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  “I love your tits.” He squeezed again. “They should always be bare. Seen. Far too ripe and tempting to be covered up. They should be displayed. Enjoyed.”

  It sounded crass, but it wasn’t. His raw words made my sex ache, and in a moment I was as wet as I’d been outside in the garden.

  Shame warred briefly with arousal. I wanted to demand he tell me why he made me feel like every nerve was going to catapult out of my skin. I wanted to stop the exquisite torment.

  Instead, tongue thick, my voice lower than I’ve ever heard it, I said, “What would you like to do to them?”

  He tugged on my captured nipple, then drew it out as far as he could without losing it. “I want to suck and pull on your tits until your nipples are so engorged and sensitive that a whisper of air makes them sting and grow harder. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Oh, God, yes, I would love it. I didn’t think I should, but the tight ache building in my sex said otherwise. Unable to answer, I gaped at him, wanting more naughty words. More of his hands on my breasts. More of the sweet pain that stabbed deep into my core.

  He squeezed a little harder, then twisted my nipple. Not too hard. Just right.

  There was no stopping the little hiss of pleasure I made, nor the arch of my back that thrust my breasts a little higher. More fully into his hand.

  A deep chuckle rumbled through him. “Yes. You’d like it, but it makes you feel dirty when I say it.”

  Heat flushed from my breasts all the way to my hairline in a flood of anticipation and shame.

  “Shall I suckle you now?”

  My voice guttered in a low, inarticulate sound, but I managed a single nod and his head descended. He sucked hard on my left breast while he pulled firmly on my right nipple. Desire crashed through me, and my knees threatened to buckle.

  Without letting go of either tit, he backed me up until I felt the bed come up behind me, at which point he turned so that he fell on his back onto the mattress with me atop him. My robe was caught between us, my arms still pinned, but he levered me to where my breasts hung over his face. I struggled to free myself, wanting to hold myself on my own arms so both of his hands were available to touch me.

  “More,” I said, jerking my elbows against the terry cloth. “Harder.”

  He stopped, and his eyes met mine. There was a dark question there, one I couldn’t put to words, but that didn’t matter.

  I nodded.

  He ripped the robe away from me, then hoisted me higher over his body, and rubbed his face across my breasts, nipping at each nipple in turn as he positioned my hands on either side of his head.

  “Don’t move,” he growled, pinning me with a fierce look.

  “No,” I said. It was more a breathless gasp than a word. Then, “Please.”

  Pleasure and lust made him shudder once before he ran his hands up from my waist, pushing my breasts high. They spilled over his hands, and one by one, he brought each to his mouth, laved each nipple with his hot tongue, and then bit each one.

  The pain was nothing to the erotic thrill of knowing my breasts pleased him, and that he wanted me so intensely.

  Enjoy Master of My Surrender now!

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