as I let go and surrender to the wave that slams into me. It rips me apart, and I want to drown in it almost as much as I want to protect myself from it. Q loosens his hold on me, but keeps my legs firmly open while he laps me up in hungry licks.
“Fuck,” he mutters against me as I jerk through my bliss.
Several whirs penetrate my fog of pleasure, and I wonder how many cameras he’s activated to record my climax. I start to stiffen, the idea that I’m enjoying this suddenly drawing ever-growing shame.
I don’t know why I know he senses it, or why I know I’ve pissed him off. But when he pulls at me one last time, there’s a touch of cruelty that makes me wince.
I feel him settle back on his legs. A second later he pulls off my shoes. “Crawl up on the bed. Make sure the blindfold stays in place.” The mechanical tenor of his voice still transmits an aroused hoarseness, but there’s implacable power as well as an edgy aggression that slices icy warning into my stomach.
My languid body is still thrumming, but I do as instructed, travelling a little slower when I reach the top of the bed to avoid bumping into it.
Plump satin pillows brace my body as I wait, hands once again at my sides.
I sense him prowling the room. I know he’s watching me from the hyperawareness rippling beneath my skin.
After a minute, I hear his zipper lowering. The muscles in my belly bunch. I’m dying to know when the blindfold is coming off, but I dare not ask. He warned me he might not be able to help hurting me. I’ve just had a taste of his cruelty. I don’t want to invite more.