She hadn't known such pleasure existed.
Lying in the warm aftermath of the orgasmic tidal wave her dark lover had just put her through, Miranda wondered with no small amount of dismay if it was over.
God, she hoped not.
He slipped away from her and out of the bed and she made a keening sound of need in her throat. Even though she was sure he was a big man, he moved with utter silence in the room and she waited for the door to open and close, then thought crazily, since he hadn't fucked her or forced her to perform oral sex, that he wouldn't leave until he'd had at least one orgasm as well. Surely not.
This was insane.
That thought registered in her brain, pulling her back toward rationality. She was hoping to be raped? Well, no, of course not...but this wasn't really rape, was it? A woman didn't have an orgasm unless her brain was as involved in the process as her body, so she'd just proven by leaps and bounds that she was willing. Being tied to the bed took away her decision capabilities about whether to participate physically, but now the orgasm-induced insanity was over and still, she wanted more.
She was going to kill Peg in the morning--right after she got down on her knees and thanked her.
A warm, silent touch on the delicate skin beneath her right breast startled her so badly that she jumped in her bonds and squeaked in surprise.
"What's wrong, baby?" the man's voice crooned softly in the darkness. "Were you hoping I'd gone?" He skimmed one hot palm over her breast, cupping its fullness; purposefully rasping his thumb over the nipple, which had relaxed and softened. At the renewed attention it tightened for him, sending another shaft of electric pleasure down to her pelvis.
"Or were you afraid that I'd leave you?" His hand left her breast, only to be replaced by his mouth, and he licked her slowly; deliberately, making her shudder. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he assured her. "I haven't finished with you yet."
Miranda moaned softly when he lay on the bed again, stretched out alongside her. This time, however, she could feel the length and breadth of his cock pulsing against her hip. She pictured him in her mind's eye, his left elbow propped on the bed and his head in his hand, seeing her even in the darkness, and the image made her wet again.
Then he moved, shifting slightly, and she realized when she felt his knuckles brush her thigh that he had wrapped his right hand around his own cock and was stroking himself slowly. That picture rode through her mind like heat lightning. She'd never realized just how incredibly erotic a man masturbating in front of her might be, even if she couldn't see him, and she mewled in protest against the darkness and her inability to beg him for...anything. Everything.
He bent to her ear to speak, sending hot prickles down her spine. "What's wrong, baby?" he whispered. "Are you afraid I might want to fuck you?" He waited a moment, obviously intrigued by the response she made. "Or maybe you think I'd rather force my prick into that hot little mouth of yours and fuck your throat. Would you like that, Miranda?" In a harsh, low grumble full of barely restrained lust he asked, "Do you want to suck my cock?"
The sound of his voice, tense with desire, and the feel of him masturbating made her squirm. Miranda made a soft, pleading sound of need.
"Mmm," he agreed, obviously pleased with the answer. "I want that, too."
This time when he moved, he didn't leave her alone on the bed. Miranda writhed softly, twisting impatiently as he moved up to the headboard. The king-sized hotel bed left him plenty of space to maneuver between her outstretched arms and her head. After a moment, Miranda found herself feeling even more exposed and vulnerable than when he'd had his mouth between her thighs. He was kneeling above her, his muscular thighs bracketing her head so that what little sound there was came to her muffled.
She felt like some kind of offering to him, the pagan priest who would decide if she was acceptable. From his position above, she lay spread out, completely at his mercy. But even more powerful than all of that was the feel of his heavy thighs flexing as he shifted, then the brush of something heavy...something warm, flesh and swollen...over her forehead, her nose. Her silk-bound lips.
Oh sweet heaven, she thought silently. Something wild and untamed inside her broke loose, making her tremble. His balls. The erotic, spicy smell of aroused male mixed even more heavily with his cologne now and she pulled a long, deep breath through her nose, her nostrils flaring like those of an animal scenting its mate. Arching her neck, she tried desperately to get more than a fleeting brush of contact with his body.
Teasing her unmercifully, he moaned softly at her eager response but still refused to allow her anything but the brush of his inner thigh; his heavy sacs against her bound lips.
"I've imagined this," he said, and his voice seemed to float to her from far away, dreamlike. "Of having you desperate to take my cock."
Without warning, she felt him shift then felt his knuckles again, this time brushing her cheek, and she knew that his stiff cock was jutting out over her face and he was masturbating himself again. She tried to get her mouth higher, but found herself frustrated in the tight lock between his knees.
