Hostile Takeover, Hill, W [recommended books to read .TXT] 📗

at his abdomen, but they fit the tough, muscled body. The light mat of dark hair arrowed down to his groin and sprinkled his thighs and calves. A virile male animal. If this was Beauty and the Beast, she’d want him to stay the growling, dangerous Beast, never become the cultured, much-too-gentle prince.

“Eyes down, Marcie.”

She obeyed, and had the pleasure and anticipation of watching him take that thick cock in his hand. She’d love to watch him masturbate, see how those strong fingers milked seed out of the thick organ. The night he’d told her he was doing that in front of the TV, she imagined him ordering her to stay on her knees next to him, eyes down while he jacked off. Then he’d torment her further by letting her clean him with her tongue, licking his seed off his balls and thighs, the base of his shaft, the broad head.

His other arm slid through the ropes, around her waist, palm settling on her buttock to use the ropes’ flexibility to angle her properly for him. It tilted her away from him, so that with her head firmly anchored to the web, she had to strain her gaze to keep looking down as he’d ordered and see as much as she could within that range.

He pushed into her pussy, stretching her out with excruciating slowness, that harrowing, almost too-full feeling she’d never tire of experiencing. He kept going until his thighs pressed against the inside of hers. He kept his hand on her ass, but brought the other one back to the side of her neck, fingers twisting in her hair tight. He withdrew, then slid back in, keeping his eyes on hers.

No words; none needed. This was a taking, his mouth in that ruthless set, eyes unwavering, and she returned that in full measure, holding the lock, letting him see her helpless pleasure, hear the unintelligible pleas for her Master that broke from her lips, increasing the fire in his eyes. He was building her up to that incredible peak again, and bound as she was, she had no control. He had it all. But it wasn’t a one-sided thing. She could see his total attention on her, how her surrender absorbed him…overwhelmed him, brought him into an untouchable space with her. It was just the two of them, giving, taking, until those two sides were fully twined together, the two of them fused.

He came closer, put his mouth on hers. It brought her to life like a detonator. She tried to devour him, would have if she hadn’t been so completely restrained. As it was, she made little crazed sounds in her throat, conveying her madness without words. She needed him, needed him.

Oh God, his cock felt good. He was pressed to her now, his chest a broad wall against her bound breasts, pelvis rocking against her thighs. The angle was precarious, narrow, and it rubbed him against her clit in a tiny, teasing touch. In, out. With how thick he was, every thrust and withdrawal made her burn even hotter, the excruciating stretch of his size keeping the climax just out of reach for the moment. Scraping his teeth against hers, he nipped, tongue teasing her lips as he held her head still. He was a master at building an explosion inside a finite space, the pressure becoming so dense until she was sure she’d shatter from the inside out. But she squeezed down on him. She wanted him to come with her, get lost in this, stay in that bubble together.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Please come for me, Master.”

“You…first.”

His voice was satisfyingly hoarse. It infused her with pleasure and power, and she had to hear him come, wanted to know she’d been able to give him that. “Please, Master.”

“Always…trying to…argue.” He pulled his lips back from his teeth, maybe a feral grin, maybe a rictus of control, trying to hold back his climax. “Right now, Marcie. Obey your Master. Your pussy is mine. You do what I tell you to do with it…or you won’t be sitting for a week.”

Putting his hand between them then, he found her clit. That mere brush of friction and she lost control. She protested, a brief plea, and then she was coming, milking him hard with the spasms, such that she got what she wanted as well. He came right in the middle of her own climax, grunting at the intensity of it, making tears spring to her eyes as his fingers bruised in their hold on her buttock. She liked the idea of those bruises, but it was all part of a whirling vortex of sensation as she screamed out her pleasure once again, her body unable to resist anything he desired of her.

He was her Master, after all.

When that climax left her, so did every scrap of energy she had. It wasn’t just the physical. There was a haze over her mind, a numb aftermath of ecstasy, a postpartum experience that kept her drifting, malleable, limp. She was aware of him freeing her. He put the collar back on her, as well as the tether. Twining it around his wrist, he lifted her tenderly as a child cradled in his arms. He walked through those thick plastic curtains, and they were in a well-appointed loft apartment with masculine furniture, a big flat-screen, a kitchen full of silver appliances. There were intriguing pieces of art on the walls.

Moving across that space, he took her into a large bathroom. She smelled fragrant steam, sensed flickering candlelight.

She was shivering, but he stepped into a large Jacuzzi tub, sat down, putting her between his knees, wrapping an arm around her middle and pressing her head back on his shoulder. She didn’t know how long the tub had been running or who had drawn the bath. Jon had likely invented something to keep the water nice and hot.

“No talking,” Ben said quietly. “Not unless I give you permission.”

She didn’t think