HARDCORE: Storm MC(17)
I dropped my tone even lower. “I said, on your knees, Sienna. Right here.” I cupped the nape of her neck, raised her up to her feet, and eased her down in the open space until she was kneeling at my side. Then I took both her shoulders in my hands and eased her back to sit on her heels. Her eyes flicked quickly to mine, now getting that there was no BJ on the immediate horizon. But she still wasn’t totally following the plot.
“Sit up, Sienna, straight. I wanna see those gorgeous breasts. Keep your knees spread, so when you drip you can’t do anything about it. I want you to feel the air. I want you open to me. Keep your back arched and your chin tucked down. Arms behind your back, hands holding opposite elbows. You getting the picture now, baby?”
“Your name is taking on new meaning, Dom.”
“Ah, finally, she gets it. Very good. Tell me how you feel.”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Liar. Don’t lie. It’s not uncomfortable. Tell me how this position makes you feel.”
Silence. She was weighing her options. This woman had such issues with control. I could understand it, but no way was I going to stand for it. She needed to release, and she would do it for me. And then I’d get my answers, I’d get my piece—and she’d get hers—and everybody would feel a whole lot better.
“Okay, Sienna. You wanna play it like that? Then stay in this position. Do not fucking move. And think about your answer.”
I moved away from her, stripping outta my MC kutte and pulling my T-shirt over my head, tossing them both onto the arm of the couch. Then, giving her a little show, I moved the couch back to the wall so it was in its original position, and I sat down on it facing her. I had my knees out with my feet on the floor, wearing only my old faded jeans with a black leather belt, and my black biker boots with the silver rings and studs. I could see her eyes focused on my body, and I knew she liked what she saw. I was a big guy—tall, broad shoulders, heavy muscle, very little fat. I spent a good amount of time working out, liking the feel of my own strength, and I was proud of my body and confident in its use. That women drooled over it—that was gravy. That Sienna couldn’t take her eyes off my chest, six-pack, and V—that was just awesome.
I leaned back on the couch, relaxing under her hooded gaze, watching her eyes. As she sat there, naked, breasts on fucking display and legs wide open, I ran my hand down my chest, over my abs, drifting slowly to my belt buckle, and I slowly—slowly—started to undo it, slipping the overlay out from the belt loops, pulling it back to release the buckle, and finally sliding the buckle off the opposite end of the belt. I undid the top button of my jeans, which were doing nothing but getting tighter by the moment, showing off the bulge of my hard cock. I was big there, too, and I wasn’t trying to hide it. Sienna licked her lower lip, her eyes glued to my hidden package.
“What are you thinking about, Sienna? What are you supposed to be thinking about? Do you remember?” I asked her, not even expecting an answer this time. No way did she remember. She was totally focused on me and my body.
Her eyes flickered, and she actually blushed. It started at the top of her head and spread all the way down to her neck and chest, and it was fucking cute. I had to work really hard to suppress my smile. She would’ve probably taken it badly, thought I was laughing at her. Which I was, but not in a mean way. I fucking loved it.
“You’re supposed to be thinkin’ about how you feel, sittin’ there like that. Remember? Lookin’ all beautiful, with your tits showin’ off, and your ass all perfect, and your pussy open for me.” I leaned forward on the couch, putting my face a little closer to hers, with still about two feet between us. “How does that feel, Sienna, to be open to the air? Are you wet? Are you drippin’? Is it rollin’ down your leg, or is it fallin’ to the floor? Or do you need some more time there, to find out which way it’s gonna go?”
I fisted my hands into the sofa seats to push myself to my feet, so now I was standing in front of her, belt undone, fly starting to get that way, my erection big and hard behind my jeans. She was still sitting back, down on her heels, so her head was actually below my hip level. She kept her chin down, but her eyes were looking up, glued to my body, and she was breathing shallowly. “Do you feel weak? Or do you feel strong?”
And she got it. She looked up at my eyes, finally giving me those chocolate depths, and said lowly, “I feel strong, and I feel beautiful, and I like it. But I don’t like it, too, ’cause I shouldn’t like it. I feel like you want me to submit to you, and that’s not me, that’s not something I can do. So, no, I don’t like it.”