The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (9 page)

“You can start by coming for me,” he said.

Then his thumb picked up pace, and the pressure intensified
as he circled my sensitive flesh. His finger moved inside me, touching me in
places it wasn’t touching before.

I squeezed him inside of me and in an instant the buildup
was upon me. I looked into his dark eyes, felt the bulge of his hard cock
against my thigh, sensed it twitch in response to my tightening muscles.

And then I was coming and the ripples of pleasure surged
outward from my pussy and stretched my body taut, arched my back, made me cry a
shuddered moan of release. As I barely crested the peak, Gibson pushed another
finger inside me.

I gasped. Yes. More.

He leaned down and kissed me, then kissed his way down my
chin and onto my neck, where he nuzzled his way over to my ear. I shuddered and
shivered.

Then his fingers were fucking me harder, faster. Unthinking,
I spread my legs wider, lifted my hips higher, meeting him, and he didn’t pull
away as did before. No, he was fucking me with some force now, his fingers
pushing in and out, in and out, he slid and stroked, scissored and twisted.

His thumb was relentless on my clit. It had never stopped
when I came, and now it was circling with more pressure, then letting up,
brushing over me with tantalizing butterfly kisses until again returning to a
faster, pressured stroke.

I breathed hard and clung to Gibson’s shoulders as if I
thought there were a chance he might leave me. A light sweat broke out on my
forehead and my breasts ached. Gibson’s tongue and hot mouth were an
incomparable tingling delight on my neck and ear lobe.

“If you still want me to fuck you, you’ll be needing to come
again,” he said.

Oh God. I knew that wouldn’t be a problem. I was already
there, already feeling the pressure before the last orgasm had faded away. I
closed my eyes, dug my fingers into his back. I arched. Tightened. Climbed
higher.

Then I came. Again. This time it was more intense, lasting
longer. I shook and shuddered, only half heard Gibson.

He nuzzled my neck. “Yes, that’s it. So beautiful. So wet
and tight. Keep coming. Yes. Beautiful.”

And then, like before, I rode the waves over the peak, and
I’d no sooner crossed over then Gibson pushed yet another finger inside of me.
I cried out. Three fingers. It was so much. So much.

He rose up over me again, looked into my eyes. “Yes, Nonnie.
That’s what I want. Stretch for me. Open for me.”

I relaxed my muscles, allowed him what he wanted. As big as
this was, I knew it didn’t come close to the size of his cock. No, that would
take more still. And I would be overjoyed to receive it.

His fingers turned in me. “Mmm, so good.”

I felt the first aftershocks of my orgasm as a tiny quake
inside me. He must have felt it, too, because he immediately began to
finger-fuck me in earnest. I cried out, the stretching, pulling of tender parts
an instantaneous rush of pleasure that rocketed all the way to my trembling
limbs.

With three fingers, he couldn’t go as deeply inside of me as
with two, but I didn’t need depth at the moment. He drove me half mad, pumping
in and out of me with enough force to shake my body. Yes, yes. Harder, harder.
That was what I wanted. More. Harder.

“Yes!” I cried out.

And he answered, “You like this.”

“Yes!”

“Harder?”

“Yes!”

He made a deep, harsh sound and he drove his fingers inside
of me ever harder, and I didn’t need his thumb on my clit anymore, though it
was still there. I didn’t need anything but the hard fucking and the sound of
his voice to send me over the edge.

I cried out my release this time, long and loud, and my body
shook from the power of it. I shuddered and didn’t want to let go of him when
he pulled away from me. Then I saw what he was doing. He was stripping off his
pants. Yes. About damned time.

He unleashed his cock and it was every bit as long, hard and
perfect as I remembered. He wasted no time settling between my sprawled legs
and guiding himself into my entry.

He leaned over me, brushing my hair away from my sweaty brow
and looking into my eyes with a tenderness that made my breath catch.

Then he closed his eyes, and he kissed me. A gentle, sweet
kiss, firm yet velvety soft, no demands, giving more than it took. His breath
was warm and tickled my lips.

He moved his hips against me. With exquisite slowness he pushed
his cock inside me, just the head, waiting while I adjusted to his size. He was
just that tiniest bit too big, the bit that made all the difference. Then he
slid further inside me.

I exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure and he captured it with
his lips. His tongue licked me and I readily opened for him.

Bit by bit he pushed his dick into my pussy, until at last
he was fully sheathed inside me. I gloried in the fullness, feeling as if I had
conquered something. Not him. No, never him. But something. Gibson was
everything else.

Then he settled into a long, unhurried stroke, a steady and
easy rhythm that set off every nerve ending in the lower half of my body. I was
alive with him and I brushed my palms down his back and over his hips, arched
my back and pressed my breasts against his chest.

All the while, he kissed me, his lips slanting over mine,
his tongue entering me in harmony with his entries down below. Our tongues
danced the same dance as our hips.

He made small sounds, deep in his throat, the kind of sounds
that let me know he was loving this as much as I was. I wanted to hold off, to
wait to come again until he did, but between the kissing and the grind of his
hips against mine, and the sounds he made, I couldn’t stop myself.

I came hard and cried out, yet again, to the slow, even
grind of Gibson’s hard cock inside me.

He smiled, raised his head, broke our kiss. “Exactly what I
was waiting for,” he said.

And then he held onto me and carefully turned us over to
where he was on his back and I made the adjustments so that I sat up,
straddling his hips.

He squeezed my thighs and gave me a greedy look up and down.
“What do you say you drive us the rest of the way home?”

I smiled. I could do that. I placed my palms on his hard
chest for balance, and I began to ride him. The angle was different with me on
top, allowing deeper penetration. It was glorious. The aftershocks of my orgasm
were brilliant bursts of pleasure in my clit.

Gibson squeezed my breasts and thumbed across my nipples. I
burned under the desire I saw in his face, in his eyes. His approval was one
more erotic layer piled upon a dozen others. No one, I thought, had ever made
me feel as sexy as he did.

I settled into the rhythm of making love to this powerful
man who let me take the lead but was always, always in control. I watched him
watch me, and when it became too much, I threw my head back, closed my eyes and
simply fucked him, simply felt what it was to have his hard cock inside me, to
experience the slick, tight slide and pull.

I fucked him until his hands closed around my hips and he
began lifting me, driving me down onto him, up off of him. And the familiar
pressure rose above the regular pleasure and I gasped, working for it, fighting
for air, flying as Gibson’s breath blew hot and fast, and his dark eyes somehow
became even darker, more intense.

It was a deep, deep thing, this orgasm. It grew inside me,
far inside, and when it exploded, it crashed outward in a violent shock that
made me half rise up off of Gibson, then slammed me back down again. I couldn’t
speak, couldn’t cry out, so intense was this thing, so volatile.

As soon as Gibson felt me go, he drove his hips upward, ever
faster, faster, until he trembled, and his body jerked underneath mine. I felt
the tremor pass through his hips, into his cock and up into my pussy. He ground
himself up against me, and I ground down onto him.

His cock twitched inside me as he came, filling me, and he
cried out his release. I maintained the rhythm he had lost in his pleasure,
until at last, when he was finally spent, I collapsed down onto his chest, my
head falling against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight. We lie
there together panting.

My mind was empty, I was replete.

And the world was a far lovelier place than it had been in a
long while.

Chapter 8

Full night fell while I dozed in Gibson’s arms. When I woke,
I didn’t want to move, afraid of breaking whatever good luck spell had brought
us back together. He must have sensed my waking, though, because he ran his
hands down my back and made me shiver.

I kissed his chest, and he nuzzled my hair, then I crawled
off him far enough to reach the nightstand and flip on the small lamp. I
belatedly thought of how my hair was probably sticking up all over my head and
quickly went to work combing it with my fingers, trying to get it back into
shape.

Gibson stretched lazily on the bed. “You look beautiful.”

“For a woman with bed-head, you mean.”

“For any woman.”

“That kind of talk is seriously going to get you more action
if you don’t watch it.”

“I’d hate for something like that to happen.”

I grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you hungry?”

“You’re not going to make me eat another dreadful omelet,
are you?”

“You wish. No, I’m out of eggs.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said, and he sat up, reached over to
where his pants lay on the bed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. In a few
seconds he placed his call. “Make up a couple plates of food and bring them
over to the lakeview cottage please. Thanks,” he told whoever was on the other
end of the call.

He tossed the phone aside. “There. It shouldn’t take ten
minutes. They’ll fix us up something from the picnic.”

“For some reason, I thought you were going to have eggs
delivered,” I said.

“You did?”

“I really did.”

He smiled. “I can change the order if you want.”

“Don’t you dare!”

He grabbed me, pulled me into a hug, and kissed me until I
shivered.

I leaned against his chest and sighed. “So, I guess I’m
making you a bad host, keeping you away from your guests.”

“They’re not my guests. It’s Paulina’s party. I only went
because you were there.”

“How flattering. I thought the draw was the fire pit and the
roasting pig.”

“You were why I went, the pig pit was why I stayed.”

“That makes more sense. Do you think everyone’s gone home
yet?”

“I don’t know. They’ll likely stay until Paulina allows them
to leave.”

“Just so we’re clear, you don’t have my permission to leave
this bed until tomorrow, and only then since you probably have to work.”

His hand closed over my breast and squeezed lightly. “I do
have to work tomorrow, otherwise I’d let you hold me hostage as long as you
want.”

I played my fingertips over the ridges of his stomach
muscles. “Guess we’ll have to make the most of the time we have left.”

He pinched one of my nipples between his thumb and
forefinger, igniting a buzz between my legs. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told
you, but I’m fine with only a few hours of sleep a night.”

“Mmm, I probably am, too.”

“Probably, huh?”

“Yeah. Since I don’t have to go to work, I can sleep all day
if I want.”

“Good point. Beautiful and smart. No wonder I can’t keep my
hands off you.”

I groaned as he pulled on my nipple, distending the pink
flesh and making my heart flutter. “If you don’t stop that, I won’t be in any
condition to answer the door when the food comes.”

He released my nipple and it snapped back into its normal
shape, then he went for my other nipple. “That’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

He bent me backwards, laying me flat on the bed. He lowered
his head to my breast and sucked my hardened nipple into his mouth. His other
hand reached between my legs and I groaned, long and low.

Oh, yes. He would take care of it. He knew exactly what to
do.

At six-thirty the next morning, we stepped out of the
cottage and headed for the big house. He tucked me in beside him, his hand at
my waist. The morning was chilly and the grass wet with dew. A low-lying wispy
fog layered the ground in hit-and-miss fashion.

I covered my mouth and yawned.

“You should go back to bed. I can see myself off to work,”
Gibson said.

“No. I want to have breakfast with you. I won’t get to see
you again until tonight.” Part of me recognized the silliness of that
particular argument, but the rest of me didn’t care.

He squeezed me and we walked on in silence. The sun was only
now rising and the birds and other wildlife began to stir. Between the quiet
and the light fog, it seemed otherworldly on the estate that morning.

We were nearing the big house when I noticed a figure
materializing out of the fog. Whoever it was, he was wide and muscular. I soon
recognized it was Toy.

We greeted him, me a little self-consciously since it was
obvious that Gibson had spent the night with me, what with him still wearing
the white clothes from the night before.

Toy didn’t appear fazed at seeing us together. Something did
seem different about him, though, and I realized with a start it was because he
was wearing street clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, running shoes. He had a big
duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

He looked at Gibson. “It’s back to the grind for me.
Vacation’s over. Thanks for everything.”

Gibson brushed aside his thanks, telling him that he was
welcome any time. Toy told him Paulina had invited him to stay the next
weekend. They shook hands, I said my goodbyes and Toy jogged off into the mist,
heading for one of the estate’s garages to collect his car, I presumed.

I knew that Toy had only been staying on the estate the past
two weeks because he was on vacation, but I was going to miss him. It was going
to be odd not having him loping about the place, half-naked and anxious to
please. I wondered if he regretted having to leave, returning to the city and
his job. He was a physical fitness trainer and it was difficult to imagine him
barking out orders to anyone, even paying customers.

We didn’t meet anyone else on our way into the big house. We
went upstairs to Gibson’s bedroom, where he promised to hurry if I wouldn’t
join him in the shower. I swore I wouldn’t, and laughed, since we tried bathing
at the cottage already that morning and it had only resulted in the need for
another shower.

I wandered around Gibson’s airy bedroom. He had a massive
bed, with ornate ironwork on the headboard and footboard. I imagined him
stretched out on that bed at night. I imagined myself beside him.

The room’s decor was thoroughly masculine, though not
obnoxiously so. I appreciated the rich colors and the look and smell of aged
leather. In keeping with the rest of the mansion, the room was appointed
expensively, but in a rustic way that maintained the aged villa look and feel.

I trailed my hand over the patinated bureau on my way to the
balcony. A pair of glass-paned doors opened onto a generous balcony that
overlooked the rear of the estate. I walked up to the railing and looked down
into the quaint courtyard underneath. The estate had a number of these closed
courtyards that opened off of different rooms on the first floor.

Looking further out, through gaps in the fog, I surveyed the
damage on the south lawn. It appeared no attempt had been made yet to clean up
the mess from the picnic. The canopies were still in place, with blankets and
pillows scattered about underneath the shelters and onto the open lawn itself.

I thought I could make out costumes tossed onto the pair of
stages where Paulina held her tableaux vivants. Tables were loaded down with
used glasses and plates and other items I couldn’t make out.

What a mess. And no Toy around to make quick work of it.
That stunk.

I looked farther into the distance, toward Xavier’s and
Paulina’s house. It sat on a small knoll, a fair distance from the big house,
surrounded by ornate and bountiful gardens. Smaller than my cottage, Xavier and
Paulina had designed and built their home themselves. They didn’t want a large
house to take care of, so they kept the rooms to a reasonable number and size
for two people who hosted the occasional guest.

It was a jewel of a place, a three-sided affair with an
elaborate courtyard in the center, an eccentric combination of ancient Roman
and Spanish decor. Brightly-colored mosaics tiled the floors and in places even
the walls. Fountains created by an artist friend graced the interior courtyard.
And there were plants, of course, everywhere.

I wondered what it looked like in the winter, and thought
with a burst of happiness that I might be around to find out.

I noticed some movement at the entryway of the house. It
took a few moments, but I soon realized two people were moving down there,
walking toward the big house. I thought it must be Xavier and Paulina.

As they got closer, though, I realized it wasn’t them. No,
these people were shaped all wrong and couldn’t be Xavier and Paulina. One
person was tall, bulky, and walked with a big-man lumbering step, not
ungraceful, but not smooth either. He couldn’t possibly be the refined, elegant
Xavier.

The other person was much shorter than the first, dainty I
thought, definitely feminine in her walk. She couldn’t be Paulina though.
Paulina was long and lean, tall and willowy. This person was womanly in form,
curvy and ...

Curvy. Hmm. And a big bulky man. Double hmm.

I stared hard at the couple slowly making their way closer.
Yeah. Sure enough. Brown hair. The man had a beard. Bingo. Guilty.

It was Ron and Elaine Hoyte doing the walk of shame across
the south lawn. Holy crap. They had spent the night at Paulina’s house.

My first impulse was to let them get a little closer then
yell down and invite them in for breakfast just to watch them squirm.
Fortunately, I realized in time that I’d be giving away my own secrets if I did
that. I ducked inside Gibson’s bedroom before they spotted me.

I plopped down on a leather bench and covered my mouth.

The Hoytes and the Martins. Oh, and Toy. Don’t forget Toy.
The Hoytes, the Martins and Toy, together, all night long. How the hell, exactly,
did that work? And did I truly want to know?

I did want to know, actually, but in an abstract way, not in
a nitty-gritty detail kind of way. I knew Xavier didn’t go for Toy, and I
seriously doubted that Ron would. So that left Elaine bearing the burden of the
submissive role with three dominants. Yikes. But she hadn’t ever said anything
about being attracted to Xavier. And where did Toy fit into things?

There was something wrong in a world where people so much
older than myself had a wilder, more complicated sex life than I did. I thought
I had been adventurous in the last few months, but around them, I was a fuddy
duddy.

When Gibson came out of the bathroom and was still in the
process of drying himself, I told him who I spied on the lawn.

He didn’t seem surprised. “I thought there might be
something between them. But don’t jump to conclusions. They may have had too
much to drink and weren’t safe to drive home.”

“Oh,” I said, kind of disappointed at the possibility of an
innocent explanation. “But let’s say that it wasn’t about drunk driving. Let’s
say that a little something-something was going on. How do you suppose that
works with the five of them?”

Gibson grinned, then began pulling his clothes out of his
bureau. “I have no idea.”

“You said you thought there was something between them all.
You must have an idea how a five-some works.”

“A five-some?”

“Is that not what it’s called?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Whatever. Come on, Gibson. Give it up.”

He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and I tried not to stare.
“It’s whatever they say it is. Whatever they do, it’s up to them.”

“Obviously. You know what I mean. Toy would kind of be on
the outs, since only Paulina would want him. Ron, Xavier and Paulina might all
want Elaine, while Elaine only wants Ron and Paulina as far as I know. Then
there’s Paulina. She’s like the catnip in the whole thing. Everybody wants her.
Toy and Elaine want her as a top. Xavier and Ron would want her as a bottom. I
have no idea how that would work. And I’m feeling kind of bad for Xavier since
it looks like only Paulina would want him, same as Toy, and that doesn’t seem
any fair. Though wait, who wants Ron? Just Elaine? Oh man.”

Gibson finished putting on an undershirt, then pulled on his
socks before opening up a drawer and removing a neatly folded and starched
white shirt. “Sounds to me like you’re working it out on your own and don’t
need my opinion.”

“Quit side-stepping.”

He shook out the shirt and stuck his arm in a crisp sleeve.
“I don’t know why you think I know what happened, or how it happened.”

“Because you’re the experienced one. You’ve probably seen
this kind of thing before.”

He finished putting the shirt on and proceeded to button it
up. “I haven’t, though.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Wow. And you aren’t even a little surprised by it? You act
like it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s nothing, but it’s definitely not my
business.”

I watched him walk over to his massive closet, thoroughly
distracted by the sight of him in shirt and briefs. “If you’re implying I’m
nosy, you couldn’t be more wrong. But I can’t argue you out of it right now.
Did you know you’re almost as sexy putting on your clothes as you are when you
take them off?”

He turned and looked at me. “I had no idea.”

“Lucky you. It’s a morning of totally new concepts for you.”

“You’re brave for someone who’s in constant danger of a
spanking even when you’re not being an imp.”

“You don’t have the time.”

“I can always take the time.” He stepped toward me.

I laughed and jumped behind the leather bench. “That’s okay.
Not necessary.”

He gave me a long-suffering look. “Fine. You’re safe, for
now. However, you’ve brought up some interesting points this morning that have
me thinking of what I need to do with you.”