She saw understanding dawn. He reached for a lock of her hair.
“Next-door neighbor was a redhead?”
“Something like that. My mother and the man she had… sinned with… were driven away. But he went back to the People before long. He left her, and they took him back. My mother married again and…” She waved her hand. Jackson played with her locks, twirling the curls around his fingers.
“I can’t imagine hiding this hair of yours away under one of those staid white caps. Criminal. Thank God she didn’t return when he did. You’d be sitting somewhere reading a Bible right now.”
She shrugged. “It was never the life for my mother. She was a dancer too. Well, she wanted to be. When she was little, she would hide away and dance in secret because it wasn’t permitted. She had to make up her own songs to dance to. She was a free spirit, though, all her life. When I started to dance, I was very little. Two or three. She was overjoyed.”
She fell silent. He looked at her expectantly, but she didn’t go on. He took another drink, and while she wanted his fingers in her mouth again, he gave her more questions instead.
“You said she was. Is she still alive?”
“Oh yes. She is.”
“Still overjoyed that you dance?”
“I guess. I don’t see her very much.” Her voice wobbled. She felt the familiar agitation that overcame her whenever she talked about her mother, her family. She knew he noticed, but mercifully he let that line of questioning drop.
“So Prosperity is Amish in origin, I suppose?” He drained the last of the drink and then set it on the table beside the bed. She watched the muscles of his stomach shift and contract as he bent and straightened, watched the perfection of his outstretched arm, his wrist, his hand. He resumed his seat between her thighs, pinching the tender skin above her stocking.
“Answer me.”
“No, Sir,” she said, tearing her gaze from his thickening cock. “My Amish name was Mary. My mother changed it after she left.”
“In a fit of optimism for her new life?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” She was finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation as his hands ran up both her thighs. She tried hard to be still, to not buck and fidget the way she wanted to. She wanted to lift her hips and thrust her throbbing clit right against his hand. Please touch me; please touch me; please touch…
“Hot, Prosper?” He knelt over her so his eyes were inches away from hers. The expression on his face told her he expected her to answer this time.
“Yes, Sir.”
“‘Yes, Sir, I’m hot,’” he prompted.
“Yes, Sir. I’m hot.” She practically whimpered the words.
“I can see that you are.” He moved one hand to her breast, pulled the cup of the corset down so her nipple was exposed, taut and pointed. “Hot indeed.” His fingertips brushed across her nipple, making her breath stop. With each light stroke, the fire in her clit flared. Then the fingertips clamped down, hard, harder, twisting. The pain became excruciating, shocking. Her plaintive groan rose to a cry. “Ohhh! Please!”
“Shh. I’m just getting started with you. You’re not very good at sex, remember? I think I’ll need to work on conditioning some appropriate sexual response.” As he spoke, his fingertips moved to torture her other rock-hard nipple. Then he took both firmly between the pads of his thumbs and forefingers and squeezed.
Oh God! The pain in her nipples and the throbbing in her pussy became one crippling ache. She needed more; she needed less. He was making her lose her mind. She panted, throwing her head back.
“You seem to like that well enough.” He released her and slid one cool palm down the length of her smooth black corset to where her hips arched, searching for contact, searching for release. “Let’s see how you like this.” His palm stroked over her mons and stopped, one dexterous fingertip brushing once, twice across her clit.
She gasped and strained at the bonds.
“Please!”
“Please, what?”
“Please, again! Please, again, Sir!”
He pretended to consider it. “Okay. First I want to hear you say you like sex.”
“I like sex!” she babbled immediately.
“‘I’m good at having sex—’”
“I’m good at having sex!”
“‘I’m a slut for cock.’”
“I’m a—I’m a—”
He stroked her again, the lightest touch to tease. She whined and twisted her hips as he withdrew his finger, aching to feel the pleasure again.
“Say it.”
“I’m a s-slut for cock.”
“Like you mean it.” He held her hips still and leaned over her to pull a taut nipple into his mouth. He nipped at it with his rough lips, then bit down on it.
“Oh God!” she cried. “I’m a slut for cock!”
“Yes, you are.” He licked the beating pulse in her neck. “And you’re going to come for me like the sex-starved, cock-loving slut that you are. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir!”
He put his hands on his thick length, stroking it before her eyes.
“If I give you my cock, you better let me know how much you like it.”
“Yes, yes, please—I will—” She watched as he reached for a drawer in the side table. He pulled out a condom and ripped open the package. The five seconds he took to put it on seemed an eternity. She wasn’t able to move more than a few inches in any direction. She felt helpless and trapped, which only made her pussy ache harder.
He gentled her with a hand on her shoulder, a firm kiss on her hair. She steeled herself not to shift, not to fidget. He hadn’t told her specifically not to, but she was pretty sure by now what was expected of her at times like this: pure, still obedience. The concession that she was his. That every sound, every movement, every gasp or sigh was to be the result of his own hand. His palm stroked down to rest on her pubic bone. She shivered as he aligned himself even more closely to her. Now truly they would be joined in every manner of the word.
Please. Sex.
She felt the unforgiving steel of his muscles press against her front, felt him positioning his cock at her entrance. She just thought over and over:
Please… I don’t care what our relationship is. I don’t care.
I don’t care if I get in trouble; I don’t care if everyone knows.
I don’t even care if you hurt me.
Please. Please. Have sex with me now.
She trembled in helpless anticipation as he took hold of her hips and slowly pushed inside. Oh God. How long had she needed to be filled like this? She gasped, amazed at the depth of sensation, amazed at how perfectly he fit. She arched her hips toward him, wanting more. He held her down as she tugged at the ropes.
“Okay. I’ve got you.”
Her entire body was alive and humming with arousal. She’d never in her life felt this kind of pleasure before. He slid out and then in again, moving over her like waves in the ocean, forward, back, sweeping her up in his pull. He bent his head to her, kissed and licked her neck, then closed his teeth on the skin beneath her ear. She cried out, and his answering growl rumbled against her cheek. He pressed against her and entered her even more deeply; she felt the strange sensation of being one creature with him.
“Jackson!” She pulled hard at the ropes, needing to touch him. Needing to pull him closer, needing to push him away. He shuddered and went still in her. She felt his hot breath in her hair as she tossed her head back and forth.
“I know, baby,” he said. He slowly drove in again. “I know.”
“Please!”
She felt so aroused, so overstimulated, the throbbing almost felt like pain. She needed release. She moaned and arched against him. “Please! Please!”