American Queen

His fingers caress my pussy, parting the petals to find the wetness within. “I want to give you everything it’s possible for me to give. I want to give you everything I can. And I don’t want you to be a secret.” His long middle finger slides inside me, and my back arches off the bed. He sits next to me and then there are two fingers, crooking expertly against my sensitive front walls as the heel of his palm grinds against my clit. My body takes to his touch like dry tinder, sparking immediately.

“I know you’ve stayed away from this world for a reason. I know it might be asking a lot of you.” He looks up from where he’s touching me to meet my eyes. “But I don’t just want you at my feet. I want you by my side.”

It’s so hard to think with his hand moving like that, fucking me so perfectly. “I don’t want to be a secret either,” I manage, my thighs tensing and my belly clenching. I’m so close to the edge already, and it’s ridiculous that it should take so little, but nevertheless here I am clenching around his fingers. Any second now I’m going to come, any second now, any second now…

“Good, then you’ll come to the state dinner next week,” Ash says, pulling his fingers out of me and standing up.

My pussy wants to sob. So close. Without even thinking about it, I snake a hand down to my clit, ready to finish myself off. And then, with a movement so quick I don’t even see it, Ash is on the bed kneeling over me, one knee planted firmly on each side of my rib cage and my hands both trapped over my head. He circles my wrists with his left hand and then shoves the fingers of his right hand into my mouth—not gagging me exactly, but keeping me from talking. I remember what he said last night—that I could snap my fingers to safe out if I couldn’t speak—but I don’t want to. I’m instantly, deliriously wet, my whole body trembling with burning need as the President kneels over me and pins me to his bed.

I smell leather. I smell fire. I smell and taste myself on his skin. I could die right now and be happy.

“You don’t get to come unless I say so,” Ash says. “I don’t care if you’re alone, if you’re with me, if I’m holding a Hitachi to your clit while I fuck you—your orgasms are mine and if you have one without my permission, then you’re a thief. You’re not a thief, are you?”

I shake my head, his fingers still deep in my mouth. I can still taste myself on them—a lot sweet, a touch of sour, that rich smell that only seems to come from a cunt.

“Good,” Ash says. Kneeling above me like this, he looks more like the soldier I know he is, and with a frisson of electric fear, I can suddenly imagine him fighting someone. Killing someone. I can’t explain how I can know this and also still feel completely safe, I can’t explain the deep thrill of having a dangerous man mounted on top of me like I’m a lamb about to be tied up and carted off to slaughter. But it’s there. Undeniable and addictive.

I can feel the tension in his thighs as he keeps me restrained underneath him, see the turgid outline of his erection pushing against his expensive slacks. “Do you know what they used to do to thieves?” he asks.

I do, actually. Incidental to studying medieval literature is some familiarity with medieval law. But that’s not part of the game right now, so I shake my head again.

“I’m not going to cut off your hands, of course,” he murmurs, his eyes now on my hands. His grip on my wrists tightens. “But I think I could devise my own version of the stocks. Or I could punish you according to Biblical law, and make you return what’s mine but again sevenfold. That would be seven orgasms you would have to give me for each one you stole. But either way, angel, there’s going to be punishment.”

His fingers leave my mouth and then he’s back on his feet beside the bed, wiping his hands on his handkerchief and carefully adjusting his slacks before he finds his suit jacket.

“Why are you leaving me like this?” I whimper in frustration. “You could have finished me.”

“Because,” he answers, swinging on his jacket and buttoning the middle button, “I want you to say yes to the State Dinner.”

I groan, searching the ceiling as if there’s an answer written there. “If I attend that dinner, then there’s no going back. You and I will be…real.”

“We’re already real,” he says, bending down to brush his lips on my forehead. “And I don’t want to go back. I want you to be mine in here, and I want to be yours out there. And besides, if you go to the State Dinner, I’ll let you come afterwards.”

“That’s not until next week,” I squeak.

He shrugs, tucking his phone into his inside pocket and walking over to the door. “Then I know you’ll really, really want to be there.”

“You aren’t playing fair,” I accuse, rolling up on one elbow to glare at him more directly. I’m not really playing fair either, since I know that I’m displaying my tits and hips to their greatest advantage here, and sure enough, his eyes blaze at the sight of me when he turns around.

But his control is absolute. He simply smiles and says, “I never said this would be fair. But if we do it right, it may just end up being fun.” He opens the door and pauses. “It’s what we both need, Greer. Isn’t it?”

I bite my lip. I nod.

I’m rewarded with a lion’s smile, and then the door closes and he’s gone. I flop miserably back down on the bed, my cunt awake and pulsing and my chest threatening to crack with happiness.