My Hunger (Inside Out #3.4)(5)

Her hand closes around my tie. “I told you I will, and I meant it. Whatever they need, and whatever you need, is my priority.”

What I need is her: to taste her, to feel those lips against mine, and that’s exactly what I do. My mouth closes on hers, my tongue delving deeply, stroking, tasting. Taking. I need. Oh yes, I do, but that need shifts and changes, turns to something darker, and more demanding. Suddenly I’m aroused beyond belief, thick and hard, my cock straining against my zipper, and the burn to be inside her is almost too intense to bear. It’s consuming. It’s dangerous to my vow to stay away from women who don’t live my lifestyle.

And still I deepen the kiss, my hand traveling up her waist, caressing the curve of her breast. She presses into me, moaning, demanding “more” without words. And all too easily, I could give it to her. I tear my mouth from hers, staring down at her, and my hunger roars to life. I want Crystal, but even more so, I crave her submission and my control.

“Put your hands on the sink behind you,” I order.

Her chin lifts. “I told you—”

“What happened to ‘I’ll do whatever you need’?”

“Need and want are two different things.”

“Not if they’re done right,” I assure her, taking her hands in mine and pressing them behind her onto the counter, holding them there as I nip her bottom lip. “You want an orgasm? Then don’t move.”

Her eyes glint with rebellion but she says, “Since you put it that way.”

I tug her dress and bra down, my gaze lowering to her rosy, tight nipples before I roll them in my fingers and tug roughly. She whimpers and I lean in, sucking one of them into my mouth, and then scraping it with my teeth. A soft yelp escapes her lips and I glance up at her. “Hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I do it again.

“Good?” she demands.

“Pain only makes the pleasure better.” Demonstrating, I lick the wounded nipple, and slide my hand between her legs, finding the silk of her panties and ripping them away. I hold them up. “A reminder to me that you really can do as ordered.” I shove them into my pocket.

“Those were expensive.”

“So is the orgasm I’m going to give you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I lower myself to my knee, shoving her dress up her legs to expose the neatly trimmed V of her sex. “It means”—I explore the wet, slick heat between her thighs—“that you’re going to find out I take orders, too, when given to me my way.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” she chokes out as I slip a finger inside her.

“It’s quite simple. Tell me what you want, Ms. Smith, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Crystal,” she pants, arching against the two fingers I’ve slipped inside her. “And you don’t seem to need instructions.”

I remove my fingers abruptly. “If you want them back, you have to tell me.”

She sucks in air. “I do. You know I do.”

“Tell me you want my fingers inside you.”

She glares. “That’s unfair play.”

Play. Another BDSM word that I find curious. “Is this unfair?” I ask, lightly touching her clit with my tongue, then pulling back and running my tongue over her knee.

“Very,” she hisses.

“Tell me what you want, Ms. Smith.”

“The orgasm I’m not going to beg for.”

I arch a brow. “An orgasm is a start. How do you want me to give you that orgasm? My mouth? My fingers? Or perhaps my cock?”

“Any of the above work for me.”

“Choose.”

“Fine. With your mouth.”

“You want me to lick you?”

Her look is murderous. “Yes. Damn it.”

“Say it.”

“Fine. Lick me.”

“Lick me, please,” I command her to say.

“No.”

I stroke my fingers over her sensitive flesh, dipping one inside her and pulling back. “Lick me, please, Mr. Compton,” I instruct.

“Fuck you, Mr. Compton.”

I laugh, low and soft. “Not this time. This time I’m f*cking you.” I stroke her bare knees with my thumbs, drawing circles on sensitive flesh. “I want to lick you, Ms. Smith. I want to taste you. I want to make you come, but I won’t. Not until-”

“You’re such an *,” she blasts. “Lick me, please,” She glares down at me and adds, “Mark.”

I slip two fingers inside her. “You know what you have to say.”

She inhales and lets it out, a mix of embarrassment, anger, and passion washing over her face. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this, or that I’m really doing it. Lick my *, Mark. Please.”

“Mr. Compton.”

“Lick my *, please, Mr. Compton.”

Satisfaction fills me and I give her the reward she deserves, sucking her nub into my mouth, then licking, teasing, pumping my fingers into her. Her head falls back against the mirror, her hips arching against my fingers and mouth, the salty taste of her pleasure spilling onto my taste buds. And it is only a few more seconds before she gasps and her body clenches, tightening around my fingers. I lead her through the spasms, licking her, my fingers pumping, caressing, easing as her tension eases. And in those moments, I own her pleasure and I own her body. And that means I own the control I feared I’d lost.