her soul to him hurt in ways she couldn't have
expected.
He gave a single nod. "Are you okay?
About all of it?"
"About the marriage dissolving, yes. It
was over a long time ago." She could admit it now. Then she'd been
too blind, too naïve. "About the rest of it … I will be. Time will
help. So will New Orleans, new friends, a new life."
"What's in New Orleans?"
Smiling, she wound the sheet into a
knot she held between her breasts. "My brother. He owns a
restaurant there and he's promised to put me to work in the
kitchen."
"You cook?" he asked, a brow arching as
the suffocating mood broke away.
"I do. Not professionally, though I'd
put my food up against that of any chef any day. It was the one
contribution I made to the marriage that Mark couldn't
fault."
"But he tried."
"Oh, yeah." Boy, had he tried. "Our
guests, most often his partners and their wives, told him he was
insane. My dinner parties were always a hit."
While she'd talked, he'd slouched back
in the chair, relaxing as he'd listened. And she didn't know if he
was even aware that his right hand had strayed to his
cock.
She watched as he touched himself,
cupping his palm over his glans, tugging down on his growing
erection. He stroked, fisting his shaft until it stood thick, the
bead of moisture that oozed from the tip making up her
mind.
She left the bed, walked naked toward
him, and dropped to her knees between his legs. She placed her hand
over his, mimicking, learning, slid her other beneath his cock to
his balls.
He budged his hips forward, slumping on
his spine and closing his eyes, giving her permission to do as she
pleased.
As she pleased meant licking away the
moisture and teasing his slit with the tip of her tongue. As she
pleased meant ringing her fingers beneath the ridge of his head and
tonguing the underside seam.
Groaning, he reached down to lift a
lock of her hair and sift the strands between his fingers before
tucking it behind her ear. And she held his gaze as she opened her
mouth and took him fully inside.
He was heavy and warm and a mouthful,
the veins on his shaft distended, the skin of his glans stretched
smooth. She sucked him and released him, then closed her lips
around him and slid to the base of his shaft.
He bobbed against the roof of her
mouth, against the back of her throat, and she held him wrapped in
one hand as she drew her pressed lips along his length in reverse.
When he groaned, she repeated the process, stroking and squeezing
and breathing him in.
He smelled like sex, tasted like sex,
clean and salty, a musky, earthy warmth. Arousal coiled in her
belly, and she clenched her pussy in a rhythmic fucking motion that
heightened her hunger.
She wanted more, not of sex but of him,
of Donovan True, and she released his cock, lifting it, licking her
way down the underside of his shaft to his balls. She licked them,
too, taking them gently into her mouth then letting them go and
moving to his thighs, to his belly, rising to kiss her way up his
chest and meeting his gaze as she did.
She felt small, there on
the floor on her knees, felt strangely submissive when he hadn't
asked her to do a thing. And for all his size and strength, she
knew she had the power here. He was at her mercy, and that aroused her more than anything at
all.
"What do you want?" she asked him,
waiting, willing to do anything.
He laughed, a humorless sound of greedy
want, low and harsh and raw. "You give me a choice like that, you
better be ready."
Hands braced on his thighs, she leaned
forward, caught one of his nipples between her teeth and tugged,
swirling her tongue around and around, gouging the surrounding
muscle with her chin, blowing on the dampness she'd left
there.
"Anything you want," she told
him.
That laugh again, though this time he
cupped her face, his gaze fiery and more than a little bit
fearsome. "Turn around. Hands and knees."
She did his bidding, waited with her
breath held as he sheathed his cock and positioned himself
expected.
He gave a single nod. "Are you okay?
About all of it?"
"About the marriage dissolving, yes. It
was over a long time ago." She could admit it now. Then she'd been
too blind, too naïve. "About the rest of it … I will be. Time will
help. So will New Orleans, new friends, a new life."
"What's in New Orleans?"
Smiling, she wound the sheet into a
knot she held between her breasts. "My brother. He owns a
restaurant there and he's promised to put me to work in the
kitchen."
"You cook?" he asked, a brow arching as
the suffocating mood broke away.
"I do. Not professionally, though I'd
put my food up against that of any chef any day. It was the one
contribution I made to the marriage that Mark couldn't
fault."
"But he tried."
"Oh, yeah." Boy, had he tried. "Our
guests, most often his partners and their wives, told him he was
insane. My dinner parties were always a hit."
While she'd talked, he'd slouched back
in the chair, relaxing as he'd listened. And she didn't know if he
was even aware that his right hand had strayed to his
cock.
She watched as he touched himself,
cupping his palm over his glans, tugging down on his growing
erection. He stroked, fisting his shaft until it stood thick, the
bead of moisture that oozed from the tip making up her
mind.
She left the bed, walked naked toward
him, and dropped to her knees between his legs. She placed her hand
over his, mimicking, learning, slid her other beneath his cock to
his balls.
He budged his hips forward, slumping on
his spine and closing his eyes, giving her permission to do as she
pleased.
As she pleased meant licking away the
moisture and teasing his slit with the tip of her tongue. As she
pleased meant ringing her fingers beneath the ridge of his head and
tonguing the underside seam.
Groaning, he reached down to lift a
lock of her hair and sift the strands between his fingers before
tucking it behind her ear. And she held his gaze as she opened her
mouth and took him fully inside.
He was heavy and warm and a mouthful,
the veins on his shaft distended, the skin of his glans stretched
smooth. She sucked him and released him, then closed her lips
around him and slid to the base of his shaft.
He bobbed against the roof of her
mouth, against the back of her throat, and she held him wrapped in
one hand as she drew her pressed lips along his length in reverse.
When he groaned, she repeated the process, stroking and squeezing
and breathing him in.
He smelled like sex, tasted like sex,
clean and salty, a musky, earthy warmth. Arousal coiled in her
belly, and she clenched her pussy in a rhythmic fucking motion that
heightened her hunger.
She wanted more, not of sex but of him,
of Donovan True, and she released his cock, lifting it, licking her
way down the underside of his shaft to his balls. She licked them,
too, taking them gently into her mouth then letting them go and
moving to his thighs, to his belly, rising to kiss her way up his
chest and meeting his gaze as she did.
She felt small, there on
the floor on her knees, felt strangely submissive when he hadn't
asked her to do a thing. And for all his size and strength, she
knew she had the power here. He was at her mercy, and that aroused her more than anything at
all.
"What do you want?" she asked him,
waiting, willing to do anything.
He laughed, a humorless sound of greedy
want, low and harsh and raw. "You give me a choice like that, you
better be ready."
Hands braced on his thighs, she leaned
forward, caught one of his nipples between her teeth and tugged,
swirling her tongue around and around, gouging the surrounding
muscle with her chin, blowing on the dampness she'd left
there.
"Anything you want," she told
him.
That laugh again, though this time he
cupped her face, his gaze fiery and more than a little bit
fearsome. "Turn around. Hands and knees."
She did his bidding, waited with her
breath held as he sheathed his cock and positioned himself
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