Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (13 page)

I can hear amusement entangled with her gloating. Defiance floods through me from my male pride. I’ll dig deep, it can’t get any worse than this and I’ll be damned if she’s going to prove that I can’t handle it. I’ll fucking show her. Her fingers will get stiff and her tongue will ache before I give in to her.

I shake my head and force my body to relax, made easier because she’s not currently touching me. I give her my best ‘bring it on’ expression followed by a cocky smirk as I say, ‘Just testing.’

‘What? You thought I’d roll over just because you said so?’ She throws back her head and laughs, deep and throaty. How can a laugh sound like sex, for fuck’s sake?

‘If you rolled over, I could make good use of the killer stiffy that you’ve worked so hard to create,’ I say, double pumping my eyebrows for effect. I know there’s no way in hell she’ll oblige.

‘Oh no, honey. I’m just getting warmed up. What you need to learn is that if someone’s worth doing, they’re worth doing well.’

‘My philosophy has always been more haste, less tease,’ I mutter.

‘Who’s teasing?’ she pouts. ‘I’m here to prove that it’s more haste, less pleased. It will be worth it in the end, you’ll see.’

With that, her head swoops down and she takes my cock right into her cocky mouth. She moans and shakes her head to get it all ... the ... way ... fucking ... down. I can feel the vibrations of her moans against the head of my cock. It feels so damn incredible. My balls throb. She quickly bobs her head up and down, applying suction that has to be felt to be believed. My balls tighten in desperation. They’re going to blow. There’s no way they can survive this onslaught. I try to think of something—
anything—
to delay the inevitable but I defy any man to turn his mind off from the wet, noisy, frantic blow job that I’m experiencing, right now.

My thighs tense as do the muscles in my lumbar region ... this is it ...

She whips her head up, abandoning my cock at the pivotal moment and pins me with a ferocious stare. Her lips are swollen, her mascara smudged, and tendrils of her hair are plastered to her face. There’s a string of saliva from her mouth to the tip of my cock that renders me speechless. I swear that image will forever be burned into my memory. It’s lust ... carnal lust, personified.

I experience so many urges all at once that, even if I wasn’t restrained, I couldn’t be spurred into action. I can't even think straight. Predictably, I want to grab her head and shove that mouth back around my cock so I can thrust into it and finish what she started. I want to pump my cock right where it is so my cum replaces that glistening string of saliva. I want to throw her on her back, pulling her legs into the air as I slam into her. Or bend her over and sink into her from behind, good and deep, to give my balls the respite they need.

And this ... this is the mind fuck. More than any of that, I want to kiss those swollen lips. I want to lick them, suck them, nip them gently ... I want my lips to leave hers bruised so that every time she speaks, smiles or licks her lips for the rest of the day, she’ll remember that kiss. I can picture her fingers flying to her lips as she relives every second of it. I can’t remember ever having that desire. I’m not big on kissing, it’s far too intimate and needy. But right now, given the choice, that’s what I’d do first. I’d claim that mouth, tasting, testing, teasing, tormenting until she couldn’t think straight. Then, and only then, would I want to move on to taking care of my balls.

Wait a minute! Isn’t that what she’s doing to my cock? I feel my eyes widen in recognition of my ... what? Epiphany? I see hers widen too as they continue to probe mine.

‘Having a Thomas Edison moment?’ she whispers and, for a moment I don’t follow. Then I get it ... another Edison moment. At this rate, the light bulb over my head will blow a fuse.

‘Uh huh,’ I all but grunt. My head’s still processing the fact that I want to kiss her more than I want to fuck her.

‘So you’re realising that it’s not all about the wham, bam, thank you ma’am? That taking your time reaps rewards ... and you’ve not even experienced the fruits of your labours yet. The more I build it up, the more I tease, the more you want it, the more you need to come—then ... well, you’ll see.’

I close my eyes and nod. How can I tell her that I’ve had an even deeper revelation than that? She’ll think I’ve gone soft. What the fucking hell is she doing to me? My eyes flick open when I feel her unfastening the cuffs around my ankles.

That’s it? We’re done?

If she thinks she’s going to stop me wanking after she’s driven my balls half insane, she can think again.

She uncuffs my wrists and I rotate them to ward off the stiffness that’s setting in. Then I fist my cock and pump it a couple of times. It feels okay but nowhere near as satisfying as her incredible touch. She tilts her head to one side in silent enquiry. I give her a cocky smirk as I stroke my cock nice and slow. I’m waiting for her to demand that I stop but she simply shrugs. That takes the last bit of enjoyment from it.
Damn this woman!

‘After the day you’ve had, I think you’re entitled to a release so I’ll allow you to see to yourself—just this once. Shame though ... after you’ve learned such a valuable lesson so quickly, I was going to reward you with a fierce, frantic fuck ... just the way you’re used to. I’ve worked your balls into a frenzy, it would be a pity to waste it but you go ahead and knock one out, I’m sure it will still be pretty intense. You’ll find me in the bar when you’re done.’

She picks up her shirt and holds it open to slide her arm inside. In one movement, I’m on my feet and off the bed. I grab her, spin her around and, before she knows what’s hit her, she’s bent over the bed and I’m lining up my cock with her tempting little pussy. I expect her to object, to say that I had my chance but I blew it but she doesn’t. It’s like she knows how much I need this so she’s making an exception, just for me.

I stroke the head of my cock up and down her slit, an action that is usually the extent of my foreplay but, as I line up my cock with that gorgeous, little hole, I pause. Her words from earlier flood my mind
if someone’s worth doing, they’re worth doing well.
She’s certainly worth fucking—no man in his right mind could deny that. If I take her like this, whose benefit is it for? And why is she allowing this? If she thinks I need this because of my stressful day, is this a pity fuck?

Who cares? I shrug and prepare to thrust inside her.

But I can’t.

I can’t bring myself to fuck her the way I fuck those meaningless sluts. I can’t bring myself to do that to her, although fuck knows why. All I do know is that I don’t want to fall short of her expectations ... I want to exceed them. I want to smash her previous experiences out of the park. I want to blow her fucking mind but suddenly, I feel unsure of myself. Uncertain as to how to pleasure this sexual being without risking disappointment.

I know taking her hard and fast from behind is unlikely to get her off before my aching balls find their release.

Fuck.

I’M SITTING AT THE bar, knocking back a neat Jack Daniels. I’ve managed to persuade Jones to take a cab back to his flat to check on The Kid. Gabe is observing me from further down the bar. He’s trying to hide it but he’s more concerned with me than with the people he’s serving, although he keeps up the chitchat and the friendly, engaging persona.

I don’t know how much of the live feed he saw on that little screen, or how much he deciphered if he'd seen it all. Judging from his body language, I’d say enough. God, I must be losing it. So much for playing a passive role and letting Jones use my body. That was my last coherent thought before I lost myself in something ... somebody ... whatever you want to call it. I did what I said I’d never, ever do.

I don’t even know what the fucking hell I was thinking, to have agreed to that in the first place. He makes me feel. Something I’ve restricted to very few adults in my adult life. The kids in therapy get to me every time but not men. Never men. Where men are concerned, barring Thierri with whom, incidentally, I’ve only ever had a purely platonic relationship, I keep them at arm’s length emotionally, never allowing myself to get trapped in a web of feelings.

How can I explain it? Take Gabe, I care for him in a protective sense—I trained him for fuck’s sake—you can’t get closer than that—but I’ve never had feelings for him beyond the pleasure I taught him to inflict on my body. And caring for him is easy—he’s owned by someone else who isn’t around. And Rav, my last sub—I let him live in for a while, until The Kid came along. But he slept in the spare room; the room that’s now The Kid’s. Like with Gabe, all I cared about was that his submissive journey was advancing as it should be and I got to reap the rewards in a physical sense, that they were getting from me what they needed for that to happen. It wasn’t about anything more meaningful than that.

Until The Kid came along, I’d keep a sub for as long as it was mutually beneficial. A learning experience for them, a satisfying distraction for me. End of. I never did anything for them that wasn’t a part of their required learning.

So why the hell did I just volunteer my body for Jones to use and discard?

And why the hell did he refuse?

SHE HASN’T SEEN ME but I’ve seen her. The only perk of my demotion at work is that I get one night off each week. Since Veuve postponed my session today—something to do with a minor fire at her flat—I’ve craved the sight of her. I’ve longed to hear her seductive voice and feel the thrill that only she can give me. She has me hanging off her every word and she knows it. I’m not allowed to wank, so I get no relief from the daydreams and wet dreams that are now a part of my everyday existence.

She’s already dropped the frequency of my sessions from every day to twice a week, using the excuse that she only sees most of her clients weekly or fortnightly. She says I’m not so desperate now ... what the fuck does she know? Yeah, I accept that she has shit going on—although she won’t say what it is. But then, I come in here tonight, hoping to catch sight of her before tomorrow’s session, daring to hope that I might persuade her to take me out the back and she walks in with him.