Caressa's Knees (15 page)

He reached with one hand to fondle her breasts, unable to help
himself
. She whimpered when his fingers closed on the sensitive tip of one nipple and pinched. She shivered and drew her legs closed again. He stepped closer, spreading them with his legs so the choice to obey was taken from her. He could just unzip, unzip and take her…
No.

He thrust the cello at her. “Play for me.
Something sexy, Caressa.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She knew exactly what the honorific did to him. She started playing, beautifully, with consummate skill, but he could barely hear her above the blood beating in his ears. Her parted knees were a revelation, a masterpiece, tapering down shapely calves to flexed feet on the floor, all of her sinuous body cradling her instrument and drawing such sounds from it…

He started to strip, knowing he had to be as naked as her and that he had to be inside her. She slowed a little, a
faltery
note—

“Keep playing,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

She obeyed, playing, but still watching him. When he was nude he crossed his arms over his chest only to keep them from reaching out for her. She looked up into his eyes and then down at his cock, and her lips parted. It was as much as he could take.

He stilled her bow, then took the cello and laid it on its side with the very last of his control. “Come.
On your knees.”
Those lovely
knees,
kneel on them for me. Obey me, beautiful girl.

She looked up at him, hesitating. Of course, she didn’t know how to do what he was asking for. He would show her. He would show her everything, give her everything. He would adore her forever for the way she looked up at him from her knees.

* * * * *

Caressa wanted to be his good girl. She would do anything for him when he looked at her that way. She felt loose and pliable as he took her face in rough hands,
then
leaned down to kiss her, deeply, passionately. She leaned back and moaned into his mouth as he explored her with his tongue, delving inside and insisting on more, more, more. Then he drew away and parted her lips with gentle fingers. “Open for me, Cara.”

He said
Cara
like the Italian, like Signore
Fiorenzo
said it sometimes. She knew it meant “dear” or “beloved.” The way he touched her and kissed her made her feel beloved, and she opened even though she was scared and uncertain if she could serve him the way he wanted. He guided his cock to her lips, and she clutched for his thighs, trying to balance, trying to sit up off her heels and accommodate him.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I know. Do your best.”

She knelt all the way up and he held her shoulders, letting her taste and
explore
him at her own pace. She swirled her tongue around the bulbous crown of his rod, thinking of kissing it, but not wanting to draw away. She took him deeper instead as he moved his hips forward, a sliding, smothering intrusion. She felt a frightening loss of control, a threat, but then he drew back, his fingers tightening and stroking across her back.

“Jesus, Caressa, you have no idea how great that feels. Don’t stop. Suck me. Lick me.” His words drove her like direct stimulation to her clit. She was so hot for him, for his godlike body and his quiet, explicit orders. He made her want to touch herself. She wanted to rub herself off, but somehow she sensed this act wasn’t about her.

He grabbed one of her hands and pulled it between his legs, showing her without words how to fondle and caress his balls. She still sucked him while he manipulated her hand, trying to do everything he asked of her. He took her other hand from where she’d braced it against his leg and placed it at the base of his cock where her mouth couldn’t reach. She felt awkward and clumsy in her movements but he was clearly enjoying himself, which gave her the courage to keep on. His groans and whispered encouragements mounted in intensity and his hands grasped in her hair. She panicked a little. Was he going to come in her mouth? No. He pulled away with a soft hiss.

“Bend over the bed.” He yanked her up and gave her a little shove in the right direction. Before she could bend over all the way he was behind her, sheathed and ready, once again nudging her legs apart. “Wide. Open to me, always, you little slut.” He said slut like an endearment, like
Cara
.
Beloved slut.
She was burning for him.

As soon as he parted her, as soon as he touched the head of his cock to her, she was trembling, close to orgasm. Everything he did…the way he looked at her, the way he touched her…it was a whole new world of wonders. She reached back, not knowing how to center herself in the midst of the storm he created inside her. She was scared he would hurt her, and scared he wouldn’t hurt her enough.

“Kyle…” she pleaded.

He took her hands and held them hard as he slid inside her to the hilt. He wrestled both arms behind her back and trapped them there, pressing down on her, restraining her. She ground her clit against the edge of the bed as he withdrew and fell forward again. “Please, please, Kyle…”

“Ask me nicely.”

She searched for words, coherent thoughts. “Please, Sir. Please make me come. I want to come.”

He reached under her with one dexterous hand, the other still clasping her tightly by the wrists. She felt like crying with relief as he touched the exact part of her that ached for
contact, that
triggered fireworks one touch at a time.

“Here?” he asked. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, God,” she wailed. She struggled against his fingers, arching up to press her back against his chest.

He held her hands even harder, fucking her faster while he touched her. “Let go, Cara. Let me make you come.”

She collapsed on the bed again, impaled. He took her roughly, his fingers sliding over her clit in rhythm to his thrusts. She felt the taut circle of his fingers around her wrist like a brand. She stopped struggling and let the crippling release wash over her, thankful for the mattress beneath her as her legs gave way.

Sensation burst wide, flooding her pelvis, her breasts and nipples. She rode the waves as he continued to pound into her, urging her to complete fulfillment before finding his own. Only then did he release her hands, which felt lifeless and floppy. All of her felt loose and floppy, except for the part of her he still cupped, lazily sliding one of his fingers in and out. He tangled his other hand in her curls, pulling her hair just enough to make her moan and come back to awareness.

“I like fucking you, Caressa Gallo,” he said. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

She peered back to find him wearing that casually sexy grin he was so good at. He was irresistible when he flirted. Really, it was ridiculous. “Get off me, you
perv
.”

“I see how it is.” He laughed, withdrawing from her limp form and tossing his condom in the trash. “You only summon up the ‘pleases’ and ‘Yes, Sirs’ when you need something. Like a big fat cock where it counts the most.”

She turned on the bed, laughing with him. “Is that wrong?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He effortlessly pulled her over one arm while his other hand started battering her ass cheeks with wicked, shocking spanks.

She yelped and reached back to shield
herself
from his assault, but he only grabbed her hand and smacked her harder. She was laughing too hard to cry out, but it hurt. She yanked at her hand again and soon they tumbled to the bed in a tangle. She tried to get away but he held her down and landed a few more fiery cracks.

“Stop.
Stop!” she howled. He finally released her.

“You’re making me hard again anyway.”

She glared at him, then down at his cock, which was indeed hardening again. “Jesus. You’re like a machine.”

“Lucky for you.
Now, just lie still. Stop trying to turn me on.”

“Trying to—what?” Caressa protested. “You’re the one who’s always attacking me!”

“
Shh
…lie still.” Kyle pinned her down again with a firm hand on her stomach, and with the other hand, began to toy with her curls. “Crazy girl,” he murmured. “Your hair…”

“Don’t touch it if you don’t like it.”

“I like it. It’s just a mess.” He began to twirl some of the curls beside her face, letting them drop against her cheek. She watched his eyes, so deep blue.
His full, sensual lips, his aristocratic nose.
She tried to fight the feelings flooding her chest. Love and need.
Infatuation.
That’s all it was. She couldn’t love him, she couldn’t need him. She didn’t have room in her life for a force as big as him. She turned her face away, but he turned it back again. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”
She sifted her brain for something to say under his scrutiny. “Why didn’t you come in my mouth?”
Oh, great one, Caressa.

Kyle gazed down at her in mild amusement. “Did you
want
me to come in your mouth? You little cum-hungry—”

Caressa dissolved into laughter.

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know if it would freak you out. You should ask me to get tested before we start swapping bodily fluids anyway.
If you want to go without condoms.
And you would have to go on the pill.”

“I’m already on the pill. One of the things we tried for my mood swings. It kept my periods regular so I stayed on it.”

“Didn’t do much for the moods though, did it?”

She pushed at him. “I hate you sometimes.”

Kyle chuckled and pulled her closer. “I’ll get tested if you want. Then we can go bareback. And I can
splooge
in the back of your throat as much as you want.”

“Kyle!”

“Cause you seem to want it. You seem to crave it, you little
—
oomph
.
”

They were wrestling again, her shoves and
elbows
no match for his brute force. He just rolled on top of her and grinned down at her.

“Just admit you’re thirsty for
my cum
and we can stop arguing about it.”

She shoved at him, still laughing. “Cut it out. Hey, I have something else to ask you, seriously.
As my assistant.”

He composed himself and rolled off her to his side. “I’m at your command.”

“So, you know that thing tomorrow?”

“That thing?
You mean the big meet-and-greet and Lincoln Center fundraiser at which you are the spotlight guest?
That thing?”

“Yeah, that. I was thinking about…maybe. I don’t know.
Dressing up a little.”

“Of course you have to dress up. You’re the guest of honor. So what were you thinking about wearing?”

Caressa was silent a moment. “I don’t know. I usually just wear my concert clothes—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no.”
Kyle shook his head. “I pictured you in more of a Galliano-type number. You
know,
those dresses where it looks like you’re being slowly ingested by a mountain of silk and lace.”

“Stop,” she said, laughing and poking him in the side. “I mean, I used to wear these really… I don’t know.
Dumb, babyish dresses.
Aunt Denise picked them out. I thought maybe you could help me find something more…”

“Mature?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to. It’s going to be close finding something by tomorrow though. You should have asked me sooner.”

“You’re my assistant. You should have known this was coming up and already picked out what I was going to wear.”

He thumped her on the head and chuckled. “You wouldn’t listen to me anyway. But what kind of style are you interested in?
Any particular designers?”

“Designers?”
Caressa wrinkled her nose. She sometimes forgot that Kyle used to work for some big movie star. “I was thinking about something classic. Sort of like…” She got up and walked over to her bookshelf, getting an old folder she’d filled with photos and clippings. She flipped through until she found the one she was searching for. She looked down at the young, blonde-haired woman, playing the cello in a champagne-colored off-the-shoulder gown.

“
Here.
” She took it to Kyle. “I don’t know the designer, but I like this.”

He studied the yellowed magazine clipping. “Let me guess. Miss du
Pré
.”

“Yes, it’s Jacqueline. I mean, I don’t want to be exactly like her. I want to have my own style, but I think…I think it’s pretty.”

Oh man, his smile always killed her. He cupped her face and kissed her. “I like it too. You would be pretty in anything. But I see you in red.
Or stark white.
Something dramatic and textured.”

She started to flush as he trailed kisses down her neck. “I don’t know. I’m open to possibilities. But do you think we’ll have time to find something nice by tomorrow?”

He looked back at her with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. You know the last-minute instrument repairmen. I know the last-minute wardrobe folks. I’ll make some calls.”