Firebird by Annabel Joseph Page A

years wanted to suck a man’s cock, but she thought if he weren’t dressed, that’s exactly what she would have done. She would have opened her mouth and taken his full length gratefully. She would have had no choice from the way his body subdued her, and that turned her on most of all.
    When at last her wrists were untied, he moved aside and leaned down to kiss her. “Turn over,” he said against her jaw. And then when she hesitated, “Just obey. I’ve already told you I won’t hurt you.”
    She turned over, and when she was on her belly, he knelt between her legs and pushed her thighs wider apart. She felt the impulse to resist him, but he made a noise in his throat, and she yielded.
    “I’m not going to tie you this time. Put your hands over your head. Hold the headboard. Stay that way.”
    She did as she was told. He ran his hands up her back, warm, rough contact, then snaked them around and underneath to grope her breasts. She arched, trying to draw her legs together, but his knees were impeding her, spreading her wide. She lay still instead, taking short, panicked breaths like a trapped animal. He won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you.
    But that wasn’t why she trembled. No. It wasn’t pain she feared. It was something she wanted, something so overwhelming she could barely control herself. She ground against the coverlet, felt the silk triangle of fabric adhere to the wetness between her legs. She tried to ease the ache building there, but he made a noise of disapproval. He put his hands around her waist and stilled her, preventing her attempt at relief. “No. I’m in charge right now, not you.”
    She moaned—a fervent, desperate sound she couldn’t believe had come from her own lips.
    He didn’t relent. “No. I said no.”
    He rubbed the small of her back with his thumbs. His hands were large enough to almost completely span her waist. The hard grip reminded her of the way he partnered her in rehearsals. His touch then had hinted at a power, a ruthless ability she didn’t understand.
    She understood it now.
    She went pliant under his hands, gave herself up to his mastery. Her past D/s experiences had been nothing like this. She felt, for the first time, truly dominated. She was at his mercy. She shivered and tensed, resisting the urge to let go of the headboard and soothe the part of her that ached.
    He shifted behind her and moved closer. He drew one hand up the inside of her thigh, the other arm wrapped under her hips, cradling her, or perhaps holding her so she couldn’t get away. His palm hovered, lingered over her hot, aching center. Oh, he was going to touch her!
    “Don’t move. Not one inch.”
    Oh God, she was going to die. She felt the heat of his palm where he held it still over her pussy. If he didn’t touch her, if he didn’t plunge his fingers inside—It took every fiber of her control not to arch forward against his palm. She vibrated under his fingers, craving, needing satisfaction. If only he would touch her—
    “Good girl,” he said, releasing her. “Time’s up.”

Chapter Six

    She pulled on her clothes, blushing and coy again the moment the naughty lingerie was hidden underneath. He watched her dress with a mixture of wonder and depression. He squelched the urge to strip her naked again and take her down to the bed. His fantasies of a raunchy, sex-soaked romp with Julie were long forgotten. His chaste little scene with Prosper had been much better than anything he could have dreamed.
    He hadn’t slept with her, they hadn’t had intercourse, but he’d touched every part of her he’d longed to touch since he first watched her take class. Well, he hadn’t touched every part of her, but close enough. Close enough to hold him until the next time. There would be a next time; that was sure. He hadn’t asked her about it because he wouldn’t leave it up to her. No, her first instinct would be to run away, to create safe distance. He wouldn’t leave the decision with