Page 30 of At Her Pleasure
“Fifty steps toward a cliff is an interesting walk, especially if the edge is at twenty-five.” He closed the door. “You might want the company. It’ll give you another chance to grab my ass. Bite me. Or kiss me good night.”
The banter was another positive sign, but she sensed turmoil behind his eyes. She was tempted to plunge into that storm, but it was time to seek shelter.
The club stayed open until four in the morning, or until everyone left, whichever came first. A few cars remained in the lot. It was a nice night, not too humid for a New Orleans early morning.
Mick had looked where she’d pointed. A Porsche, her Ford truck, an Escalade, a Forerunner, and a raspberry-colored Mini Cooper were grouped together. The last sat among the larger vehicles like a cat toy. “If I guess which vehicle is yours, I want a kiss good night,” he said.
“If you say the Coop, I’ll kick you in the balls and you’ll never see me again,” she advised. “And I don’t give a shit what you want.”
His teeth flashed. “Thanks for helping improve my chances of winning. If I guess wrong, what do you want, Mistress?”
She swept her gaze downward. “While you’re here, you treat your dick as mine. It doesn’t get anything without my say-so.”
He pursed his lips and glanced toward the vehicles. “The Escalade.”
He’d chosen the one most would assume was hers. It was vaguely disappointing, and for more important reasons than the loss of a kiss. She told herself that missed opportunity was preferable, because she rarely kissed subs.
She was telling herself a lot of things tonight.
When she moved toward the vehicles, he followed her. Past the Escalade and to her truck.
Its jacked tires required a hefty step to the running board. The engine ran loud, and a gun rack was mounted in the rear window. Though she had various firearms, it didn’t hold a long-barreled weapon. Instead a braided single tail was coiled over the prongs.
Cyn turned around at the driver’s door. As she’d slipped her hand into her pocket for her keys, she’d encountered the skateboard doll he’d given her. Her thumb stroked it.
Mick was a foot away, looking at nothing but her.
She moved in, curling her hand behind his neck. She didn’t have to bring him down far in her booted heels, but it was enough to satisfy the desire that he had to come to her. For her. As he’d come for her in the straw bales, stalking her. As she’d had him come for her, nothing more than her verbal command making his cock spurt.
“I want you to treat your dick as mine,” she reiterated. ““I want you aching. All while you give the Ladies-In-Charge event better than your best.”
His gaze heated, challenge accepted, even as she knew he’d issued his own. He’d lost the wager, but the kiss wasn’t a proposition. It was a dare.
Since she didn’t back away from a dare, she brought her mouth to his.
When was the last time she’d kissed a man? And had she wanted it as much as she wanted to taste Mick now? It didn’t matter. Even if she’d never tasted her favorite dessert before, the smell of it, the look of it, told her how unforgettable that first bite was going to be.
She caught his bottom lip, felt him wisely steel himself to take the cut of her teeth. Then she fully covered his mouth with hers, exploring the shape, the firmness of his lips, the way they moved and contoured to hers.
Whether Dom, sub, switch or none of the above, a man showed his ability as a lover by letting the woman take a subtle lead on a first kiss, telegraphing her needs before he eased ahead, proving he could dance the dance with her, accepting the keys to unlock the pleasure she’d offered.
Mick had rested his hands on her hips, but now one moved to her upper arm, stroking. From there it went to her throat and jaw, her hair, learning her, how she moved and fit with him, the responses of her body.
She put herself fully against him, absorbing how solid he was as she slid her palm over his pectoral and rib cage, her thumb passing over the base of the scar she’d left upon him. She could feel the ridge through the shirt, the pointed press of his nipple, the rough texture of chest hair.
But all of that was like branches moving in the wind, flirting with sensation. The root of it, what gave them nourishment, grounding, was between their mouths. She took more, exploring heat, wetness, firmness, softness, the promise of sex the mouth could deliver. On her cunt, her breasts, her nipples, the back of her neck and knees, her feet.
She’d make him worship every inch of her with his lips and tongue. She’d bind his wrists behind his back, make him do that worshipping on his knees, until his thighs and core muscles were screaming. She’d make him go slow, so slow, taking the pain for her pleasure. Like he had tonight.
She added ferocity to the kiss, and his palms landed on either side of her against the truck door, before she could order it. As her need rose, he’d anticipated that she’d want to deny him touch. She slid her hands down his back, and yes, just as he’d said, took a healthy grip of his ass, rock hard muscle.
When she donned her metal claws, she would pinch a man’s bare ass, nips that got sharper and sharper until the skin was on fire. Every new pinch was excruciating, making him bite back cries.
She’d tease him. “But it’s just a pinch, baby. A big, strong man like you doesn’t mind a pinch.” When she was done, he had tiny blue and red marks all over his ass.
That was a pleasure for another day. Another day soon. Thinking of their limited time didn’t bring her any joy, but she’d work with what she was given. She returned her hands to his chest, her palms flattening, fingertips pulling in one last brace of sensations before she drew back. She ended the way she’d begun, with a sucking, wet clamp on his lip. Then she released him.
“Fuck. When was the last time you kissed someone?” he murmured. “And where is the poor happy bastard buried?”