With Hearts Aflame: Valentine's Day Box Set Page 12

  Reaching up, Sinclair pressed her hand over his, tucking her cheek into his palm. “That is both the sweetest and the stupidest reason not to have sex that I have ever heard.” She laughed softly and stroked his hand. “You’re telling me you won’t have sex with me because you think I won’t want to be here after tomorrow. But, Parker, while I never would have come here if not for the job, I stayed because I want to be with you. I don’t want to change you, not any part. I like who you are. I like the way you make me feel. I want to have—”

  Again, that thoroughly inadequate word “sex” choked her. She couldn’t make herself say it, so she tried again. Still holding onto his hand, she sank to her knees at his feet. “Please, Master Parker, make love to me. Tie me up, if that’s what you want to do. Pull my hair and slap my ass. Spank me when I’ve been a bad girl, or even if I’ve been good, because I liked it when you did that to me. Spank my pussy too, because I really liked that. I don’t know where we’re going to be thirty years from now, but I do know where I want to be when I wake up tomorrow morning. And I can all but guarantee I won’t burn your toast or overcook your eggs.”

  He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying, and yet wanted to believe every word. Releasing her hand, he stroked her hair instead. “My God,” he said thickly. “You look so beautiful on your knees.”

  She felt so submissive, so kinky staying this way, too. She reached for him, laying her hands upon his leather-clad thighs and rubbing slowly up and down. The feel and the smell of it were almost as wonderful as the sight of him reaching for his belt buckle. When he unfastened it, her eyes dropped, becoming glued to the heady sight of swollen pink flesh as it popped, finally unconfined, into view beyond his descending zipper.

  Parker stroked her hair again, weaving his fingers down through the red strands and closing his fist near the roots just behind her head. “Open your mouth.”

  Sinclair opened. She could count on one hand the number of lovers she’d taken to date; her store had taken up too much of her life and her time. She didn’t have much experience with giving head. It was one of those things that girls were supposed to do as a precursor to getting their boyfriends in the mood—that’s pretty much what she knew about it. Very few of her past lovers had needed much help in that department and Parker needed none right now, but when he gripped himself and angled toward her lips, she only too happily complied.

  Already there were pearly drops of clear pre-cum oozing from the tip. She tasted them with her tongue, salty. She closed her lips just around the mushroom-shaped head and suckled, flicking at the hole where the pre-cum kept leaking, and it was just like music to her ears when he groaned and his cock gave a little jump. She’d read an article once about how to give really good blowjobs. Don’t be afraid to get messy, it had claimed, and so that’s what Sinclair did. She slurped and sucked, ran her tongue and lips all up and down his length, moistening him for her palm, then opened wide and took him as deep into her mouth as she could go without gagging. It made her eyes water and the hinge of her jaw ache, but when he caught her by her hair and neck and began to thrust, she knew she had to be doing something right. He was enjoying it, and she loved that she was finally able to return at least some of the pleasure she’d been receiving these last few days.

  But it didn’t last very long, and Sinclair wasn’t yet ready to stop sucking, licking, and bobbing her head all up and down his cock when he suddenly pulled out of her mouth. He dragged her up off her knees by her hair. That part she wasn’t quite so fond of, but the way his other hand gripped her neck helped to mitigate the pull, and nothing could have dispelled the erotic thrill of being thrust around and forcibly bent over the counter.

  The metal was cold on her belly and breasts, and the edge bit into her hips. There was nothing gentle about the way he suddenly slapped her ass three times in brisk succession, perhaps not hard, but certainly hard enough to put a breathtaking sting in her tail.

  “That,” he said, “is for covering my mouth while I was speaking to you. This—” Three more brisk slaps bounced back and forth from her right buttock to her left. “—is for keeping me in a state of constant erection for the last year. And this—” His hand gentled even as it fell into a steady rain of milder swats that warmed the sting, spread it out until it covered the whole of her bottom, and sank it in until more than just her bottom was feeling the rosy effects. “This is just because you like it.”

  And she did. She really did. She couldn’t stop herself from arching out her hips and pushing back into his falling hand. She couldn’t stop from wriggling, her bottom dancing to the rhythm of each soft clap and rasping caress. She almost felt sorry when the sting began to fade, becoming overshadowed by the jolt of harder and harder impacts, until the pleasure was right here, bouncing out from under his hand and landing directly on her sex.

  When she heard his order, “Spread your legs,” she snapped her feet wide apart, opening herself up to give him unhindered access.

  His next slap, the gentlest he’d yet given by far, landed full across the pulsing lips of her sex. It made a mortifyingly wet splatting sound and sent a cascade of molten liquid gushing from her core.

  “I said, spread your legs,” he commanded, almost as if he were angry, except that he was cupping her labia now, alternately squeezing as if to possess her and then rubbing hard in ways that made the liquid squish of her manipulated sex fill the kitchen. He had her clit right under his fingers, rubbing aggressively back and forth to bring her dancing up onto her tiptoes. Her hot belly squeaked as she slid against the metal counter and threw her feet wider apart.

  “Is this my pussy?” He slapped, hardly more than a flick of his fingers, rubbed until there wasn’t a force on the planet strong enough to hold her hips in place, then he slapped again.

  “Yes, Sir! Oh!”

  “Yes, Sir, what?”

  “Yes, Sir, this is your pussy!”

  He laughed, a low chuckle that thrilled its way through her. “What do you want, sweetness? Hmm? Do you want to be my little cock whore tonight?”

  He thrust twin fingers up inside her, sinking them all the way to his palm, flicking them rapidly back and forth until her legs were scissoring and the pressure building inside her felt like a dam on the verge of colossal failure.

  “Yes. Please, yes!”

  He pulled steady back on her hair, forcing her back to bow while his pistoning fingers thrust faster and harder. “Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”

  She knew exactly what she wanted and so did he. Oh but, having to ask for it? Her face flushed hot, but her pussy spasmed, tightening around his fingers, bursting with sparks of pleasure that her embarrassment only heightened.

  “P-please let me be your cock whore,” she stammered, horribly ashamed at just how hot she found it having to say such a thing. Her ass was burning, her pussy was sopping, and here she was, spreading her legs so wide that she could feel the strain in the inner slopes of her thighs. Her whole body bounced to the forceful thrusts of his hand.

  “If I want a parrot, I’ll buy one.” He wrenched his fingers out of her and began to spank her again. The heat flared and she arched up onto the very tips of her toes, gasping at every jolt and slap.

  “Please,” she gasped, tiny threads of orgasmic delight beginning to snap inside her. “P-please fuck me!”

  “I am fucking you. Try again.”

  God, he was so merciless. Her pussy spasmed all over again, her clit and womb pulsing in fiery tandem.

  “I—I—”

  Abruptly, Parker released her. “Don’t move.”

  Sinclair couldn’t hold still. She lay against the counter, now so hot against her skin that she could just as well have been lying bent over a stove. She sweat, tiny little beads that tickled hot against her nape, trickled down the backs of her legs, and along her spine before pooling in the very small of her back.

  Plastic tore, catching her attention. She twisted her head back, looking through a curtain of her
own hair just as she felt the cool plop of thick liquid falling into the crack of her hot backside. His fingers followed, smearing without preamble until he had thoroughly coated her anal entrance.

  That kind of embarrassment took it to a whole new level when Parker leaned over far enough to see her face and, looking directly into her eyes the whole time, pushed to lodge the tip of one finger into a place no man had ever put his finger before.

  Sinclair panted. It would have been so easy to protest, but just as she was opening her mouth, he began to thrust, soft, probing motions that did everything but hurt. She closed her eyes, her clutching hands sliding over steel without encountering anything by which to grip it. She meant to say “no” or “wait” or maybe only a feeble “I’m not so sure about this,” except that what came out was nothing less than the most wanton moan of pleasure.

  “What do you want?” he coaxed.

  “More,” she pleaded, unable to verbalize any better than that. Her hips began to rock, trying to ride each prodding nudge of his finger, to sink him in just a little bit further than he seemed inclined to go. “Please!”

  “Be specific.” He took his hands away again. A moment later, the rustle of cardboard and plastic had her twisting around to see what she already knew he was doing. “Do you want to ride my cock?”

  He stood less than four feet away, penis standing high and thick, while he selected the smallest of the anal plugs. No bigger or thicker really than his thumb, she stared while he thoroughly slicked the bulbous end with more gel. She caught her breath, turning quickly to face the other way when he came back to her, swatting her bottom cheeks once before prizing them apart. She tensed. It was impossible not to, not when she felt the cool artificial tip take up its place where his finger had been just moments before.

  “Do you remember your safeword?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good. Arch your hips.” He wrapped his free arm around her waist, reaching down under her belly to cup between her legs again. “Since you refuse to tell me what I want to hear—yes, Master, please fuck me with your cock until I am a limp puddle of orgasmic delight—I’m not going to fuck you at all. You can fuck yourself, instead. Come on. Push your hips back. I want this all the way inside you right now.”

  Her hips twitched, tucking slightly inward when he found her clit. Her breath caught all over again. She mewed, the only sound she made before she shifted, pushing back just enough to feel herself begin to open on the plug. It was an odd feeling. Not painful really, but expanding pressure.

  “P-please,” she whispered, but that was all, and she honestly didn’t know whether she meant ‘please, I don’t want to’ or ‘please, help me do more’.

  He stroked her clit, expertly stoking the flames and waiting patiently, circling her clit with his slippery fingertips until she moaned, dropped her head down onto one arm until, with a sigh of mixed pleasure, embarrassment and defeat, began to rock. He held the plug still, letting her do all the work. She nosed it in and out in numerous half starts before working up enough courage to ease all the way back. With a slippery pop, it invaded at the widest part and then it was seated as far as it would go.

  Parker pressed with two fingers, making sure it was well in place before rewarding her with a single fond caress. He went back to his bag and there was another rip of plastic wrapping. When she twisted back to look, he was rolling a lubricated condom down the length of his straining cock.

  “All right, sweetness,” he said, giving her a swat as he stepped into place behind her again. The heat of his hand glided down the entire length of her back, from her neck to her hips, following the crack of her ass all the way over her bottom and down between her legs. He slicked his fingers up and down her slit while she moaned, lost for a moment in the sheer pleasure of being touched, and right there, by him. “If you want my cock, you’re going to have to take it.”

  With a final pat, his fingers vanished only to be replaced a moment later by something bigger—hot, smooth, round—it stroked up and down along her slit just like his fingers had. She moaned all over again. Her head fell back, her eyes closed and her hips rocking, trying to maneuver to catch him on each up and down slide and take him inside her.

  “Take it,” he coaxed, holding himself steady with one hand and urging her to impale herself with his other. He alternated between lightly slapping her ass and then rubbing to soothe what didn’t even hurt anymore. It was all just varying degrees of sensual pleasure, all of which were now centered and focused directly wherever he touched her. “There you go,” he said, and they both sighed when she finally caught him, pushing to sink all the way down his length. “There’s a good girl.” He caught her hips between his hands, guiding her. “Ride my cock. Show me how much you want this. Come on, ride.”

  Sinclair moved, awkwardly, experimentally, at first. “Oo-oh!” All she felt was good. He was filling her up, stretching her in the most erotic way, this position and angle touching places inside her that made her whole sex shiver.

  Experimental rocking became languid hip rolls and then enthusiastic bouncing.

  “Oh!” Less of a gasp and more of a cry, she couldn’t stop moving now. She reached down between her own legs just for the tactile pleasure of touching him—the inside of his thighs, the smooth, heavy sack of his balls as they rocked forward with each backwards push to slap at her swollen pussy lips. And that felt good too. Breathtakingly good. Breathtakingly, heart-palpitatingly, sex-strokingly, squeezingly, spasming, hot and hard friction beyond her ability to keep moving to, good. “Oo-o-oh!”

  His fingers dug into her hips, no longer guiding now but gripping. When her strokes faltered, the pleasure so intense that her muscles seized, he began to thrust. He caught her wrists, pulling her hands behind her back, gripping them firmly in one hand while he caught a fistful of her hair with his other.

  Sinclair shouted when he pulled back, lifting her chest off the counter. She loved it. She loved his grip in her hair, the feel of her hands being pinned behind her, the pounding thrusts that were building hard and fast, slapping up against her buttocks, making her breasts slap the countertop. She loved feeling imprisoned by him. She loved being taken by him.

  She loved him.

  Sinclair came, arching and straining, shouting and panting and yielding over and over again because he wasn’t stopping. He was battering her, driving her farther and farther over the counter, until she was lying flat upon it, slick and sweaty and squeaking every few thrusts when he yanked back on her arms to slam up into her with glorious ferocity. He owned her body. He owned her soul. He pulled her up off the counter by her collar, releasing her hands to wrap his arm around her waist and shifting his other grip from her hair to her neck. He embraced her, holding her tightly to him, his thrusts slowing, deepening, becoming less like fucking and more like something intimate and sincere.

  “Say my name,” he whispered, his ragged breath hot against her ear.

  “Master Parker… Master Parker…” It became her mantra, the one solid thing—besides him—that she could latch onto when he found her clit with his slick, stroking fingers and the next orgasm hit her like a Mack semi speeding down the highway. She didn’t mean to cry; it was just one more thing in what was rapidly becoming a list of things she just couldn’t stop.

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  She totally burned the toast. The last time she’d burned a meal, she’d been twelve and distracted by cartoons, but the very next morning, standing in Parker’s apartment kitchen, Sinclair burned the toast.

  It wasn’t her fault, really. How could she be expected to keep her mind on paltry things like temperature or time when she was backed up against the wall with one leg hooked over Parker’s shoulder, her hands clinging to both the counter and fridge, while every thought in her head scattered to the clouds and beyond with each tender lash of his tongue?

  She hadn’t got a lick of sleep all night. Again, not her fault. They’d worked in the kitchen until nearly three in the morning, and the
n they’d gone to bed. Exhausted, they hadn’t even played around. Cuddled up against his side, they’d talked until the horizon turned grey. Thank God for his alarm, otherwise she never would have been up and functioning early enough to get to the store on time.

  Parker drove her and while they didn’t talk much at all, the entire way there, he held her hand upon his knee. Sometimes he patted, sometimes he squeezed her fingers. Now and then, he glanced over at her and smiled; it was the kind of morning after that made a girl feel special.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a feeling that lasted out the day. It didn’t even last out the hour.

  Parker dropped her off at the curb, leaned over and kissed her goodbye in a way that made her toes curl. She actually felt a pang of loss when he reached in under her hair and around her neck and removed his collar. “See you in a couple hours.”

  She got out of the car smiling, waved goodbye while he pulled away from the curb, and dug her store keys out of her pocket. She was so happy and exhausted and distracted by whether or not she could still see his taillights, that she had them in the lock and was twisting before she noticed the plain white envelope taped to the glass over the closed sign.

  Unlocking the door, she paused to take the envelope down and withdrew the single sheet of paper inside. That was when her world fell apart.

  The letter was from Charlie, notifying her that her lease was terminating and giving her thirty days to remove herself from the premises. She read it three times, just trying to get the words to make sense, before a sharp screech of tires just behind her made her turn around. It was Parker again, returning to the curb in fast reverse. He got out, already beckoning her to him as he opened the passenger door.

  “Get in,” he said, calm, quiet, but tense.

  Her head swimming, hardly able to think beyond the shock of the eviction, she held up the note for him to see. “I’m being evicted.”

  A tic of tight muscle jumped along his jaw. “Lock the door, Sinclair.” He held out his hand, beckoning with insistence. “You don’t need to work today. Let’s go.”