Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) (9 page)
Read Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) Online
Authors: Christa Wick
"Dylan..." I pleaded.
"In due time, love," he answered softly. "First these sweet cherries."
His hand drifted up to attend to one nipple. With increasing pressure, he held it trapped between his index finger and the pad of his thumb. He stroked from base to tip, the pressure increasing with each swipe.
"So exquisitely sensitive, infused with blood, their pale coloring darkened with lust."
Even his words were a caress that touched me everywhere at once.
His free hand opened another drawer and he drew out two -- no three -- clear cylinders that seemed to have plungers at their top.
"Suckers, love." His lips slid side to side just like when he worked his spreadsheets and decided a change in the formula was required. Taking just one of the cylinders, Dylan trailed it down my stomach to my mound. Centering it above my clit, he twisted the top handle twice.
I gasped, my shoulders jerking and my hips pushing up. I could feel the flesh swelling from just those two twists and there seemed to be more twists available.
"For your nipples," he teased, taking one of the remaining cylinders, "I need to give you a few licks each to form the seal, but your pussy is sopping, baby."
Hell, yes, it was!
His tongue laved the far nipple, circling, dancing, his lips closing for a wet suck and then he put the device over it and twisted twice. He repeated the pattern with my right breast and then gave each of the handles a third twist.
A jolt of sensual delight shot through me each time or I wouldn't have been able to keep count.
"You're doing beautifully, baby," he said, rich with appreciation. "So open with your pleasure."
Stepping back from the table, he quickly stripped off his clothes. He had been big and rock hard every time he had taken me, but in that playroom, he was indescribably magnificent -- larger than large, more steely than steel.
But I would have to wait to have his cock in me.
"A flogger to your lush ass," he reminded me as he released the tension on the sucker attached above my clit. "That was the plan."
Roughly, he palmed my mound, squeezing and rubbing and pinching at the clit and labia. "But it's your pussy that's driving me crazy."
I twisted along the table, lifting, contorting, ass thrusting upward to grind my mound against his hand.
The first slap startled me even though I knew his intent.
"More," I screamed, my body as close to the edge as I had ever been without falling over.
Slap, slap, slap.
A guttural cry ripped from deep inside me, hooked the flesh of my throat to leave me sobbing in orgasm. I was still riding the wave of that release when he put the sucker back in place and gave three vicious twists on the handle. Tears leaked from the side of my eyes as my mind floated somewhere above my body.
Fingers invaded my cunt, not one exploratory digit to test my readiness or two companions but three, thick and hard driving, the rough pads scraping inside me at that spongy, responsive bulb nestled against the backside of my clit.
Fluid squirted into the cylinder as its tube jerked hard enough to point the knobby handle in the direction of my face. Another thick squirt and then another. He released the tension on the sucker, removed it so that the juice dribbled in every direction, most of it reaching the surface of the table before his mouth sealed over my clit.
Suck, nip, slap, repeat.
Over and over, my body jerking, my lips moving, incoherent babbling, his blue-eyed magpie coming again and again.
Just before I was certain I would pass out, he dialed back. The slaps against my clit became a gentle massage as his other hand worked to release the suckers at my nipples. Repositioning the hand at my cunt, he continued to ease the swollen flesh between my legs as he gently pulled one nipple into his mouth and then the other.
I remained perched atop the crest of my release, the timing of each move he made expertly executed. I couldn't remember my name, my address, my age -- but I remembered my safe word, if only to make sure I didn't carelessly use it and dam the deluge of ecstasy.
"Shhh, baby," Dylan cooed, momentarily depriving me of his touch. Down came my legs, an efficient, short massage encouraging the blood to circulate more vigorously before he repeated the procedure with my arms.
"Don't get up," he warned. "You won't find your body very cooperative yet."
If I could have giggled, I would have. I couldn't remember how to move, had no intention of doing anything but lay there and pant softly.
He brought me a tumbler of water and helped me sit up a little, my back against his chest and stomach while I emptied the glass. Something poked at me between sips, something smooth and hard, hot and long.
I realized that the stop in action hadn't subdued his erection.
"Done," I said and handed the tumbler to him, my mind racing to how the rest of the evening might unfold.
"Play is over, love," he said, placing the glass on the side bar then taking a swig from the bottle. He studied my face, his gaze almost wary, and then he sucked a breath in.
Still, he was hard, unflagging. Play might be over, but we weren't.
He prowled the six steps from the sidebar back to the table. His arms flexed as he braced his palms against the surface, lifting his lower torso and legs like a gymnast or some parkour enthusiast so that he quickly covered me. He shifted a knee, wedging my legs open. His forearms flat against the table, closely framing my shoulders, he dipped his pelvis and filled me with the entire length of his cock in one swift thrust.
"Like that, do you?" he teased as I moaned.
"Love it," I answered, my facility for speech only partially restored. "Love you."
He kissed me, stealing my breath then letting me steal his. We didn't talk, just moved against one another, bodies gently rocking in redemption. His hand trailed down my arm, our fingers intertwining as we came with soft pants and sweet moans.
Finished, he remained inside me, the weight of his body settling me.
He drew my hand up, a twinkle in his eye and a sparkle on my finger.
My lips parted in surprise.
"How did you do that?" I asked, as I stared at the radiant cut diamond hugged on each side by a trillion cut diamond.
"How isn't the question," he countered, the voice of a master negotiator edging his tone, but with a tender smile softening his face.
"Yes," I shamelessly squealed. "Yes is the answer."
He blinked, his forehead touching mine and a tear splashing hot against the side of my nose. At that moment, I unlocked the last of his voices, the same one I would hear when he said "I do" and the first "hello, little man" he gave our son and, later, our grandson.
"Baby, I'm going to love you forever."
#####THE END#####
When is the end not the end? When there is another Kehoe sibling and her as yet identified rope master, of course! And, hey, how about a ceremony or three? Let's not forget Maxwell King and the very bad men he does business with, or Mishka, the only man on the Kehoe team with both the skills and the background to infiltrate King's criminal organization.
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Copyright content © 2015 by Christa Wick
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. All persons and entities are fictional or fictitiously used. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the express written permission from the author/publisher.
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