Page 78 of Dominion's Guard
"You say that like you don't enjoy it."
"I say it like I'm filing it away as evidence." His thumbs trace my cheekbones. "Everything about you tonight is evidence."
"Of what?"
"That you've been waiting for someone who wouldn't let you hide." He pulls back far enough to look at my face. "Am I wrong?"
"You are annoyingly, consistently, infuriatingly not wrong." My voice wobbles on the last word, the brat cracking at the seams, and I see him registering it the way he registers everything. "I hate that about you too."
"You have a long list of things you hate about me."
"It's getting longer by the minute."
Shedding what remains of his clothes, he walks me backward to the bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and he lays me down, following me, his body covering mine. The contact is full-body and electric, his bare chest on my breasts, his hips settling between my thighs, and the heat of his cock pressing against my center makes me arch into him with a desperation I stopped trying to hide around the fifth stroke of the flogger.
He braces on one forearm. His free hand travels down my body, over my breast, his thumb and forefinger closing on my nipple and rolling with a pressure that walks the edge between pain and pleasure. His mouth follows his hand, his tongue replacing his fingers, his teeth grazing the hardened peak. He sucks, and the pull travels in a direct line from my nipple to my clit, so sharp that my hips roll against him on reflex.
"You're squirming," he says against my breast.
"You're taking your time."
"Yes, I am." He bites down lightly, and the spike of sensation makes me gasp. "You have a problem with that?"
"I have a problem with your entire approach to time management. You are the slowest man I have ever met, and I include the elderly regulars at the bar in that assessment."
His hand slides between my legs, and my sentence dies. His fingers part me, sliding through slick, sensitive flesh with a patience that makes me want to scream, and the first brush across my clit sends my hips off the mattress.
"You were saying?"
"I was saying I hate you. I was in the middle of a very valid complaint."
"Finish it." His fingers circle my clit, slow, barely-there pressure on the aching bud, and the lightness of the touch after the intensity of the flogger is its own torment. "I'm listening."
"I can't finish it while you're doing that."
"Then I guess your complaint isn't that important."
Two fingers push inside me, and the stretch after hours of building arousal pulls a guttural, helpless sound out of my throat. He curls them forward, finding the raised, textured spot behind my pubic bone with an accuracy born of paying attention to my body since the first time he touched me. He presses and strokes, building pressure from the inside out while his thumb finds my clit and begins a slow, firm circle.
"That's what I wanted to hear," he says. "The real sound. The one you hide behind the attitude."
"I'm not hiding anything. I'm lying naked in a private room while you..." The sentence breaks apart because his fingers curl harder and the pressure builds into a spreading, tightening wave. "Andy."
"I know." His voice drops to the register that bypasses my defenses. "I can feel you getting close. You grip my fingers tighter every time I hit this spot." He hits it again, watching my face. "Right there."
"You do not need to narrate the physiological..." I lose the rest of the sentence to a sound that is not a word. "Oh God."
"There's the honest one. She's loud when you let her be."
The orgasm is already gathering, residual from the cross, building on the denied release. My thighs lock first. Then my stomach clenches, the deep internal spasm. Then the pulses start where his fingers are working and spread outward.
"Andy." His name comes out as a warning.
"Let go. I want to feel it."
The orgasm breaks on his hand. My body clenches around his fingers so hard that my back lifts off the mattress, the muscles gripping in rhythmic contractions I feel in my spine and the soles of my feet. What comes out of my mouth is ragged and loud and genuine, pulled from behind the glass that no other Dom has touched. The release is so complete that my vision grays at the edges, and tears leak from the corners of my eyes, not from pain but from the sheer overwhelming feeling of coming this hard after being held at the edge for this long.
He doesn't stop. His fingers keep their rhythm, gentler now, working me through each aftershock as the contractions slow to rolling pulses.
