The Master (4 page)

I froze with confusion. Most guys liked it when topless girls straddled them.

“You just assume I
wanted
you atop me?” He couldn’t sound more cutting. He grabbed me, lifting me to the side—as if to fling my body off him.

Yet then he stilled. His hands were so big on me, his fingers covered a good bit of my ass. After a hesitation—when we seemed suspended in the moment—he began to knead me. When he
lowered his hands to grip my curves, a low groan escaped him. But he still held me upright.

Again, something was happening that I didn’t understand, as if some inner battle were being played out. In my lust-dimmed mind, I wondered if he tied women up and fucked them from behind
because he didn’t like to touch too much of them.

Just when I’d decided that was the case, I found myself settled back over him, the raised bulge of his cock directly between my legs. Had I won this round?

His anger seemed to have been put on hold, but he wasn’t ready to concede defeat. “You still refuse to give me what I want?”

And he was going along with my refusal? Emboldened, I leaned in next to his ear. “I’m going to give you what you
need, Ruso
.” The wine and my arousal were making my own
accent thicken even more. My stiffened nipples brushed the fine cashmere of his sweater, which felt incredible, so I skimmed them again.

What would it take to get this man’s mouth on my breasts? When I imagined him sucking me . . . a soft moan escaped my lips, my back subtly arching.

He clamped his hand over my nape. “What kind of escort brazenly denies a client? You’re either starving at this job—or making a fortune. . . .” He trailed off when I
rolled my hips, running my pussy over his cock, with only my moistened panties and his slacks between us.

I gasped at the sensation, breaths shallowing. My clitoris began to throb.

He drew his hands away, resting his arms over the back of the couch again, as if he’d made a conscious decision not to touch me. I got the impression that I was being tested
somehow—or that
he
was. “Put your hands behind your back. Now.”

He probably expected me to clasp my elbows. “Of course.” Instead, I dropped my hands directly behind my ass, grasping high on his thighs to hold my balance.

He tensed again, but before he could say another word, I whipped my hips over his length. My head fell back as I moaned. I’d forgotten how irresistible sexual play could be, had forgotten
about uncontrollable urges and the hardness of a man’s body.

I faced the Russian, beginning to ride him. Though his gaze was rapt on our point of contact, he refused to move his own hips to meet me. No matter. The bulge of his zipper had lined up with my
swollen clitoris, my soaked panties rubbing that bud.
Fricción!
Sultry, damp friction . . . sent me ever closer to orgasm. Soon I was panting, grinding him like a pole dancer.

He clutched the couch, his long fingers gone white-knuckled. “Is this what you think I need?” His voice alone could make me come. The husky timbre had only deepened. “To be
ridden?”

“I think you need passion.” I certainly did.

“Maybe if it wasn’t feigned.”

I nearly laughed. “Oh, I’m not feigning anything.” How to tell him I would climax soon?

“Wait.” He seized my shimmying hips, holding me still. “Up.”

Confused, I put my hands on his shoulders and rose up on my knees. Was he kicking me off again? Then I followed his narrow-eyed gaze.

His slacks, which probably cost thousands, now had a damp spot over his groin. I’d wetted him through my panties.

I should have been worried about his reaction, but I was too far gone to care. I dropped as low as his hands would allow, wanting my pussy back atop his hot hardness.

He grated, “
Blyad´!
” Whatever that meant. “You’re truly wet for me. Very wet. You’ve been using me to get off?”

“
Por Dios
, why are you talking so much?” I said between breaths. “Want to come,
Ruso
.”

He blinked at me. The cool, detached Russian looked stunned. “Then by all means.” He released his grip. “Continue.”

“
Gracias.
” I sighed with relief, letting my nipples skim his chest on my way down. If he’d allowed that . . . I threaded my fingers through his hair and leaned in to
kiss his neck. When I gave a little suck over his pulse point, his head tipped back.

I lost the ridge of his zipper, so I writhed atop him, hunting for it. Had his hips finally moved? Did he want that contact too?

I found the perfect spot. “
Ay, perfección.
”

When I set back in, he faced me, his blue gaze flicking from my eyes, to my lips, down to my tits and thong and back.

As I pleasured myself, his own lips caught my attention. They were as attractive as everything else about him. The fuller bottom one had a sexy dip in the middle. What would it be like to kiss
him?

Ivanna said it bonded people too much, and that you had to save something special for a lover in your life. I had no lover, and no fear of bonding. Right now, hovering on the edge of orgasm, I
had no fears at all! I gazed at his lips, licking my own.

“You think I need to be kissed?” His words were hoarse.

“Doesn’t everyone—”

He bucked his hips hard, rocking his unyielding cock against my panties.

At last! “Oh!
Fricción . . .
Do it again,
por favor
.”

He did it again. And again. Soon he was groaning with each thrust, but the sound was pained, as if he were getting punched in the stomach at the end of each one—or cutting himself off.

I’d think about all this—later. “Don’t stop!”

As he shoved against my pussy, I muttered incomprehensible things, switching from one language back to the other, struggling to communicate that I was on the verge. “Oh, my God.
Ay,
Dios mío
.”

“You’re about to come?” he asked in a strained voice.

“About to combust!” I clasped his face with both hands.

Our gazes locked. His was still defiant and angry, his chin jutting stubbornly—even as he met my undulations.

“No, no,
cariño
.” Rubbing my thumb over his bottom lip, I whispered, “
No te pongas bravo conmigo.
Don’t be angry with me. We’ll both feel good
soon.” I leaned down and covered his mouth with my own. His lips were firm and hot. I licked the seam of them, whimpering. My movements quickened until I was bucking over the Russian’s
cock.

He parted his lips; the tip of my tongue found his, the spark that set off—

Pleasure. Exploding. Electrifying me.

Currents sizzled through my veins to make way for . . .
fire
.

“
Mmmm!
” I cried out into his mouth. Bliss engulfed me, forcing my hips to gyrate on him. Lost, I rubbed my tits against his chest. I moaned, riding him like a toy as my pussy
contracted over and over.

Only as sanity returned and the spasms faded did I realize he wasn’t returning the kiss. I drew back.

He’d gone completely still. That strain within him only grew. “You kissed me. You
came
. That was not supposed to happen.”

“It was the heat of the moment.
No te pongas
—”

He wrapped my hair around his fist, forcing me closer till our lips met.

When I gasped, he set in with a fervor. He kissed as if he hadn’t taken a woman’s lips in years, as if he’d only been storing up need. I panted; he heaved breaths. His hands
dropped to clench my half-bare ass.

A growl sounded from his chest. An actual growl. The idea of inspiring that kind of lust turned me on so much, my arousal returned multiplied. I held his face between my hands and sucked on his
tongue. He groaned, his fingers digging into my curves as I started grinding on him again.

I broke away for a breath. “What are you doing to me?”

“I could ask you the same,” he bit out in a baffled tone. “I detest surprises. I don’t tolerate them. And yet . . .” His brows drew together. He looked . . . not
calculating
, but something akin to that—as if he were working out the angles of a problem. “Still here,” he muttered to himself. He yanked me close, burying his face
against my breasts, lips seeking.

I arched to his mouth.

“The moment I saw these pouty nipples, I feared I couldn’t let you go until I’d sucked them.”

Feared? Why would he . . . My thoughts grew dim when he turned his head to take a nipple between his lips, dragging his tongue over the sensitive peak. When he suckled it with a groan, I cried
out, “Finally!” I was on fire again! Raw inside. Needing
more
.

He turned to the other one, muttering, “So sweet and plump. They tease my tongue.” Once he’d left that one wet and aching as well, he pulled me back to face him, excitement in
his expression. “All of this is acceptable.”

“I-I certainly think so.”

“
Very
acceptable.”

Okay? What was going on here? I sensed in him a seething need for me, barely contained—and building. Another woman might fear it; I drank it in like wine.

“Ah, little Cat.” A gleam shone in his wicked blue eyes. “You’re about to get fucked. Hard.”

H
e laid me back on the couch, looming over me, predatory. Without warning, he grabbed both of my ankles in one of his hands, lifting my body
up as he snatched my thong off and tossed the silk away.

“Spread your thighs.”

Confused by this turnaround, I tentatively did. Eyes riveted to my pussy, he licked his lips. “So lush. I can
see
your need. Did you enjoy the orgasm you stole?”

“Stole?”

He knelt on the couch, reaching between my legs. He ran his forefinger along my lips, spreading my moisture, then rubbed me right over my entrance.

My lids went heavy as I watched his face. His gaze was keen with fascination as I grew even wetter for him. I got the impression that he hadn’t fingered a girl in forever. Of course, his
“script” hadn’t called for it.

He teased my opening until I was squirming, about to shove myself down on his finger. “You just get wetter and wetter. I could make you come again, only from this.”

Yes, but I’d lose my mind! “
Más.
Give me more, Máxim.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You call me Máxim?”

“I’ll call you whatever you want if you finger me more.” My toes were curling in my stilettos.

As he probed deeper, inch by inch, I moaned from the filling sensation.

“Your little clit’s so swollen. Do you want me to rub it?”

“
Yes!
”

“Or do you need to be fucked?”

“Both! Either! Anything . . .”

Yet then he frowned. “Your pussy’s tight.
Very
tight.”

Would he know that I hadn’t had sex in forever?
Need to distract him.
“I’ll be this tight around your cock,
querido
.”

He pumped his finger inside me. “Tell me you want it.” He laid his free hand over one of my breasts, thumbing a nipple.

“Yes, I want your cock!” My thighs quivered. I tripped toward another orgasm, and he hadn’t even touched my clit. I’d never felt so much pleasure with a man; I
loved
being an escort!

He pinched my other nipple. “Then I won’t give it to you yet.” He stilled the hand between my legs. “Fuck my finger.” Again I sensed a surge of anticipation in him,
as if he were a kid with a new toy.

Shameless with need, I began to move against his hand, sending his finger in and out of my pussy. I was already about to levitate when his thumb made contact with my aching clit.
“
Ummm!
”

He rubbed it with slow circles while fingering my core.

My eyes rolled back in my head, and I arched my back, stiffened nipples pointed at the ceiling.

“You’re about to come again?” he asked in disbelief. “Look at me.”

With difficulty, I raised my head.

“You don’t come without my permission.”

Qué?
I had no control.

“Ask me for my permission. Say ‘Can I come for you?’ ”

Confused, I whispered the question.

I didn’t realize I’d spoken in Spanish until he rasped, “In English, beautiful girl.”

“Can I come for you?”

“Not until I tell you.” He wedged another finger into my core, screwing them into my tightness.

The fullness sent me over the edge. “
Máxim!
” The fire was back, searing every inch of my body. As I thrashed my head, I dimly heard him telling me he could feel my
pussy squeezing, that I’d been bad, and he’d punish me for coming without permission.

But all the while he thrust his big fingers and circled his thumb, drawing out my orgasm, forcing me to ride each mindless wave, each delicious spasm. . . .

When he withdrew from me, I moaned with loss, still not sated. For some reason, I was even hornier than when we’d started.

His smoldering gaze raked over my naked body, taking in my glistening pussy, my flushed chest, my swollen breasts—even my hair fanning out wildly from my head. He reached forward, grasping
a lock. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he grated, and immediately frowned, dropping my hair. Was he surprised that he found me sexy—or that he’d told me? “You want me
too.”