The Master (The Game Maker #2)(8)

Feared? Why would he . . . My thoughts grew dim when he turned his head to take a nipple between his lips, dragging his tongue over the sensitive peak. When he suckled it with a groan, I cried out, “Finally!” I was on fire again! Raw inside. Needing more.

He turned to the other one, muttering, “So sweet and plump. They tease my tongue.” Once he’d left that one wet and aching as well, he pulled me back to face him, excitement in his expression. “All of this is acceptable.”

“I-I certainly think so.”

“Very acceptable.”

Okay? What was going on here? I sensed in him a seething need for me, barely contained—and building. Another woman might fear it; I drank it in like wine.

“Ah, little Cat.” A gleam shone in his wicked blue eyes. “You’re about to get f*cked. Hard.”





CHAPTER 4




He laid me back on the couch, looming over me, predatory. Without warning, he grabbed both of my ankles in one of his hands, lifting my body up as he snatched my thong off and tossed the silk away.

“Spread your thighs.”

Confused by this turnaround, I tentatively did. Eyes riveted to my *, he licked his lips. “So lush. I can see your need. Did you enjoy the orgasm you stole?”

“Stole?”

He knelt on the couch, reaching between my legs. He ran his forefinger along my lips, spreading my moisture, then rubbed me right over my entrance.

My lids went heavy as I watched his face. His gaze was keen with fascination as I grew even wetter for him. I got the impression that he hadn’t fingered a girl in forever. Of course, his “script” hadn’t called for it.

He teased my opening until I was squirming, about to shove myself down on his finger. “You just get wetter and wetter. I could make you come again, only from this.”

Yes, but I’d lose my mind! “Más. Give me more, Máxim.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You call me Máxim?”

“I’ll call you whatever you want if you finger me more.” My toes were curling in my stilettos.

As he probed deeper, inch by inch, I moaned from the filling sensation.

“Your little clit’s so swollen. Do you want me to rub it?”

“Yes!”

“Or do you need to be f*cked?”

“Both! Either! Anything . . .”

Yet then he frowned. “Your *’s tight. Very tight.”

Would he know that I hadn’t had sex in forever? Need to distract him. “I’ll be this tight around your cock, querido.”

He pumped his finger inside me. “Tell me you want it.” He laid his free hand over one of my breasts, thumbing a nipple.

“Yes, I want your cock!” My thighs quivered. I tripped toward another orgasm, and he hadn’t even touched my clit. I’d never felt so much pleasure with a man; I loved being an escort!

He pinched my other nipple. “Then I won’t give it to you yet.” He stilled the hand between my legs. “Fuck my finger.” Again I sensed a surge of anticipation in him, as if he were a kid with a new toy.

Shameless with need, I began to move against his hand, sending his finger in and out of my *. I was already about to levitate when his thumb made contact with my aching clit. “Ummm!”

He rubbed it with slow circles while fingering my core.

My eyes rolled back in my head, and I arched my back, stiffened nipples pointed at the ceiling.

“You’re about to come again?” he asked in disbelief. “Look at me.”

With difficulty, I raised my head.

“You don’t come without my permission.”

Qué? I had no control.

“Ask me for my permission. Say ‘Can I come for you?’ ”

Confused, I whispered the question.

I didn’t realize I’d spoken in Spanish until he rasped, “In English, beautiful girl.”

“Can I come for you?”

“Not until I tell you.” He wedged another finger into my core, screwing them into my tightness.

The fullness sent me over the edge. “Máxim!” The fire was back, searing every inch of my body. As I thrashed my head, I dimly heard him telling me he could feel my * squeezing, that I’d been bad, and he’d punish me for coming without permission.

But all the while he thrust his big fingers and circled his thumb, drawing out my orgasm, forcing me to ride each mindless wave, each delicious spasm. . . .

When he withdrew from me, I moaned with loss, still not sated. For some reason, I was even hornier than when we’d started.

His smoldering gaze raked over my naked body, taking in my glistening *, my flushed chest, my swollen breasts—even my hair fanning out wildly from my head. He reached forward, grasping a lock. “You’re so f*cking sexy,” he grated, and immediately frowned, dropping my hair. Was he surprised that he found me sexy—or that he’d told me? “You want me too.”

“Want? Estoy desesperada!”

He stood to undress. “Desperate? Don’t worry, I’m about to give you what you need.” He removed his shoes and socks, then he pulled his sweater over his head.

As he revealed more of his body, I shivered with appreciation. His wide shoulders were muscled, his pecs rigid with dusky nipples, his arms brawny. He had sculpted washboard abs, and a tantalizing black goody trail that I wanted to nuzzle. His tanned skin sported a few raised scars over his chest and arms, but they didn’t detract from his hotness.