Need_Ari & Jackson by Lilia Moon

Author:Lilia Moon [Moon, Lilia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lilia Moon
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-One

Ari

I can’t believe I thought he was cute.

Evil Dom. He’s given up on making my ass vibrate forever, which was annoying enough. Now he’s pulsing it. A few seconds here, a quick burst there. Random, mindfucking torture, and there’s no way he doesn’t know it.

I glare in the general direction of the open door, because I’m sure he can see me and that’s the only place he could be, even if I can’t spot him in the shadows. This place has way too many dark corners. We do that on purpose at Fettered, but here I’m pretty sure it’s just the result of a lack of imagination.

I grit my teeth as my ass rumbles again. It’s killing me to keep quiet, and not for the reasons most people would think.

I want to make noise. I want everyone in this room to hear. I live to push people out of their sexual comfort zones and into the big, wide world of pleasure, because so very many people could be happier than they are and have no idea what’s possible. I’d be happy to come like a freight train right now and sprinkle happy, orgasmic, kinky pixie dust on everyone here.

But those aren’t the rules.

The rules are that we leave the innocents lying peacefully on their bolsters and blankets and don’t run any orgasmic trains into how they see the world. I can’t believe I set a limit like that. All I really meant to do was rule out the grocery aisle.

Not because I think veggies are innocent. There’s just no way eggplants aren’t kinky.

My ass is back to being demented again, this time with short, sharp bursts that feel far too much like sex and drive all thoughts of eggplants really far away. Cocks are way better than eggplants, and Jackson moves like a guy who knows how to use his. Or can be taught. Whichever.

I green-lighted penetration. Which means it could happen.

I bite down on my favorite blanket, which is a mistake, because it’s wool, which makes a really crappy gag.

Belatedly, I realize bodies are moving around me. Peacefully, in that slow, respectful way people have when they’ve almost fallen asleep. Clearly they weren’t lying there thinking about some hard, fast anal sex bent over a massage table.

I groan, which sounds somewhat plausibly like I just woke up, and lever myself to my feet. I leave my nest of bolsters and blankets right where they are. I’ll clean up later. I have a Dom to kill first.

He’s waiting for me outside the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in the pocket of his jeans, looking like he picks up chicks outside yin yoga every day of the week. I walk over and nuzzle into his shoulder. “That was mean.”

He chuckles. “What makes you think it’s done?”

My massage table anal-sex fantasy leaps up and down, frantically waving its arms. “What would you like me to do next, Sir?” It’s my politest sub voice. He probably has no idea just how infrequently I use it.

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