His Sugar Baby

Michael grasped both of her breasts, squeezing and kneading with his fingers. He blew on a moistened nipple and gently bit the hard, beaded peak. She jerked under him. God, she’s responsive! His cock swelled harder, uncomfortable against his metal zipper. He looked up into her taut face. She was biting her lips. She was holding back. He could sense it. She didn’t want to let loose and just let things happen. Not once since moving to the sofa had she touched him. That clued him that she might still call an end to the evening. She had not yet committed herself to the night, let alone to the long-term arrangement that he wanted. And he did want it. Badly.

Michael shackled her slender wrists with one hand and raised them together over her head, holding them against the cushion. Her eyes opened, hazy alarm in their depths. Her lips parted, and he dipped his head to take her mouth, shutting off anything she might have been about to say. The taste of her wine-laden lips was intoxicating. He slipped his tongue in for a deeper kiss. He devoured her mouth, his tongue possessively stroking inside, mimicking an erotic rhythm. She opened her mouth wider and sucked in his tongue. With his free hand, he palmed a plump breast and with his thumb nail flicked the pebbled nipple again and again. With every abrasion of his thumb, she jerked as though electric shocks were running through her. Suddenly he pinched the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. A guttural moan caught in her throat. Her body suddenly began to shudder uncontrollably. Her wrists strained against his hold, and her whole body twisted.

Michael lifted his head and looked down into her flushed face. He was stunned. He had never had a woman come so hard with so little effort on his part. His cock throbbed. The thought curled into his impassioned mind that she would probably come again, several times, before the night was done.

He eased himself up, letting go of her wrists. She lay limply, her breath quick and shallow. Her arms remained resting above her head, tilting up her full, bare breasts. She was beautiful in her abandoned, open position. He slipped off her shoes and slid a palm up one smooth calf. She stiffened with the feel of his hand on her leg. Her arms started to come down defensively. He snagged her wrists again, bearing them firmly back over her head. He nuzzled her breasts with his face, beginning a slow exploration of them with his mouth, lips, tongue. She arched, thrusting her breasts higher. A breathy moan left her.

He knew something of what turned her on now. On his knees beside the sofa, he began a sensuous feast. He suckled each breast, lightly blew and bit, and she began writhing, pushing herself fuller into his mouth. Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in small pants. He held her wrists still pinned above her head. His other hand made slow circles on her calves, curling around her soft thighs and brushing back down, then up again, each pass pushing her skirt higher until a glimpse of her white panties gleamed in the dim light. He tightly cupped her pubis through the thin cotton, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clitoris. She writhed under his ministrations.

Michael sucked one breast deeper into his mouth. Firmly, his tongue depressed the hard bud of her nipple against the roof of his mouth. He pulled. She came up off the sofa, a high thin scream ripping from her throat. Pinned by his hands, one at her wrists and the other at the juncture of her thighs, her body formed a quivering tension bridge for several seconds before she collapsed. She did not move, only her shallow breathing showing that she was alive.

Sarah Roberts's books