Page 29 of At Her Pleasure

He lifted his hips, and her gaze went back to his cock. She loved to watch a man fuck the air, from the front or the back. If she could have both views, so much the better. She liked the mirrored rooms at the club. But this worked, too.

“Keep doing it.” She nibbled on his fingertips, sliding her tongue along his palm, even as her attention stayed on his cock. While his hips worked, the shaft moved up and then came back down on his abdomen, a light thump that changed to a slap against his contracting stomach muscles as his movements became more assertive.

“Mistress…fuck…”

“Yes. You will come for me. I want to see it. Right now. Your seed belongs to me, Mick. Show it to me.”

He convulsed, shoulders pushing against her crossed legs. She brought his hand to the side of her throat, curving it over her there as she put her free hand back in his hair. Pulling hard, she tipped his face up and leaned over him, staring at the straining muscles, his wild eyes. Viscous white semen fountained out of his shaft, spilling over the head and dripping onto his stomach as he groaned, caught up in the response. His hand alongside her throat spasmed, a strong squeeze.

“No…”

She didn’t know what that meant, but he grabbed her upper arm with his other hand, holding on as the reaction intensified. She wouldn’t treat it as an infraction. He was grasping something solid in a storm. She could be that for him. As well as be the storm itself.

She curled her hand over his other set of biceps, holding onto him as well, a closed circle, until the climax ebbed. It left his body limp on the uncomfortable ground, but he stared at her as if they were drifting on clouds.

As if she were someone he hadn’t met before. As if the person she’d been had come together with a whole new being, forming something unexpected to him. Startling, tilting his world.

She knew the feeling.

She told herself she would dismiss it, as soon as the moment was over. He was gone in a couple of weeks. This could be a lot of fun until then.

But the word fun was far off the mark of what she was feeling. She should be smart enough to back away from this.

But backing away from a threat wasn’t her style.

She was a hundred percent certain it wasn’t his, either.

CHAPTER SIX

They got dressed, saying little as they walked back to the motorhome. He produced a shirt for her from the plastic tote under his bed. Curiously, it was a woman’s, a dark blue cotton shirt with floral embroidery along the V-neck.

He pulled a shirt out of the narrow closet for himself. He’d tucked their ripped clothes into a trash can under the kitchenette sink.

As he shrugged into the shirt, buttoned it and folded the sleeves back to his elbows, she noticed him watching her pull on the one he’d given her. Something bothered him about her wearing it, but she didn’t think it connected to whoever had left it here. For one thing, it smelled new. Was he used to providing clothes for women he chased?

She removed it, folded it back up and put it on the table. Moving past him to his still open closet, she passed her fingers over the soft fabric of the eight shirts hanging there. Blue, brown, black, gray.

He was close. She leaned back against him as she chose the black one and pulled it out, then moved away from him in the close quarters to shrug it on. She left it open, the long tails fluttering around her hips. When she put her Freyja necklace back on, his gaze followed the settling of the pendant between her breasts, cradled in silky cups. “Back to the club?” His voice was still thick.

Opening his refrigerator, she discovered bottled water and a small number of fast food containers. She withdrew one of the bottles and cracked it open, taking a swallow before offering it to him.

“Do you want me to drive? It’s not a cop car.”

“I’m good.” Amusement passed through his gaze. He drank about half the bottle before handing it back. His calm assurance said she could trust his self-evaluation. Most of her subs didn’t realize how carefully she watched them after a session. No one under her care was going to tank from sub drop or attempt to drive before their faculties were fully under their own control.

Regardless, she still chose the narrow-cushioned seat behind the driver instead of the passenger seat beside him. As he sat down in the driver’s side and turned over the engine, he glanced back at her.

“Shirt looks good on you.”

“Yes, it does.”

His lips quirked. As he pulled onto the road, she rested her head on the back of his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if the gesture was for him or for her, but it didn’t matter. She acted on her wants and needs. She didn’t analyze them. That was a trip to the seven circles of Hell she didn’t care to take.

He dipped his head in her direction, but kept his hands on the wheel, not trying to reach back and touch her. She studied the capable fingers and corded forearms. Put her head on his shoulder again and watched the world roll by.

When they pulled into the club parking lot, she was almost dozing, but she came fully awake. He rose and took her hand, leading her down the aisle toward the door. She put her other hand on his belt, tightening there until he had to descend the steps to the ground. But once there, he turned and offered her his hand. His grip was firm and sure, his gaze direct. The drive had finished the grounding process.

“You don’t have to walk me,” she told him. “I’m just over there.”