Surrender: Fantasies Unleashed 3 (7 page)

“I beg to differ.” His finger slipped between the pillow and her clit and her body convulsed and bucked. She was still so sensitive, so aroused. She couldn’t take even the slightest touch there without going mad.

“Not before today.” Her words burst out on a gasp.

His finger scraped her swollen flesh. Her ears buzzed, her mind blanked, and her pussy cried to be taken again by Jake’s huge cock. She barely cared that she was laying face down, ass tipped up in this virtual stranger’s face.

“That’s too bad.” His fingertip relinquished its superb position, but before she could protest, his breath, his hands, his mouth were hot on her ass, scalding as he pressed wet kisses into her skin. “I’d feel bad if we ended this before you’re sure that you’re cured.”

“Yes.” Her breathing was so ragged, so fast. “Best to be sure.”

“I think I should administer a test.”

A thick finger traced through her sex. Her hips lifted even higher off the table.

“A test?”

“Yes.” His hands traced up her sides again, leaving hot trails in their wake. “You surrendered to pleasure when you couldn’t move. We should see if you can do it unrestrained. See if you can give up control when it hasn’t been physically taken. Are you up for that, Deana?”

His fingers grazed the sides of her breasts, and she moaned as her sensitive nipples slid against the fur. “Yes. Good idea. Best to be sure.” Anything to get his cock inside her again.

“If we’re going to do this…” He stroked and played with her pussy, and her hips swirled, pushing back, greedily wanting more from his fingers. “If it’s going to be a real test, you still can’t tell me what to do. You can’t tell me what you want unless I ask you, agreed?”

“Yes, yes.”
Please fuck me. Please ask me if I want to be fucked, because I do. I really do.
“Let’s proceed.”

Chapter Five

“A
s you wish.” His voice was a low growl against the skin of her ass, and the caressing and teasing continued.

His hands, his tongue, his lips, stroked and probed, until she felt sure spontaneous combustion was more than a myth. But a fiery death would be worth it. Her skin, her muscles, her internal organs burned with the heat and need generated under his skilled hands. He played her like an artist, a sculptor manipulating clay, molding her flesh to his will.

By the time he lifted her to turn her onto her back, she was mush—a trembling, tingling amalgam of jelly for him to maneuver at will. He removed the end of the table again and lifted her legs to his shoulders. Looking into her eyes, he kissed down the insides of her legs, licking and sucking and brushing her skin with his lips and tongue.

Then, finally, he went where she wanted. His lips and tongue nibbled and sucked, and with every lick, every flick, every plunge, her head thrashed, her stomach clenched, her body jumped. She came in a violent explosion, shaking and bucking and pressing her wet pussy into his face.

Shame? Pride? Irrelevant. She was his. All his. His to be taken as he wanted.

When her pulsing subsided, he was still for a moment, then his tongue flicked her clit as his hand pressed into her belly. She bucked in his strong arms.

“How was that?”

“Fuck me. Please fuck me.” She bit her lips, hoping she hadn’t blown it. “I mean, if you want to.”

A low growl erupted from his chest. He unsnapped her thong, tore it off her, and she heard the beads clatter on the floor. His strong arms flipped her onto her stomach, and then slid her down until her waist hit the end of the padded table.

Fearing she’d crumple onto the floor in a pool of paralytic flesh, she grabbed at the table’s sides, finding rails, but he guided her knees onto soft supports.

An instant later, he was inside her from behind, his hands sliding up her back to her shoulders to pull her body down onto his. He pulled all the way out and then drove into her again, long and hard and deep.

He thrust into her, over and over, reaching places unexplored, making her cry out from the pleasure, the pain of this deeper penetration. Rising up to her elbows to push back, her hands clutched at the fur as he drove into her, varying his rhythm like a master, a master fucker.

Slow then fast, soft then hard, shallow then deep. His hips pumped as his hands explored her back, her neck, grabbed handfuls of her hair and gripped her hips, her shoulders, to force into her more deeply.

Slowing, he moved her hands back to the rails at the sides of the table and encouraged her to stretch back onto her belly. Then the table started to tilt, rising beneath her torso and head. And as her angle changed, he held himself firmly inside her—his breaths hard and jagged, his cock pulsing.

The table tilted until she was just shy of vertical, and the gravity forced her harder, deeper onto his cock. She hadn’t thought deeper was possible.

“Are you okay?” His voice was rough, ragged, rumbling into her neck.

“Yes.”

Apparently the word was all he needed. He pulled back, almost out, and then drove into her, again and again and again. His hips, assisted by his powerful thighs, pumped with more force than the hydraulic lifts at work, pounding and slamming and driving in long hard strokes of deep penetration. His hands worked her hips, banging her down to increase the power of each thrust. The head of his cock unrelentingly hit home, and a strange sound, a high-pitched moan or cry, met each stroke. It was her. She wasn’t a screamer. It couldn’t be her. Yet it was.

His finger reclaimed her clit, rubbing and pressing and stroking its rough skin against her swollen bud. Every nerve ending in her body relocated and focused on the sensations under his finger and deep in her cunt, and she came—in a violent, mind-wiping eruption of pleasure. Her mind blanked, then sparked, explosions erupting against closed eyelids, as her pussy milked him, her body contracting with such force she felt it deep in her belly, felt the power of it running up her back. Even her scalp was on fire.

She arched, lost her grip on the rails and fell back from the table. But with his chest at her back and his thighs under hers, she remained impaled on his cock.

Seemingly lost in his own ecstasy, his deep moans and shouts vibrated through her, and he drove home, slamming into her one final time before trembling behind her, under her, jerking in spasms that shook her to the core.

He eased her back to the table, and as it slowly tipped forward, his chest never broke contact with her back. His thighs remained pressed against hers, his weight warm and strong.

His cock slipped from inside her. She was trapped under him—yet she could stay like this forever.

When his panting subsided, he swept her into his arms. She clung to him, the muscles of his back flexing under her hands as he carried her back to the main room and onto the bed.

“Deana.” He stretched out beside her, cupping her face in his hand, pressing his nose against hers, inhaling deeply.

“Jake.” She felt his muscles tense. “That’s not your name, is it? What’s your real name?”

He kissed her so deeply she forgot he hadn’t responded.

Their lips, their tongues twined together—stroking and probing and sucking—and the kiss went on and on and on, the most intimate, passionate, glorious kiss of her life. It was like she’d discovered kissing. Like she’d discovered chocolate. Like she’d die if it ever ended.

He pulled her against his body, and impossibly, she felt his cock harden against her belly as his fingers slid between her legs. “Are you too sore?” he asked.

She shook her head. Sore yes, but not too sore. Never too sore for more Jake.

He reached to the side of the bed, produced another condom, and then pressed up beside her. And as they kissed, he wrapped one of her legs over his hip, and their bodies joined as he pushed inside.

Slowly, luxuriously, gloriously he moved, lying next to her, stroking her body, never breaking eye contact, and she rocked, encouraging him with her leg and rubbing her calf against his hard ass. Her hands ran over his rippling, flexing arms and back, and together, their rhythm was like a ballet, like the most sensual acts in her show—but real and true.

This was an act of intimacy, an act of love. She’d never believed sex could feel like this. Not for her.

As her hungry hands explored the bunching, stretching muscles of his shoulders—his neck, his back, his ass—her climax built slowly, developed minute by minute. No stress, no pressure, no hurry.

And when she shattered in his arms, he was right there with her, his hard body trembling and jerking against hers as they came together, less violently this time and looking into each other’s eyes.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, and she pressed her cheek into his chest, inhaling and licking the salty hot scent of him, melting into his body, into the soft sheets. She never wanted this feeling to end.

Today had been better than her wildest fantasies.

Her fantasy.

Damn.

She bolstered her defenses against the sadness threatening to invade. There was no room for that right now. Even if this had been nothing but play-acting. Even if he’d felt nothing. Even if she never saw him again, this experience had outweighed her every expectation. No regrets.

Her body spent, his hand stroking her hair, her neck, her back, she drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter Six

D
eana stretched against the soft sheets, nudging herself awake. Her skin tingled, her nipples stung, her ass burned, her pussy ached. Every part of her was bursting with sense memories of intense pleasure.

Opening her eyes, she reached for Jake, but found the space next to her cold.

She bolted up. “Jake?”

The absence of his response wasn’t needed. She knew. He was gone. The electricity, the energy had drained from the room.

Her fantasy was over. She slowly stood and headed toward the bathroom, but she paused at the window to open the curtains.

The heat of the midday sun struck her body and her face, and she’d never felt so content, so alive. She leaned on the hot glass, not caring if anyone might see her. She was damned sexy and didn’t care who knew. She let the sun penetrate her sore muscles and soothe the chafed skin of her nipples as she pressed into the glass.

Pushing off the window, she padded toward the shower. As badly as her body craved to be soothed by pulsing hot water, she almost didn’t want to cleanse the remnants of the lovemaking from her thighs, her breasts, her entire body. She didn’t want to banish his scent.

She shook her head. She was being foolish. Sentimental. Overly romantic. She’d paid for sex—great sex—but there was nothing romantic in that.

After turning on the water, she caught her smiling reflection in the mirror. No fantasy she could ever imagine would be better than last night.

Not that she couldn’t try.

For days, for months, for years to come, Jake would star in her masturbatory dreams. She’d imagine herself running into him on the street, in a café, finding herself seated next to him on a plane. She’d imagine him breaking the Fantasies Unleashed
company rules to seek her out, to contact her and tell her she meant more to him than his job.

Yes, unrealistic as they might be, those dreams would fuel many satisfying nights with her fingers, her favorite vibrator, an unsatisfactory lover. And she felt sure all future lovers would prove unsatisfactory—all less than Jake.

But at least now she knew her body was capable of a powerful orgasm without her direction, without her control, without batteries. At least she’d experienced that once—no three times, four, maybe five?

And even if she couldn’t experience that kind of climax without Jake, the memory of those earth-shattering orgasms would keep her going for a very long time.

Smiling, she lifted a plush, folded towel from the shelf to hang it on the hook near the shower. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Curiosity drove her to retrieve and unfold it, not even considering that it might be for her.

Deana,

I’m breaking all the rules, but I would love to lose control inside you again. Maybe even let you control me.

My number’s below. Call me. Please.

Forget the please.

Consider this an order.

Yours, Rex (Jake)

Pressing the towel into her chest, Deana spun and twirled, practically freaking skipped.

His name was Rex. The king. She liked that. She should phone him right now, this instant. What time did she have to be out of this room? She had to be at work by four. Would they have time to fuck, to let go, to yield to each other again before then?

She laughed aloud, staring at the paper.

The call could wait.

She’d learned how to let go, to surrender to a man, to surrender to pleasure—to ecstasy—but didn’t meant she had to
completely
abandon her dignity. The call could wait. At least as long as it took her to shower.

Note to Readers

Thank you so much for reading Surrender, Fantasies Unleashed 3. I’m honored and thrilled that you chose and read my book.

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To continue reading more fantasies, buy or pre-order these Mara Leigh titles now:

Dirty Business, Fantasies Unleashed 1

Bedded by Strangers, Fantasies Unleashed 2

Humbling the Boss, Fantasies Unleashed 4

For a sneak peek at
Humbling the Boss
, turn the page!

Sneak Peek of Humbling the Boss

T
apping my pen against the yellow notepad on the boardroom table, I’d never been so infuriated, humiliated, or horny. My boss, Bennett Gold, President of Gold Consulting, was describing in excruciating detail every minuscule error I’d made on my last client’s account. Most examples he cited weren’t even errors per se, just things he would have done differently. Not that he described them that way. No. He listed these infractions like I was an imbecile, a rank beginner, a child.