Hostile Takeover (23 page)

“Stay still. I expect you to behave, act like a good girl, even if you are a brazen slut.”

“You make me into one.” She locked everything down, trying to obey. “Like Lucas said, you’re a corrupting influence.”

His heavy-lidded green eyes were close, his firm mouth. “Bullshit. That pussy of yours is greedy for cock.”

Your cock.
But she didn’t say it, knowing not to spar with him in this realm. When his hand dropped beneath the table’s edge, she almost came off the chair as he calmly fingered her clit, slipping down to stroke the wetness of the labia. “Tilt your hips so I can reach your cunt.”

She did, clenching the sides of the chair as he slid a finger in her, then two, then—holy God—three.

“So fucking wet,” he rumbled in her ear, brushing his mouth beneath it, against her pounding pulse. “Tonight I’m going to put you on your knees. You’re going to suck me off, and when I’m about to come, you’re going to turn around, put your forehead to the floor, and I’ll fuck your ass. I may not ever let you come. Keep you this fucking desperate to please me.”

“Yes sir.” She whispered it, closing her eyes as he withdrew his touch, then pushed in again, emulating what his cock could do there. Because she was tight and it was a narrow angle, it made it all the more excruciating.

Sliding his fingers free, he brought them to her mouth. She licked herself off them. Without prompting, she picked up her napkin, finished wiping them off using some of the water from her water glass. It wouldn’t do for her Master to have sticky fingers while he tried to eat.

“An anticipatory sub. Sometimes that can get you into trouble.”

She paused, remembering her thoughts about that last night. Her fingers lay on his. “Does taking care of you when you need it get me in trouble?”

“No. Not right now.” As his eyes flickered with some unfathomable emotion, she returned her hands to the sides of her chair. Noah came back with their goat-cheese salads, arranged on attractive teal-blue square plates. When he poured their wine, she noted Ben stopped him when her glass was no more than a third full. She didn’t hold alcohol well, was pretty much loose as a sun-warmed snake after two glasses. Given the night that was ahead of her, that might not be a bad idea, but with Ben and their battle of wills, she needed all her wits around her. And it was obvious Ben intended her to feel the full edge of anything he did to her.

“Thank you, Noah.” Ben nodded. “I’d like an extra service, please.”

“Anything, Mr. O’Callahan.”

Ben turned his attention to Marcie. Instinct had her lowering her gaze instead of locking with his. When his next words came, she was glad for it.

“I want you to go down on my companion here, under the tablecloth. If she comes within three minutes, there’s a hundred-dollar tip in it for you.”

She was pretty certain she paled and flushed at once, a medical impossibility, but Ben leaned in, his hand sliding under her hair to tighten on her neck. “We’ll see if you come on a Master’s command, or if you’re a mindless slut, just as I suspect. And when you come,” he drew closer, his breath teasing her lips, her cheek, “I expect you to scream. Hold nothing back. The fact we’re in public doesn’t matter. Only what I desire does.”

Okay, she’d never done anything like this. Sure, she’d fantasized about exhibitionism, but the reality was way different. As it moved into evening, the people on the sidewalks below were turning into larger groups. More patrons would eventually be brought out onto the balcony, given that it was a really nice night. If she wanted to stop, if it was too much, she was pretty sure Ben would stop, but that would mean she’d backed down. His usual subs would do a strip tease in the middle of Jackson Square if he commanded it.

Her throat was dry, so it came out as a whisper. “Yes sir.”

When Ben gave him a nod, Noah put the tray on the adjacent table. With a graceful movement of lean male strength, he squatted and disappeared fully beneath their round table. When his hands touched her spread knees, Marcie tensed, she couldn’t help it. She heard a muttered, reverent, “Jesus, she’s got a gorgeous pussy,” and clutched the chair, a tiny sound of protest coming from her throat.

“Ben…”

“Hold on, Noah.” Ben was studying her face. His fingers on her nape were stroking. “Give her a moment.”

“Not a problem.” Noah’s voice was muffled as his mouth brushed her inner thigh, a gentle reassurance. His fingers slid down her calf, more calming caresses.

Unless this was a hard limit for her, it was obvious Ben was going to proceed with it, but he was giving her time. Plus an unexpected reassurance. “I wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you whom I didn’t trust,” he said, his fingers tightening on the back of her neck.

“I know.” It was just so much, so fast. But she could handle it. She leaned her face into his hand, wished he would keep touching her. But Ben was a ruthless Master, she knew that. As soon as he could tell she was ready, he settled back in his chair, picking up his wine. Ready for the show he’d orchestrated.

“Proceed, Noah. Three minutes.”

It took everything she had not to whip her legs out from behind the chair legs and close them, but Noah helped. He settled his grip on her quivering thighs, steadying and holding them open at once, and then he went right to the heart of the matter. She sucked in a breath, biting down on her lip. Holy God…the tongue stud vibrated. He played over her pussy lips with it, letting her get used to the feel of it, tickling her a little so she had to work hard not to squirm, and then he brought it right to her clit.

She sucked in a breath. He knew his business, working it against her in tiny movements that had her already aroused body rocketing up a ramp, set to take off and explode. She saw Ben’s attention on her exposed breasts, the way they were vibrating with that compressed movement. She couldn’t move, couldn’t move, but oh God, she wanted to rise up, grind her pussy in Noah’s face, throw her head back against the chair. But her Master didn’t tell her she could come. Three minutes, three minutes.

Three minutes was an eternity when she couldn’t count the seconds. Ben had a watch but it was under the cuff of his sleeve. She had no doubt he was counting it down in his head like a freaking NASA computer.

I serve my Master, I serve him, I serve you…

She didn’t realize she was whispering it until she saw Ben’s eyes darken, his mouth tighten. She was fighting with all she had against the orgasm. Noah was incredibly insistent. It was a battle of mind over matter. She imagined her clit encased in stone, all those sensations ricocheting against the inside, unable to be released, so she was imprisoned in this frenzy of need. Her fingernails cut into the chair, her thighs shaking under Noah’s hands so that the chair made staccato noises on the metal balcony floor.

“I serve you…please, Master…let me come for you…”

Ben set down his wine, picked up his fork, took a bite of the salad, chewed. He necessarily took his eyes from her for the moment he had to do that, but then he studied her with a detachment that was anything but. His whole focus was on her, a heated intensity coming from him that vibrated against her body like that tongue stud. He continued to eat the salad, obviously considering the taste and texture as he monitored her reactions. The Knights were the only men in the world she knew who could multi-task, and they did it as if Lucifer himself had given them the ability.

She was whimpering, her whole body making tiny little jerks. Her nipples were so hard she could feel the way they stabbed the inside of her bra, constricting the barbell piercings so they added to the sensation.

Noah got creative, doing swirls and flicks, kneading the inside of her thighs, his thumbs tracing the crease of her buttocks beneath her pussy. It was too much…she couldn’t hold on, yes she could. She would. She fiercely concentrated on all those masturbating fantasies, where she’d made herself wait longer and longer, until Ben’s imagined command to release.

Ben slid the fork from his lips. His mouth was glistening from the oil of the salad, and she wanted to suck on that. Instead, he shifted forward. Plucking the blouse away from her body, he eased the fork into the bra cup, brought it over the nipple and pressed down, caging it behind those tines. She couldn’t hold on any more. Fuck…

“Come for me, Marcie. Come now.”

She would have screamed to raise the dead throughout New Orleans, she trusted him that much, wanted to surrender to him that much, but as she opened her mouth to do so, Ben covered it with his. He dropped the fork, cupped her head in one hand, his tight hold making her keep her position, bound by his will. She screamed into his mouth, shuddering, convulsing as Noah kept working her, holding her open with those surprisingly strong hands. Involuntary reaction took over and she struggled against their combined hold like a wild animal.

She came down in fits and starts, pleading nonsense in Ben’s mouth, which he answered with unintelligible rumbles of response. Noah cleaned her up with strong licks of his now non-vibrating tongue, and then she felt the gentle pat of the wine towel he’d had. When he came back up, as graceful as he’d gone down, his hair was a tad rumpled and his face was flushed. He was also sporting a nice erection behind his slacks that didn’t seem to discomfit him in the slightest. He nodded to her, turned his attention to Ben. “I failed, sir. My apologies.”

Ben palmed some money from his coat, handed it over. “I wouldn’t call it a failure. My compliments on your perseverance. Tell the maître d’ others can be seated up here now.”

Marcie was too dazed to do more than watch Noah go, but when she looked toward Ben, she somehow found her voice. “How…did I do?”

“Six minutes, twelve seconds. You’re still a slut.”

“But I proved I’m your slut, didn’t I?” Her voice had a rasp from the strain to her vocal cords.

“Time to eat your salad,” he said in quiet reproof, but he didn’t deny it. Picking up his fork, he fed her. She needed that, because she was sure she wasn’t steady enough to coordinate eating utensils. Her swollen folds were pressed against the wood, sending aftershocks rippling through her.

She wished she could stay mindless. As rationality returned, she was thinking of the seamless choreography of that scene. He’d done this before. Brought another woman here, maybe had her perform the same way for him.

She stopped chewing, pulled her face away, ostensibly to get a drink of wine. He reached to steady the glass for her, but she shook her head. “I can do it.” She took it in about three swallows, but when she reached for the bottle to refill it, he moved it away.

“Enough,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“How did I do against the others?”

Why did she say that aloud? She couldn’t be petulant and jealous. He wasn’t a monk. For heaven’s sake, she’d seen him fuck three women less than two weeks ago. It wasn’t that. It was that he’d done to her something he’d done before, like she was some kind of mimeograph.

“Never mind. Sorry. Mentor-sub thing, no commitment. Forgot.” She tried to keep the acid out of her tone, but of course she was unsuccessful. She was going to screw this up so badly if she couldn’t sit on her mouth. Hell, she’d held out six minutes against Noah’s tongue. It shouldn’t be harder to sit on her emotional reactions than her physical ones, right?

“Noah is a regular at Progeny. He has a couple Mistresses who favor him, but he doesn’t belong exclusively to any of them yet. Occasionally he’s assisted me with a session there. This is the first time I’ve asked him to help me outside those walls, in this particular way, though I have come here for dinner before.”

“Oh.” She nodded. Picking up the napkin, she tried a quick dab at her eyes, to take care of the stress tears from the climax. She probably looked a sight.

“Marcie, did I tell you that you could remove your hands from the chair?”

Fuck, he hadn’t. She’d been so dazed by the past few minutes, she’d just blanked on it. Setting aside the napkin, she returned her hands to the chair. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’ll let it pass, but only because you’re still disoriented. I like it. Flushed and dazed, nipples still hard, and I can smell your cunt. Just the way I want you.” He took his own napkin, dipped it in water as she’d done for his fingers. While she trembled from an entirely different reaction this time, he dabbed at her mascara. He stroked the cloth over her cheeks, the corners of her mouth. Even swiped at her nose, teasing her as she started to giggle and tried to squirm away from him. Then he lifted one of her hands from the chair, tucked the napkin into it so she could do that part for herself.

“Now that we’ve handled the appetizer course,” he said, “eat the rest of your salad. You can lift both hands.”

She had to get back on her game, but she remained unsettled, hyperaware that she was still exposed, open to him as he desired. In fact, as he was eating his salad, he settled his other hand on her thigh, stroking it up high. Her pussy was as attentive to him as if she hadn’t just come. He was going to have her ready again in no time.

“Why anal sex?” she asked, just as the maître d’ topped the stairs with another couple. Marcie bit her lip, but fortunately, it didn’t seem they’d been paying attention. So she decided not to be deterred, particularly when the maître d’ seated them at the other end of the balcony. “I’ve always wanted to ask. Will you tell me?”

Finishing his salad, Ben leaned back, picked up his wine. She continued to eat, giving him time, but his silence was encouraging. Usually he said no right off if he had no intention of answering a question.