“Are you fighting, Emma?” I hear the huskiness of my own voice.
Again she meets my eye. “Until my last breath.”
I want so badly to see her fight- see her at my mercy.
Her head tilts, “Are you fighting, Bastian?”
I bite my lip at the breathy sound of my name on her lips. “More than you can imagine,” I respond, no longer sure if we’re talking about the Selection.
“Why?”
My jaw clenches at the challenge in her tone. How can one word hold such power?
Why? Why what, I want to ask. Instead, I retort, “Because ceding control is not something I do- taking it, however, is. So, I will fight to keep it.” Then, I grab the glass filled with amber liquid and bring it to my lips.
Emma gently places her fork on the plate in front of her. “One could say giving over control to the right person is the most powerful show of control.”
Does she even know what she’s implying?
I stare at her over my glass before taking a sip of whiskey. The burn enters my bloodstream, fueling a simmering fire within me. “I don’t think you understand what it means to offer yourself over to someone to control you, and you should be careful because a weaker man would take advantage,” I state. I’m met with her tinkling laughter.
“I think you’re full of shit Sebastian Grant. I think when met with a challenge, you hide behind your veil of perceived control when it’s really just a crutch.”
Placing my glass back on the table, I push out my chair as the dessert is brought out. “Is that right, Little Spitfire?” I grab the blackberry on the side of the dish and bring it to my mouth, biting off a small piece and licking the juices from the corner of my mouth, enjoying the way Emma’s eyes follow the movement of my tongue. Then I lean into her space, bringing the dark rich fruit to her lips. She opens, and I rub her lips until they’re painted in the blackberry juices. “Do you think I’m afraid to control you, Emma?” I ask, bringing the berry back to my mouth and eating it. “Do you think I am a man that denies themselves what they truly want to possess for very long?” I growl, then bring my mouth to her and suck on her blackberry-stained bottom lip. She moans, and the sound shoots straight to my dick. Reluctantly, I release her mouth and use my hand to clear everything from the table. “I think it’s time you learn why I was holding back.”
Her shocked gasp gives me enough time to lift her from her seat and lay her on the table. “Sebas-,” she begins to object, but my finger lands on her mouth, silencing her.
“The time for talking is done- from now on, the only time I want to hear you speak is when you’re asked to count and you are to address me as Sir.” My dick throbs at the sight of her eyes bulging with my directives. “Do you understand, Emma?”
She nods, and I tsk. “That’s one. Let’s try this again, shall we? Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she mumbles, and I lift my finger from her lips. “Oh, I see we have a little brat present. That’s two. Do you know two of what that is?”
She shakes her head. “That’s three.” I smile. “Tonight is going to be such a lovely lesson for you in what it means to relinquish control.” I unbutton my sleeves and roll them to my elbow.
“The only lesson I’m getting so far is that you’re all talk,” she sasses.
“Four,” I breathe, trying to contain my excitement. “Do you know there are many ways to elicit pleasure while teaching someone manners?” I glide my finger up her exposed thigh, thankful she’s wearing a dress. I took the time earlier to admire the designer, but now, I just want the black fabric blocking her luscious curves from my sight gone.
Her breath hitches when I reach right under her breasts- the swell of them makes me eager to see how many times I can bring her right to the precipice without falling over through nipple play. As if they can hear me, the peaks fight to poke through the fabric of her bra, and I oblige their entrance, welcoming them by rubbing her left nipple between the tips of my fingers, and she whimpers.
So fucking responsive.
I pull my hand back, and she whines. “Five. I’ll keep counting until you realize everything is now under my control. I’m going to get something from my bathroom. I want you naked with your legs spread by the time I return,” I instruct, turning and striding from the room. I want to rush, but anticipation is another form of foreplay.
Walking into my bedroom, I grab the box I bought months ago- the one I hoped, but wasn’t sure, I’d ever use. I open it, ensuring everything’s still inside before bringing it to the bathroom to clean the tools. Once everything is clean, I grab the lube and head back downstairs to see a very naked and flushed Emma spread across my dinner table. “Fuck,” I grit as I see her pussy clench and release, and I imagine what she’ll feel like around cock.
“It took you fucking long enough, Sir,” she mocks, and I grin.
“Seven- that’s two more for that mouth. Tonight, you’ll count down from seven and then back up,” I announce, walking up between her legs and bending to sniff her already wet opening. No longer able to control myself, I bury my face between her legs and feast.
“Oh shit,” Emma screams, and I feel her catapult from the table, her hands gripping my hair as my tongue swirls around her clit. I feel her legs begin to shake, and I pull away. She squeals in protest.
“Count,” I murmur against her pussy.
“Seven.”
“Seven, what?” I demand.
“Seven, Sir,” she whimpers.
I stand. “Good. Now you understand how this will work. First, you’ll count down from seven each time you’re denied your pleasure. Then you’ll count up to seven each time you’re awarded it. Do you understand?”
Emma looks up through lidded eyes, hunger with lust and excitement. “Yes, Sir.”
I drop the box and lube on the table, then return my mouth to her clit as I slide two digits into her waiting pussy. She must be still riding the near orgasm from before because her walls begin to grip my fingers when my lips increase the suction on her clit. She moans louder- her body begins to shake, and again I pull away.
“No,” she shouts, and I lower my mouth and nip her clit.
“Count. That’s the only words coming from you right now,” I demand.
“Six, Sir,” she says through clenched teeth.
“I’m not sure you can last under my control. Would you like me to stop?” I probe as I stand between her legs.
She rolls her eyes, “Didn’t you just tell me not to speak?” I arch a brow. “Sir,” she adds.
I can’t wait to see just how much she moans ‘Sir’ willingly by the end of this.
Hovering over her prone form, I lower my mouth to her nipple, biting the raised peak between my teeth before swirling my tongue over the reddened tip as my hand brushes between her legs and my thumb rubs her clit. Emma begins to squirm while she pants, signaling she’s close again. I pull back again, unlatching my mouth from her nipple and removing my hands from her pussy.
I watch her nostrils flare, but no vitriol leaves her lips. Instead, she mumbles, “Five, Sir.” My prompting is no longer necessary.
Smiling, I immediately begin to wind her body up again- each time inching her right to the edge before denying her- each stroke bringing her almost there, making her more eager the next time. My hunger for her grows as she counts down on moans and whines of frustration.
My mouth is between her legs as Emma counts down for the final time. “One, Sir,” she cries, and I crush my lips back over her clit, swirling my tongue until she crashes into her first orgasm, her body shaking.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.