The bliss pulsed through me, my clit so big and hard I bucked my hips up as if trying to rub it against air. How could something feel so good and so bad at the same time? What was wrong with me? My ass still stung from the spanking, and I had caught myself rubbing it against the floor to wake up the sting. I wanted more. Wanted him to spank my ass with his fingers buried in my pussy again until I came all over him, ass in the air. Screaming.
Please. Please.
He was fucking ripped, muscles and scars and power, like a god standing at the door with his toys and his eyes so hot they burned my skin every time he looked at me. His pants were gone, and his big cock jutted out. It was a reminder that I wasn’t the only one affected here. I knew no guy who pulled out and walked away once he’d gotten his dick buried deep. His hard length was a dark plum color, the head like a huge ass fire helmet. Pre-cum slipped down it, and I wanted to taste it, to flick it off.
I wanted to say it. Master. One stupid word shouldn’t be so hard to say. It was just sex. A game.
Except this was no game, and somehow, deep down, I knew that if I said the word, I’d be in deep, deep trouble.
Yet I hadn’t used my safe word. End this one way or the other. I could say it and be done. I’d win.
And then what? Would I win? It seemed the only way to have a winner was if I said the words, and he fucked me. We’d both win, both get the orgasm we both needed like air.
If the safe word came from my lips, I’d still want more, and he’d dump me on Trion. Turn me over to some other Trion male who wanted me to call him master? Or worse, I’d go home to Earth and hook up with some loser who could barely pull his head away from his phone long enough to kiss me a couple times before getting himself off?
Isaak was standing there, cock hard and balls probably bluer than Ulza the wicked witch’s skin. He wasn’t taking. Well, he wanted me to call him master, but he was giving. Giving me pleasure. Showing me how I could feel if I just gave over. I’d get what I wanted. His cock. An orgasm.
But only then would he get his pleasure, too.
Damn it. Fuck. Frustration built inside me like steam in a tea kettle, and I was about to blow.
“Call me master,” he said once more.
I shook my head. “No.”
He studied me for long minutes that felt like an hour as I laid on the floor looking up at him, admiring his chest. His dark hair. The cut of his jaw. The thick cock that jutted heavily from between his powerful legs. He really was gorgeous. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to feel safe and treasured and… safe.
“I see. Perhaps you require a different sort of persuasion.”
If I had the energy left, I would have rolled my eyes at the dramatic statement, but the truth was, I didn’t. Every cell and fiber of my being was focused on holding onto the pleasure that was drifting away like clouds in the wind leaving me cold and lonely.
Again.
I blinked, and he was next to me, lifting me onto his lap, but this time I faced him, straddled his hips, and his cock slid inside my wet core like we’d been made for one another. I cried out at the feel of him once again stretching me open, filling me up.
“You will eventually call me master, Zara. You will surrender.”
“No.” I denied him even as his cock slipped deeper, striking my womb.
“I will earn your trust, gara. I demanded too much, too soon, as is my nature. But I will learn what you need, and yo
u will surrender.”
Afraid he was right, I didn’t deny his words. Instead, I reached for his hair and pulled his lips to mine for a soul-crushing kiss.
I shifted my hips, riding him, trying to take what I needed. He wrapped his hands around me, crushing me to his chest, restricting my movement. I nearly sobbed in frustration. My nipples caressed by the stroke of skin on skin as our chests met. I felt him move oddly, and the devices activated once more.
With his cock buried deep, I screamed as the orgasm instantly rolled over me like a tank crushing a daisy. One. Then two. The aftershocks were so strong they led to a third, and he hadn’t even moved. He held my head in his hands, tilted my face to his, and held my gaze as my body became something else, not mine.
His.
When I was too weak to do anything but collapse against his chest, he groaned, hands fisted in my hair, holding me tightly as his cock jumped, and he found his own release, his seed coating my core with heat and a ridiculous possessiveness I had never felt before.
His scent filled my head with warmth. Safety. Contentment. I relaxed in his arms, and he stroked my sweaty back like I was precious. Special. Safe. The illusion, if it were one, was too damn good to dismiss, so I stayed where I was, content to play pretend for as long as we could.
I hadn’t said my safe word. Yet I hadn’t said the word he wanted either. We’d both given in.
Still, maybe I could somehow be his. Maybe. But maybe, he could be mine, too.