Page 61 of Damaged Protector
For example, a few months ago, I’d demanded one woman finger-fuck herself to orgasm at the table filled with her friends without anyone knowing what she was doing. As I’d watched from the next table, she’d done exactly that, eyes locked with mine while everyone chatted around her. I knew the instant it happened from her body language and the flush rising up her neck.
And Charli still teased me about the time I’d made one of those twins keep her hand on my dick at all times as we moved through the club Flame.
Both of those tests had resulted in a very good night in the Den of Sin—for all parties involved. I craved control in my encounters. No, I needed it.
Although what I required even more than control was respect. That was the ultimate turn on for me… a woman willing to do anything I asked of her.
Did that make me an arrogant son of a bitch? Most likely, but I was fulfilling my needs the best way I knew how.
I didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell me that my requirement for respect stemmed from the things that had happened when I was a teenager. I also didn’t need a shrink to tell me I was fucked in the head.
I. Was. Aware.
A friend once asked why I didn’t use a prostitute to quench my darker desires. Ultimately, I knew it wouldn’t have the same effect on me if I was paying the woman to do my bidding. I wanted to earn their respect by giving them more pleasure than they knew what to do with.
So I paid women with the currency I was best at. Orgasms.
Someone approached my corner table, her eyes downcast before peeking up at me. She was a stunner. Killer body. Gorgeous face.
But the woman had a needy look, the kind that told me she was a true submissive in all things. The type that wanted you to tell her what she could and couldn’t wear or what she should eat. The type that wanted a full time Dom. Sorry, honey. You’re barking up the wrong tree.
I had neither the time nor the inclination to put in that much effort. All I wanted was a one-night-stand with a woman who would let me fuck her nine ways from Sunday.
Plus, this woman had dark hair, and I was in the mood for a blonde tonight. Was I touching the whys of that can of worms with a forty-foot pole? Fuck no, I wasn’t.
“I’m Kirsten,” she said, stopping in front of me.
“Hi, honey. I’m waiting on someone,” I fibbed, and she gave me a disappointed smile before retreating.
A few minutes later, a familiar face caught my eye from across the room. I was pretty sure I’d been with the blonde before, and I searched my memory bank. When she caught me looking and smiled, it all came flooding back. Her hands tied to my headboard. Her pretty face twisted in the agony of pleasure.
Yep, she’d definitely been in the Den before… about a year ago, if I was remembering correctly. I jerked my chin, and she immediately began wending her lithe body through the crowd, the lights flashing down on her and turning her blonde hair intermittently blue.
As soon as she reached me, I spread my legs and patted my thigh in invitation, and she lowered herself to my lap, curling one hand around the back of my neck.
There was no need to “test” this one; I knew she could give me exactly what I wanted. Her unquestioning submission in all things sexual with no other expectations.
“Hi, Hawk,” she purred, toying with the hair at my nape. I couldn’t remember her name, but I thought it started with a K. When I didn’t respond, she reminded me. “I’m Katya.”
“Good to see you again. You here with anyone?”
“No, I’m alone.” And available, her blue eyes told me.
Katya’s platinum-blonde hair was pulled up into a high, sleek ponytail, and I wrapped it slowly, deliberately, around my fist, my dark eyes locked with hers as my movements elicited a low groan from her slim throat. A throat I had fucked on and off for an hour last time.
I lifted a hand to cup the smooth line of her neck and squeezed at the same time I yanked her hair with a rough tug. Her eyes rolled back, her hips rocking against my thick thigh. She loved this shit.
My hand slid up to grip her jaw, my thumb toying with her full bottom lip. She dropped it open, allowing me the access I desired, and I took it, pushing my thumb into her mouth. Katya sucked me voraciously, her eyes never leaving mine as her long-fingered hands wrapped around my wrist.
A wet, velvet tongue stroked the pad of my digit, and I watched as her cherry-red lipstick streaked my skin. So damn hot. I continued fucking her mouth, spreading the fingers of my other hand against the back of her head to hold her in place.
Allowing my eyes to roam, I took in Katya’s skin-tight black bandage dress with her breasts spilling out the top. They were obviously fake as hell, but it didn’t bother me. I wasn’t a titty snob.
Another blonde—this one with aqua eyes and small tits—popped into the forefront of my brain, but I gritted my teeth and dismissed the image. Something weird flooded my system. Was that guilt?
It confused me, angered me. I had nothing to feel guilty about. I was a single man with needs. Needs that would not be fulfilled by Cam’s young cousin.
The mere thought of my friend solidified my decision, and I pulled my thumb from Katya’s mouth, dragging a trail of saliva and lipstick down her chin.