overriding thought as she dragged whoever the hell this was away from Sam's table.
He liked calling the shots, did her Sam, but he couldn't always have things his way. He'd already broken the rules, and if they were to continue to play, she needed to even the score.
Except, of course, he might cite Dax and how she'd had sex with him in a liquor storage closet as the first flouting of the rules.
And, okay, she hadn't stuck with the slave/Master thing as long as he would have liked, maybe, but…
She couldn't let him have the edge. This was a competition of escalating stakes.
She took a certain amount of risk in her business life because you can't profit if you don't risk…but here, where she had the most amazingly sexy playmate she could imagine, one who constantly kept her on edge?
No risk was too great. She would damn sure not be the one to cry uncle. Thus the dominatrix outfit when he was probably expecting soft and sexy. Prey not predator.
He might be the alpha predator…
But she wasn't shabby herself.
At last she reached the center of the throbbing mass of dancers, where the music screamed sex, and talking was impossible. Where the atmosphere dripped with desire. Pounded with the promise of sex and sex and more great sex.
She turned on her partner and studied him. He was nearly as tall as Sam but whip-lean, his arms ropy with muscles and loaded with tats. His hair was slicked back, as was hers, his black and not, she suspected, quite natural.
But the burn in his eyes certainly was. He smiled and extruded his tongue…which was pierced by a stud.
Oh, baby. That would feel so freaking good sliding inside her.
She nodded acknowledgment of his silent message and slowly licked a sensuous circle around her lips. She grabbed onto his leather vest and dragged him closer. Thrust her mound against his leather-laced groin and slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y rotated herself against him.
It didn't take him long to grasp her waist and yank her closer.
Her eyes were nearly level with his in her boots, and she dug her fingers into his back, undulating against the hard ridge beneath the leather, and slowly lifted her right leg to wrap it around his ass.
Bringing her naked pussy flush against the leather laces backed by his increasingly hard dick.
Then she arched and rubbed against him in an erotic rhythm designed to get herself off.
He banded her waist with one arm but used his free hand to yank aside her bodice, freeing her breast. He latched on, suckling her as he pistoned his groin into her ever-so-ready mound. Rubbing over the folds that were softening, weeping their pleasure while she softly growled her need.
She arched her back and let her head fall, blatantly dry-humping him until she could feel his fingers scrabbling at his laces, desperately trying to set his dick free.
She snapped back to attention. Dropped her leg and shoved him to his knees instead. With excruciating languor, she drew up her leather skirt and revealed her pussy. "I want to feel that stud," she commanded, and he seemed to hear her despite the music soaring around them.
He took her left leg and draped it over his shoulder.
Then, micron by micron, he slid that tongue and the metal ball rising above it, circling her clit again and again until she wanted to scream…
Then dragging it onward, down through the weeping valley and with maddening hesitation—designed, she was positive, to make her crazy—dragged the stud over exquisitely tender tissues…
She dug her fingers into his hair and all but forced him to speed up.
But he did not. Instead, he took for-freaking-ever to slide first in, then agonizingly slowly out.
The only thing more astonishing she could imagine would be to have such a barbaric and exciting protrusion on the head of a dick. It felt so incredibly amazing she couldn't help the groan that erupted from her throat.
Then he switched speed, flicking that stud to devastating effect, into her pussy, then over her clit, again and
He liked calling the shots, did her Sam, but he couldn't always have things his way. He'd already broken the rules, and if they were to continue to play, she needed to even the score.
Except, of course, he might cite Dax and how she'd had sex with him in a liquor storage closet as the first flouting of the rules.
And, okay, she hadn't stuck with the slave/Master thing as long as he would have liked, maybe, but…
She couldn't let him have the edge. This was a competition of escalating stakes.
She took a certain amount of risk in her business life because you can't profit if you don't risk…but here, where she had the most amazingly sexy playmate she could imagine, one who constantly kept her on edge?
No risk was too great. She would damn sure not be the one to cry uncle. Thus the dominatrix outfit when he was probably expecting soft and sexy. Prey not predator.
He might be the alpha predator…
But she wasn't shabby herself.
At last she reached the center of the throbbing mass of dancers, where the music screamed sex, and talking was impossible. Where the atmosphere dripped with desire. Pounded with the promise of sex and sex and more great sex.
She turned on her partner and studied him. He was nearly as tall as Sam but whip-lean, his arms ropy with muscles and loaded with tats. His hair was slicked back, as was hers, his black and not, she suspected, quite natural.
But the burn in his eyes certainly was. He smiled and extruded his tongue…which was pierced by a stud.
Oh, baby. That would feel so freaking good sliding inside her.
She nodded acknowledgment of his silent message and slowly licked a sensuous circle around her lips. She grabbed onto his leather vest and dragged him closer. Thrust her mound against his leather-laced groin and slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y rotated herself against him.
It didn't take him long to grasp her waist and yank her closer.
Her eyes were nearly level with his in her boots, and she dug her fingers into his back, undulating against the hard ridge beneath the leather, and slowly lifted her right leg to wrap it around his ass.
Bringing her naked pussy flush against the leather laces backed by his increasingly hard dick.
Then she arched and rubbed against him in an erotic rhythm designed to get herself off.
He banded her waist with one arm but used his free hand to yank aside her bodice, freeing her breast. He latched on, suckling her as he pistoned his groin into her ever-so-ready mound. Rubbing over the folds that were softening, weeping their pleasure while she softly growled her need.
She arched her back and let her head fall, blatantly dry-humping him until she could feel his fingers scrabbling at his laces, desperately trying to set his dick free.
She snapped back to attention. Dropped her leg and shoved him to his knees instead. With excruciating languor, she drew up her leather skirt and revealed her pussy. "I want to feel that stud," she commanded, and he seemed to hear her despite the music soaring around them.
He took her left leg and draped it over his shoulder.
Then, micron by micron, he slid that tongue and the metal ball rising above it, circling her clit again and again until she wanted to scream…
Then dragging it onward, down through the weeping valley and with maddening hesitation—designed, she was positive, to make her crazy—dragged the stud over exquisitely tender tissues…
She dug her fingers into his hair and all but forced him to speed up.
But he did not. Instead, he took for-freaking-ever to slide first in, then agonizingly slowly out.
The only thing more astonishing she could imagine would be to have such a barbaric and exciting protrusion on the head of a dick. It felt so incredibly amazing she couldn't help the groan that erupted from her throat.
Then he switched speed, flicking that stud to devastating effect, into her pussy, then over her clit, again and
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