Read Suspiciously Obedient Page 32 book by Julia Kent

Suspiciously Obedient

Page 32

This. Fingers closing around his shaft, she stroked once, gently, as his teeth nipped her, the sensual pain sending splinters of thrill throughout her nerve endings.

“I’m ready to finish what I’m starting,” she said in a smoky voice, and he chuckled, the sound as seductive and engaging as any she’d ever heard in bed.

“Oh, no, Lydia,” Jeremy murmured, coming up to kiss her with a demure, sweet buss. “You’ve started something that I intend to finish.” Her hand dropped him as he ran his tongue along the edge of her ear, sending shivers through her, curling her toes. The trail migrated south between her breasts, making her nipples bead once more, stopping briefly at her navel and then those hands parted her legs. Strong arms slid under her, his body folded and bowing before her, as if in prayer, the supplication to her womanhood complete.

And when his tongue touched her with a stroke that made her sigh, it wasn’t just lust that made her feel pleasure—it was the steady, happy knowledge that this was Jeremy, accepting, relaxed, casual Jeremy, who had done as he was asked and who was taking care of her.

Admirably.

A brief, fleeting thought of Mike and her threesome dream zoomed through her mind as Jeremy took his time, a man clearly accustomed to spending as much effort and grace on pleasuring a woman as was needed—and enjoying every second. Dreams of the two men with her were new, and she found herself fully enthralled now, the brief interlude of Mike pushing out to the edge as Jeremy expertly strummed her to full release. Stopping just as she was about to crest, he slid one finger inside her and resumed, the break giving her a chance to build an even stronger release, one she desperately needed, hands buried in the sheets, one stroking his hair, until she came so close, her core clamping down and…

He stopped.

“But, but …” she sputtered.

“I finish this,” he said, coming up to her, giving her a taste of herself with his kiss. “You finish when I tell you.” A cold chain of steel made its way from tailbone to the base of her neck, heightening her arousal with the unexpected tone he used. His voice was so dark and mysterious, though his body lay before her, nude and tanned, muscles liquid and languid. Control. He was in complete control, her orgasm right on the tip—well, of his tongue.

Damn it.

Was this how he played the game in bed? Because two could play that one.

Lydia had no problem learning the rules. She was, after all, an expert in malicious obedience.

Flipping places, she straddled him, her hands balanced on his chest, her own body curvy and juicy where his was taut and lean. The contrast amused her, for they complemented each other, as if an artist put their different lines together for good composition; no self-conscious silliness with Jeremy. On display, she reveled in how he studied her, and then she moved down, her lips and tongue ready for their share of control.

He was rock hard, her lips easily stretching over his tip, and as she stroked with one hand, mouth melting over him, she realized he was intact. This was a first for her, and it made her smile and chuckle lightly to herself. A rite of passage. How cool.

“Oh, Lydia. I just love it when a woman laughs at my dick while giving me a blowjob.”

“Happens often, huh?” she shot back, now giggling hysterically. What had been sultry and intense was now descending into high-school goofiness and she couldn’t help herself.

“More often than you would think,” he muttered. She snorted, now overcome with hysteria, Jeremy staring morosely and mugging as if he were truly upset.

“It’s…you’re…intact,” she said through fits and starts.

“Yes,” he replied, drawing out the word, staring at his own dick.

“I’ve never touched one…been with a man who…it’s new,” she gasped through her dwindling laughter.

“It works the same as a cut one, I assure you,” he answered, leading her hand back to it. “Even better,” he bragged.

That just made her laugh harder, her breasts bouncing, catching Jeremy’s eye. Unlike other encounters in bed with men, this one felt so...normal. Uninhibited. So real it made a part of her unfurl and bloom, eager to really be in a state of nature with this man. No judgment. No vying for control. No assumptions. They were two nude people traveling across each others bodies, seeking new trails, peaks and valleys. And best of all, he was so utterly comfortable in his own body that he put her at ease. Between his eyes and hands worshiping her and his playfulness, she found herself falling even more for him.

“Maybe you could stare at it a bit longer and laugh more. I’m liking the view.” He bobbed his head in time with her laughter, tilting his head, a treasured smile on his lips.

And she lost it. Sex was supposed to be deep and dark, filled with silence spiked by groans and grunts. Laughter and jokes weren’t part of her sexual repertoire, and yet the mood shifted on a dime, back to serious, as she used long, soft strokes to bring back his erection, his eyes closing as he reclined back in bed, the giggles dispersing fast. Both were on edge sexually, and as she lowered her mouth to him, he sighed, legs tensing and rod swelling in her mouth, the tip gleaming and slick.

Enveloping him with her mouth, she used both her hand and her tongue to tease and lure, coaxing his orgasm to the surface just as he’d done the same to her—and then she stopped.

“Who is in charge now?” she murmured.

“We both are.” Pulling her hips to his face, he positioned them so that she straddled his mouth, the action so erotic she felt a flush hit her whole body with such force it felt cold. Exposed, riding his face, he pulled her onto him as he hand froze, the sensation of his tongue on her, in her, hands roaming over her ass and hips as she began to thrust against him with her hips, finding a rhythm his mouth mastered intuitively, reading her signals and her sighs like a linguist.

A cunning linguist.

Her sensuality and ease in bed caught him completely by surprise, making him cherish her all the more. Jokes and banter in bed was a huge no-no for most women, but not Lydia. What he wanted right now, though, was no joke, needing to taste her, to feel her on him, to revel in her juices and to make her come so hard she would crack the headboard on his bed.

The challenge awaited.

As he parted her folds and found her clit, sucking it lightly, he felt her body tighten. It wasn't a sensual movement, but rather that of a woman who hesitated, embarrassed. Why were women so self-conscious about this particular act? The scent of a woman in complete abandon on him, giving him full access, his hands finding her hips and lushness, letting him use his mouth and tongue to bring about her inner power – that was erotic. That was sensual.

It was divine.

She was a goddess on top of him, letting him give her all the control. Sensing her temerity, he rolled her hips off him, the raw sexuality and her own fears co-mingling in a chaotic frenzy that he navigated very, very carefully. Whatever he said next, he knew, would be branded in her mind and body forever.

No pressure, right?

“Please accept this, Lydia.” She looked down and he smiled up at her, taking in her body over his, how her breasts filled out over her ribs, the way the nipples peaked and her hair floated down in a dark, silky wave over them. “Let me show you what my body wants to learn about yours.”

“I – ” Her voice was choked and she slid back over his chest, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. His words seemed so inadequate, failing to express what his heart and body wanted to say. Let me love your body. Let me know it.

Let me in.

The kiss became more empowered, her mouth claiming his, and then she stretched up, like a lioness, tall and elongated over him, his mouth resuming access to her, finding the red nub of her clitoris with his tongue, grateful for her trust.

Her hips stroked for him, giving him the tempo, and Lydia became the conductor for the orchestra of her own climax.

Women rarely did this, They wouldn't – couldnt? – say yes to being devoured, explored, understood. Her willingness and wantingness was the biggest turn-on Jeremy could imagine as he licked and laved, feeling her muscles tighten, hear her groans as her ass rose up, her pussy sliding down, and her whole body went rigid at once.

“I am – ” she gasped.

You are, he thought. Oh yes, you are.

She had never been comfortable sitting on a man's mouth like this; 69 was awkward enough, but here all of her flaws felt on display. Jeremy, though invited her to open up, and it was his obvious enjoyment of her body – with all its flaws, quirks, and overabundances – that gave her permission to just enjoy. Release.

Be.

Her orgasm rose as if planted there by the tip of his tongue, the shuddering slamming into her, hands rigid and clinging for dear life to the headboard, body rock-solid and moving barely against his tongue as full-body clenches released entire tsunamis of pleasure from some super-center within, all hot and wet and full throttle. As his palms caressed her ass, grazing the small of her back, she nearly collapsed on him, then slid back, his erection pressing against her shoulders.

“Oh. My. God,” she hissed, rolling off him and staring, dumbfounded, at the ceiling, her blood like a freight train with a Doppler effect cycling through her, over and over. Even without his mouth on her, aftershocks of contractions continued, taking over, until they wound down and she just...was.

He reached for the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom, quickly putting it on. In the dim light she made out his features, tousled hair framing an open, friendly face that was so focused on her she nearly cried. Wanting him over her, the press of his body a shield between her and the world, she pulled him into the missionary position and wrapped her legs around his hips, guiding him to her gateway.

“You’re unique, Lydia. You know that?” he asked as he filled her, the rasp of his words like a conversation with her soul.

“And you’re wonderful,” she answered, the heavy weight of him on top of her exactly what she needed as his hips rocked and rotated, stirring what was at the surface into a churning ocean of much-anticipated release, her orgasms reforming and getting ready to debut. His kiss ended halfway through, the intensity of thrusting so great and the pending climax so close for both that they dropped everything but their strokes, the sensation too good to water down with anything else.

Steady clapping of his tip against her cervix built a crescendo that tipped over quietly, then roared to life as she called out his name, biting his shoulder in ecstasy, his thighs and ass tensing under her calves, now clutching him to her, his orgasm coming with a full-body tension and her name grunted through a clenched jaw, the sound of three syllables so sweet that tears filled her eyes, happiness in fluid form.

As the layers of orgasm abated, sleep poured through her, as if waiting its turn in the queue of biological needs. Lydia was barely aware of his body as he nestled beside her, curling around her as she cuddled with him. The fuzzy light at the windows turned to a contented darkness as she faded off to sleep, her last conscious experience of Jeremy whispering, “Now I understand.”

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” Those were the words that greeted Lydia when Krysta picked up the phone two days later. Not “hello,” not “hi, Lydia,” not “what do you want?” not “hey, how’s it goin’?” Instead it was “you slept with him, didn’t you?”