Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)(32)
Author: Jen Frederick

“Nah, pretty sure it was Barbara.”

We stare at each other in shared memory, and Steve even manages to crack a smile, which for him is equal to a belly laugh.

“No, nothing like Barbara,” I admit softly, watching the lights turn on as Tiny makes her way upstairs. Slapping a hand on his back, I tell him, “Tomorrow morning we’ll take care of the trash.”

“Good idea.”

“Not too early, though,” I instruct, my eyes still on the lights in my home. Before I had Tiny, when I arrived at the warehouse the place would be dark. She was turning my residence into a real home. Steve senses my preoccupation, climbs into the car, and drives off without another word.

I take my time following Tiny inside, tracing her footsteps and wondering what parts of the walls and floor she’s touched. I want her stamp on every part of my life—no area is too unimportant or miniscule.

There are lights on in the kitchen and one in the living room. Her path leads me up the stairs and into our bedroom. On the billowy comforter rests her purse, and the dim light of the bathroom pulls me forward. In the dressing room, I find her removing her lace shirt and carefully hanging it in the closet. Her pants come off next, and she tosses those in the hamper.

There’s nothing left but a tiny navy-blue thong. Her back to me, she hooks two fingers into the sides and then slowly drags the sodden material down over the apple-round curve of her ass and her strong thighs. She bends as she pulls the fabric down, so that her ass is prominently displayed and I catch a glimpse of her swollen lips.

Bending almost in half, she finally steps out of the thong, leaving it to lie on the carpet of the dressing room as she stands up, dragging her hands up her legs and then her outer thighs. This display is all for me, and it’s working well.

“Come over and feel what you’ve made hard.” I crook my finger toward her. She saunters over to me, her feet still encased in high wedges with navy ribbons around her ankles. There are other places I’d like to see ribbons wrapped. Her thighs. Her wrists. Her neck.

There are so many fantasies I have, and only one lifetime to get them all in.

“You look like a f**king goddess.”

I don’t move from the door, wanting to see how far her boldness extends. As she walks toward me I can see small reflections of light glinting off the arousal painted on her thighs. My breath quickens, and my c**k feels like it grows another inch.

“I’m horny,” she proclaims accusingly. “The looks you were giving me at the Plaza. The way you touched me in the car. You’ve worked me up.”

“Bunny, I’m going to take care of you.”

She stops in front of me and unhurriedly drops to her knees, dragging her hands down my legs. My hands go to my waistband, but she bats them away. “I’m going to get you worked up now. See how you like it. Hands up.”

Widening my stance, I lean against the doorjamb, uncaring that it’s an uncomfortable position and the wood trim is digging into my back. I lift my hands behind my head in a gesture of surrender. “I’m ready to take my punishment.”

“Good. You don’t get to come until I tell you.” Her smile is naughty. Whatever game she wants to play tonight, I’m in. I’m so f**king in.

“I’m your humble servant.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. I’d do anything for her, including keeping my hands to myself and my orgasm at bay.

She unfastens my pants and drags down the fabric just enough that my c**k springs free. With a soft hand, she cups my balls and pulls them above the constraining fabric. It’s like wearing too-tight clothes, but the extra tension is only making me harder.

Her hand smoothes down my hard length. “How big are you?”

“Big enough,” I grunt as she pets the top of my circumcised head and then runs her finger under the bulbous tip.

“You’re bigger than the span of my fingers.” She stretches her hand out to display the deficit. Her pinky and thumb can’t reach the base and tip at the same time, falling a few inches short. “And you’re wide. It’s hard to get my mouth around you.”

She dips her head and sucks in the very tip of my cock. My hands clench behind my head in restraint. I want to reach for her head and shove my dick into her mouth and down her tight throat. We’ve done it once. She’s taken me so deep that her voice was raspy afterward. This is her show, I remind myself. With some effort, I force myself to relax as much as possible.

“It takes a lot of licking to get your whole dick wet.” Her little tongue laps at me, licking the edges and spending extra time laving the veins that stand prominently under the sensitive skin of my cock. “I’m going to have to use both my hands, it’s so big.”

Jesus. Can I die of a hard-on? Can I get so erect and so hard that I actually drop dead? Because I feel close to dying as she interlocks her two hands and starts squeezing her palms up and down my swollen member.

“Your body is a perfect fit for mine,” I tell her.

“I don’t know.” Her voice is tremulous, and I can’t tell whether that’s part of the act or whether it’s from her arousal. Maybe a bit of both. “It’s just so huge I worry that it won’t fit inside me. Maybe if I suck on it, it will get smaller.”

I release a strangled laugh. “Yes, let’s try that.”

“But you have so much come. Sometimes I can’t swallow it all. Sometimes it spills out the side of my mouth and dribbles onto my chin.”

The filthy, erotic picture she’s painting is making my entire frame shake with want. I switch my hands from cupping my head to gripping the wood trim, uncaring that the hard edges are biting into my skin. I need the pain to keep me upright. To keep me from throwing her onto her back and plunging into her like a f**king animal. Sides heaving, I manage to choke out an answer. “That’s okay. You can just wipe it off with your fingers.”

“Then should I lick my fingers?”

“Yes,” I groan. “You should lick it all up. It’s good for you. Lots of antibodies.”

“If you’re sure?” she says breathily. And then her mouth is on me. She takes me shallowly at first, humming a little so I feel the vibrations of sound rumble against my length. Her hands work my base in rhythm with her mouth in a steady, thrusting motion. My thighs tremble with the effort of standing upright. I need her to be with me. This gift of pleasure will feel only half as good if she isn’t going crazy.