The Seduction Rebecca's Lost Journals Volume 1(11)

            He motioned me inside and I stepped over the entryway. He shut the door behind me, but didn’t touch me. Instead he stepped in front of me again, and his gaze swept my scantily clad body, lingering on my tightly puckered nipples, male appreciation glowing from the depths of his gaze.

            When his eyes lifted to mine again, he said, “Last chance to back out.”

            I lifted my chin and met his stare. “I don’t want to back out.”

            Satisfaction slid over his face. “Then there are rules.”

            “Rules?” My knees were liquid, my body one big, eager nerve ending. I wanted his rules. I can’t explain why. I don’t understand why.

            “Rules,” he confirmed. “To start, you don’t speak unless I ask a question. You don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do. You do exactly what I say you do. Normally, I would say I’ll also do anything I wish to you, but until we have an agreement with your limits, I’ll refrain from going places I might otherwise go.”

            Some part of me rebelled. This isn’t me. I don’t get commanded by anyone but myself. But it was me.

            “Understand?” he asked.

            “Yes.” I couldn’t keep the tremble from my voice.

            “If at any point you want to stop, say ‘Stop,’ but mean it if you say it. If you tell me to stop, I will. ‘Stop’ tells me you are at your limit. Or you can choose another word.”

            I nodded. I did want another word. “I think . . . I might say stop by accident.”

            “Then choose a word.”

            I hadn’t had a clue what to choose, and he seemed to sense that because he said, “Red. That’s your safe word until you choose another. Say it and I stop.”

            “Yes.”

            He’d studied me so long and so intently that it was all I could do not to scream at him to speak. And finally he did. “Get on your knees.”

            I blinked at him, a bit taken aback, but I did as he ordered.

            “Unzip my pants and suck me.”

            Looking back now, this command should have bothered me. Shouldn’t it have? Being ordered to my knees to serve him? But it didn’t. In fact, it was enticing. It made me feel in control. I’d take his pleasure. I’d own him while he was trying to own me.

            I stroked the thick ridge of his erection, and tugged down his zipper before finding his hard, hot flesh with my palm and freeing his cock. I stroked him slowly and liquid formed on the tip of his erection.

            “Lick it off,” he ordered.

            I looked up at him, watching him as my tongue snaked out and lapped at the pre-cum, shocked when he’d showed no reaction at all, since I’d been determined to get one. I wrapped my hand around the width of him and began to lick and suck. I expected his hand to go to my head, but it didn’t. This drove me nuts.

            “Harder,” he ordered. “Faster.”

            I complied, more determined than ever to get the reaction from him I wanted. And finally his hand was in my hair, his hips pumping against me, his cock sliding up and down my throat.

            But I had been the one out of control, not him. I had nearly orgasmed from doing that to him; I’d been so damn aroused by the idea of making him release. And when he finally did, oh, man, he growled in this gravelly sexy way, deep in his throat, and I don’t know how I didn’t come as well.

            The next thing I knew, he pulled me to my feet and pushed me against the door, facing it, so my hands were on the hard surface. Then he yanked my dress over my head, exposing me to his view, his touch. I stood there in my high heels and nothing else, and he leaned into me, touching me from calf to back, and it was a blessed relief to feel him close. His hands were all over me, stroking my breasts, pinching my nipples, roaming over my backside. His fingers pressed into the swollen wetness between my thighs and that was all it took. I orgasmed.