Chapter 55: Chapter 55

We’re going to try something new,” I said, keeping my tone conversational as if I were discussing a recipe I’d seen in a magazine, as if I weren’t standing

behind Connor and fastening cuffs around his wrists.

His fingers flexed, as if he wanted to fist his hands, but he knew better than to do that. His knuckles brushed the curve of his high, tight ass, and I paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of the rich green leather against his pale skin and, below, the fading red stripes he’d received from the crop not long ago.

I liked watching his ass flex when I cropped him. “Something new,” I repeated, moving to stand before

him. His head was bowed, as was appropriate. I was tempted to tuck my forefinger under his chin, nudge his gaze up so I could watch his expression. But I suspected

I’d see his reaction in another way. “No fucking,” I said. “No hands. Just your mouth on me, making me come.” His reaction was so swift it made me smile. His cock, half-hard already because of the cuffs, surged as if it had

a mind of its own.

Connor loved to go down on me. Loved to worship my clit, my slick lips; loved to taste me and lick me and suck and nibble until my thighs clenched and I pulsed and sometimes I squirted. He loved my scent, the feel of me on his mouth, and it was something I frequently exploited, to both our delight.

But this…this would be different. Because usually afterward, we fucked—more often than not, with me on top, enjoying a few more orgasms before I allowed Connor his release. (Well, no matter what position I chose, the latter was true.)

What I wasn’t going to tell him—not just yet—was that I wanted to see if he could come just from the plea- sure of going down on me.

Because I wanted to see how quickly he’d figure that out on his own.

Now, his hands securely bound, I settled myself back on the settee against a mound of pillows, spread my legs and beckoned him to me. I felt like a queen, an object of worship—and, truly, that’s how Connor approached me. We’d talked about it, early in our relationship, about how he wanted a woman he could devote himself to fully and completely, someone to love and cherish and, yes, worship. To him, I was to

be adored, venerated, and I reveled in that, even as I respected that my dominion over him, as it were, came with responsibility.

That’s what love is all about, isn’t it?

So he approached me on his knees, subservient and obsequious, and I tilted my hips toward his eager mouth.

Slow, at first. I’d had to teach him that. Even if a woman was already aroused, she didn’t want to be pounced upon and wildly devoured—she wanted to be savored, wanted the pleasure to build.

Oh, certainly sometimes I wanted to come faster than others, and I could instruct Connor to ramp things up quickly. The operating phrase being “ramp things up.”

Now, he first inhaled the scent of my arousal, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored it. Then he leaned farther forward to place a gentle kiss before his tongue swirled through my lips and around my clit with a gentle reverence.

I was torn, wanting to let my head drop back and just revel in the sensations, but also wanting to watch. I loved seeing his face buried in my crotch.

“Very good, Connor,” I murmured as he licked every inch of me with long, slow strokes. “Such a talented tongue.” I could feel the blood pooling in my groin, the delicious heaviness as my arousal built.

“I said something new, didn’t I?” I went on, my toes crimping the sheet on the settee as I tensed. “I said no fucking, no hands. But we’ve done that before.”

Connor didn’t respond. He knew what his task was, knew the punishment for slacking.

“I didn’t mean just what you’re doing to me—oh, god, just there.” I was getting close. I hadn’t timed this as well as I would have liked. Connor was just so talented! “I mean I won’t be fucking you, either. Or using my hand on you. Or you using your hand on yourself.”

I thought I heard a faint, querulous noise.

“It’s going to go like this,” I said. “When I come, you may come. In fact, when I come, you are required to come.”

His tongue stuttered just then, a brief startled pause as the weight of my words sank into his sub-spaced brain.

I rested a hand on his head, reminding him of his duty. My clit throbbed gently; I was on the edge. A part of me wanted something inside of me—Connor’s fingers, a dildo—but I’d said no hands, and that was the fun of it for both of us. Connor was well able to make me come,

hard, just from using his mouth.

“I’m getting close, Connor. Are you? I know you’re hard—you always get deliciously hard when you lick me, like a good boy. Are your balls tight? Are you getting close, too? I’ll be very disappointed in you if you don’t come when I tell you to, you know. We’ll have to figure out a suitable punishment.” My words were coming in gasps now. “Orgasm restriction, maybe, or maybe I’ll tie you up and make you come over and over again until you can’t stand it.”

The mental images of Connor begging, his cock red and swollen—in either scenario—were enough to tip me over that wonderful edge. My groin flooded with warmth as my clit pulsed. My hips involuntarily raised off the bed, and I ground myself into Connor’s face.

Lost in the throes of my own orgasm, for a few moments I wasn’t precisely aware of Connor. When I was able to open my eyes and focus, he drew back and sat up, his chest heaving.

The sheet I’d draped over the settee glistened with his ejaculate.

“Oh, Connor, well done.” I stroked his chiseled face with my fingertips. “You’ve passed this first test so well…”