On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,94
with the need for release. And though I have very little use of my hands, I manage to squeeze his balls, and am rewarded when that added touch sends him tumbling over. He explodes in my mouth, clutching my hair tight. And as he does, hot threads of pleasure shoot through me to pool between my legs, bringing me that much closer to my own release.
I manage to swallow, and when he pulls out, both of us breathing hard and satisfied, I cannot deny that despite my submission—despite being held in place and fucked hard—I am absolutely light-headed from the power of this moment.
“Christ, sweetheart. I think you just about destroyed me.”
My body tingles with the praise. “In a good way, I hope.”
“In the absolute best way.” He scoops me up and holds me close to his chest as he bends to kiss me. When he straightens, I hold my still-bound hands up, then lift my brows in question.
“Oh, no,” he says. “Not even close.”
And the words, said with such potent ardor, send a fresh shiver of anticipation coursing through me.
He carries me to the bedroom and puts me gently on my feet in front of the mattress. “On your knees.” He gives the order as he peels me the rest of the way out of my destroyed dress. “Facedown. Elbows on the bed. And, baby,” he adds as he tosses my bra toward a nearby chair, “I want to see your ass up high.”
I am now clothed only in my thong, the vibrator necklace that I have worn daily as ordered, and my shoes—black slides with three-inch heels. I do as he says, and as I climb onto the mattress, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. My skin glows, and my eyes sparkle. I look radiant with pleasure, and when I meet Jackson’s eyes in the reflection, his stern, commanding countenance breaks for just a moment to reveal a small smile of approval.
“You were made for this,” he says. “For me.”
He nods toward the bed as he steps toward me, and I look away, positioning myself as he asked. He steps behind me, then strokes his palm lightly down the line of my spine before cupping the globe of my ass.
“You are mine, Sylvia. From the first moment I saw you in Atlanta, I knew that there was no other woman for me. Not before, and not ever again. You are the light that fills my days and illuminates my nights.” I close my eyes, lost in both the meaning of his words and the passion with which he speaks them. “You are the rhythm of my heart.”
He slides the thong’s thin strip of material aside, then slips his fingers into my cunt before stroking my perineum. He teases my ass, and I bite my lower lip. The sensation is incredible, and when he presses against me, I feel my muscles clench, then relax as he gently slides a finger inside me.
“Oh yes,” he says, as I gasp from the unexpected pleasure of this new invasion. “You belong to me. But I’m yours, too. Wholly and completely.”
He is sliding his finger deeper inside, and his words, so sensual and soft, are in direct contrast to this deeply prurient touch. He orders me to stay still as he continues to tease my rear as my body adjusts. And, yes, as I crave more.
Too soon, he slides out, and I whimper. “The lady liked that,” Jackson says, still standing behind me. “One day, we’ll try more than a finger.”
The promise excites me, and when he lightly smacks my bottom, the impact sets off a chain reaction inside me. I shiver as electric sparks seem to spread out from my clit, like a tiny preview of a massive orgasm to come.
“Don’t move,” he says, and then leaves the room. I immediately mourn the loss of contact, and it is all I can do not to beg him to return.
I hear him moving in the suite. Drawers opening. Things rattling. Is he in the kitchen?
Then I hear his footsteps as he returns, and I start to turn my head to look at him, but am stilled by his sharp, quick, “no.”
I stop, then move only long enough to face forward.
Soon enough, he is behind me again. He rests a possessive hand on my back, and I am surprised by how much this calms me. As if the world is simply not right without the brush of Jackson’s