Out of Control (18 page)

Finally she couldn’t take it anymore—the light, taunting caresses, the insane kisses, the deprivation from his cock. “Please,” she gasped. She was trembling all over, her muscles twitching like a racehorse.

“Please what?” He pulled back, then looked her in her face. Those gray eyes were soft and keen at the same time. “Do you want me to strip you down and bite and suck your nipples, then spank your ass, play with your clit and finally fuck you?”

Jen was on the verge of screaming out, “Yes!” She wanted that with every cell of her body. But she sensed this was a question with more than one part. Probably any way she answered would be a win, but she’d better wait to hear the whole question.

“Or do you want to stroke and suck my cock, which you seemed desperate to touch?” He spoke quietly as a rule. Now, his voice was even quieter but also firmer, a tone of husky, intimate menace. Jen shivered in the best possible way. “Think carefully. You can have one or the other tonight, girl.”

Jen liked the way that
girl
sounded. It might have been insulting from someone else, but Drake’s smoky growl turned it into an endearment. She took a deep, hopefully centering breath as she tried to decide which option she wanted more.

To her surprise, her thoughts turned instead to which Drake would prefer. He’d enjoy either, she supposed, or he wouldn’t have suggested them. He definitely like tormenting and pleasing her. As for the other option, there might be men on Earth who didn’t enjoy blowjobs, but she was willing to bet he wasn’t one of them. But which would he like more at this particular moment? Which was the “right” answer? She doubted there was an actual wrong one, not with two great choices, but it suddenly seemed critical to please him with her answer.

The warm rush, the molten heat she experienced at the thought of pleasing him settled it. “I want to suck you, sir.” The
sir
came back without thought and without Drake having to say anything. She was rewarded with a smile that lit up the room better than her lamp did.

“Good girl. I was hoping you’d say that when it came down to my pleasure or yours.”

“The other option sounded great as well, but this way seems more right at the moment.” She added, “Besides I’m obsessed with your cock. Sucking you would be my pleasure too. Trust me.”

Drake laughed. Like practically everything he did, it seemed controlled, like he was keeping its full volume under wraps. But it transfigured his face, and his whole beautiful body shook with the force of his joy.

And it was joy. He wasn’t laughing at her, but at some secret she’d tapped with her words. “You… That’s perfect,” he finally said. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but Jen understood as much as she needed for tonight.

Then Drake’s posture changed. His voice changed again, back to that soft, dangerous growl. “On your knees, then. Take out my cock.”

Jen hesitated for half a second, wondering if she could take off her shirt and kneel on it instead of the hardwood floor but unable to formulate the question.

“Now.” Drake’s hands pushed on her shoulders, not forcing but getting across the point that she should obey.

A thrill ran through her. She’d always suspected she’d like the show of being forced to do something she wanted to do anyway. She’d been right.

As gracefully as she could, Jen made her way down to the floor. The old oak flooring was cool and smooth against her bare legs. She knew that before long it would be uncomfortable, but now it felt good on her heated skin. For a tender second or two, she leaned against Drake’s hip, enjoying the contact while he stroked her hair.

Then his fingers knotted at the back of her neck, and he pressed her face into his crotch. Even through his khaki pants, she felt the heat rising off his hard cock, smelled musk rising off his skin. Trapped in place by his hand, she breathed deeply, taking in his smell. Amber filled her mind, a warm golden brown, darker than most honey but just as clear and liquid. Drake’s sexy smell was now properly color-classified in her mind.

This hadn’t happened for years. Not everything had a color, and her unconscious apparently figured most of her previous lovers weren’t worth the effort.

But Drake was. He smelled amber, and that felt right.

Jen took another deep breath, enjoying the scent. Drake wasn’t releasing his grip on her hair. Unable to do anything else, she nuzzled at him through the interfering fabric. Her lips cupped his shaft, and she moved as best she could. It was a tease for both of them, but it was something to keep her sane while Drake held her at bay, even after he’d ordered her to suck his cock.

When the front of his pants was damp with her saliva and the crotch of her shorts was drenched with her own juices, Drake loosened his grip, allowing her to move but not releasing her. “Unzip me,” he ordered. “Enough teasing.”

“As if the teasing was my fault!”

“Don’t be cheeky.” The hand that wasn’t in her hair struck her cheek. It wasn’t a hard slap, hardly more stinging than what she’d do to herself to stay awake on a late night, but it shocked her into silence.

And to her confusion, made her even wetter, even more desperate to get his cock into her mouth.

Shaking with lust, Jen reached for his belt. Unfastening the plain silver buckle seemed like the most complicated thing she’d ever done until she got to the challenge of the button. And once that obstacle was met, she had the zipper to deal with. Unzipping a man’s pants shouldn’t be that difficult, but her hands were shaking so much she could have used a PhD in engineering to master this simple task.

Finally, she pushed open the fly. Drake was wearing boxers, silk knit in a pale sage green. She looked up at him, uncertain whether she should slide his pants and boxers down or just take his cock out and suck it like a drunk college girl in the shadows on the way home from a party.

His eyes were closed, his expression almost remote except for the half smile. “Take it out.” His voice was dark, harsh, but his hand stroked her hair gently.

She obeyed, taking in the texture of the silk as she did. Drake’s cock felt heavy in her hand, his balls, when she slipped her hand inside the boxers, hairy and coarse and alive. She looked up at Drake again, drinking in his male beauty.

Maybe longer than she meant to, but he was worth studying, even if it meant a firm tug on her hair and a sharp movement that shoved her mouth down onto his straining erection. At the first taste of him, she gushed moisture, wet from the long-anticipated feeling of his cock in her mouth.

Delicious. She swore she tasted that honeyed amber that filled her mind as his cock filled her mouth. She already knew he was well-endowed, but she hadn’t expected him to stretch her mouth this much, as if he was swollen even beyond his usual girth.

Maybe it was her imagination, because she was so hungry for him.

For what might have been seconds or hours, Drake allowed her to linger, taking in his scent, his flavor, his color, working her mouth and tongue around the swollen head, then chasing her spit-slicked hand up and down his shaft. Finally, he muttered, “Enough of that,” and, both hands on the back of her head, began to move her.

He was fucking her mouth. Using her for his pleasure. And she liked it more than she ever would have imagined.

Correction, she loved it.

It wasn’t easy to breathe around that invasion, but it didn’t seem to matter. She always relished sucking cock and enjoyed it when a guy came in her mouth. But this felt different, a bone-deep, cunt-deep need to feel the explosion of Drake’s pleasure. A deeper desire, a deeper red. Perhaps a deeper connection, not from his cock as much from his fierce grip on her head, on the way he guided her. Forced her, almost, only forced her to do something she craved.

He thrust faster. She was drooling now, dripping out of her mouth and onto her hands and Drake’s boxers, even his pants. Some self-conscious bit of her brain was embarrassed by it, but a wilder part liked the messiness, the way it made the moment even more intense.

Drake’s grip on her hair tightened. He moved wildly. She fought the urge to gag, and for a few seconds, Jen hovered on a fine line between depraved delight and distracted discomfort.

Then he grunted, one of those tight, controlled Drake noises she’d come to love in their short time together, and flooded her mouth, salty and musky yet tasting like amber and light. She clenched, driven to the brink by the taste of him. Flames flickered behind her eyes. Pleasure seared her, not quite an orgasm but a blissful release, both physical and emotional. She shuddered and sagged, clutching Drake’s leg for support.

His death grip on her hair shifted to a caress, an absentminded petting as if she was a cat curled up beside him. For a few seconds, he stayed strong, not even swaying. Then his knees buckled. He caught himself almost instantly, but Jen still noticed. And yet he kept stroking her hair, murmuring, “Good girl” in a soft voice that thrilled her. Despite his control, his efforts to retain a calm distance, she could tell he was rattled by the intensity of his orgasm. And for all they’d been playing at objectification, she’d experienced
connection
as well while he’d fucked her mouth, an intense oneness made ironically stronger by the distancing game.

Drake swayed, and this time he couldn’t hide it. Jen guessed he might not want to admit his knees were weak—that whole crazy control issue of his—even though it was obvious at this point. “That was intense, but I need a bed,” she said through a forced yawn, sounding more wiped than she felt, “or I’ll pass out on the floor.”

At the faked weakness in her voice, Drake snapped back online. “The floor’s not very comfortable,” he said, bending to help her to her feet. “Let’s get you to the bedroom.”

She thought she’d been feigning tiredness, but once she lay down in Drake’s arms, her day and her long-term lack of sleep caught up with her. She forced herself to stay awake and enjoy the novelty of Drake being snuggly. Maybe later, she thought as she cuddled down, Drake’s big body curled up around hers, she’d see if she could seduce him into going back on his declaration that she’d had to choose between blowing him and coming herself. But for now she was content to lie in his arms and let her mind wander from image to image, color to color. Once in a while Drake would run his hand over her nipple, or he’d shift in a way that let her know his cock was starting to take interest again, and she’d reconsider the seduction idea. Then she’d drift again.

Drake was talking softly, telling her a story about one of his grad students playing a rather arcane prank on another one. She was trying to pay attention, but the point of the joke was beyond her, though it was clearly funny to Drake’s mathletes. She yawned and snuggled closer, and Drake kissed the top of her head. “Guess you had to be there,” he concluded.

“I still wouldn’t have gotten it. I got as far as geometry in high school and figured I knew enough math for an artist. But I’d have laughed at Andrew flipping out like… How did you put it? A cat whose tail got stepped on…? Even if I didn’t understand why.”

She turned in Drake’s arms and was rewarded with a warm smile. “Math can be beautiful if you look at it the right way,” he insisted. “Artistic, even.”

Jen traced the formula on his arm with one finger. “That’s beautiful math, or maybe I just like the canvas.”

Drake kissed her then, soft but passionate, chuckling deep in his throat as he did. “Oh, Jen,” he said when he pulled away, “what am I going to do with you?”

Jen had a few suggestions. But when she tried to tell them, all she could do was yawn again. “Good night, beautiful,” Drake said softly. “You don’t sleep enough, you know.”

“Too much to do,” she argued, then conceded, “but I am tired.” Without even thinking about it, she rolled over again so they were spooned together in the little bed.

“Sleep. There’s always tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.” The last words faded out as Jen drifted off.

Light colored by stained glass dyed the sheets as Jen rolled over in bed to find she was alone. For a second, disappointment stabbed her. Why was Drake averse to actually sleeping with her? She didn’t think she snored. Maybe he snored. She’d just decided that was the issue, that Drake made buzz-saw noises, or maybe was one of those people who slept on an invisible rotisserie, flipping over every fifteen minutes or so, and neither wanted to subject her to it nor admit to this flaw, when the bedroom door opened and Drake stuck his head in.

“Coffee’s on downstairs.” Damn man didn’t have the grace to look all morning-tousled. His short hair looked good even right out of bed.

“You’re a superhero.” Jen sat up and stretched, welcoming the light through the stained glass and the sight of the colored light dancing over Drake’s skin now that he’d stepped into the turret. “Your hair always looks good, and you made me coffee.”

His faded Tasmanian Devil boxers might undercut the superhero image, but considering the devil inside them, and the body he was flaunting by wearing nothing but said boxers, she was willing to pretend that when superheroes weren’t in costume, they liked dorky boxers.

“No, if I were really heroic, I’d make breakfast too. I saw bread for toast and that’s pretty much it, unless you want pasta salad for breakfast.” He glanced around the room. “You were right about the window.” He looked at the window rather than in her eyes as he spoke. “Waking up with the light coming through it was nice. Have to check how it looks in the afternoon.”