Sunny - Mona Lisa Darkening

"I would see you unclothed, your body bare, before you leave me this night."

I wasn't sure if I could do that. Then I considered the alternative, considered what else he could have asked of me, or not asked, simply forced me to do. In light of his restraint, long unpracticed, showing him my naked body was not much to ask for really. Highly unlikely that my paltry offerings would trigger him to uncontrollable lust. A good thing.

"Do you agree?"

Conversely, it would have been much easier to comply with his request had I been more centerfold material. Oh, God.

"Yes," I said, agreeing to his terms.

He eased back away from me and stood, giving me room. "Go on."

I'd never done this before, deliberately strip for a man. Gargoyle he might be, but he was still very much male, more powerful and domineering than I was used to. And the look in his eyes said that he very much considered me a female, one he was attracted to. Oddly enough, having him look at me like that, with anticipation, made it harder.

I stood, feeling awkward and uncertain. "In this dress, you already pretty much see everything," I said, stalling.

"You agreed," he rumbled in warning. "Do not make me ask you again."

Crap. His patience and mercy were apparently at an end.

I didn't disrobe slowly. I did it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I slid the straps down my shoulders and that was all it took. Without that support, the dress slithered down my body, falling in a poof around my feet. I stood there, eyes downcast, and sensed him move closer to me.

"Lie back on the divan," he said roughly. "I want to see you displayed there."

My eyes darted up in a quick peek. If he was disappointed in any way, it was not evident. On the contrary, desire had pulled the strong bones of his face even more prominent. His expression was intently male, savagely so, as his eyes moved slowly down my body… sending my feelings flip-flopping from fear of disappointing him to fear of being taken again against my will.

"Don't make me fight you, please."

"I will not touch you with my hands," he murmured in reassurance.

Trusting in his promise, I lay back down on the divan, my body trembling. The smooth flat surface felt too much like a bed, as did his next request. "Open your legs for me."

My eyes shot to his.

"Let me see you," he demanded.

Slowly, I let my legs fall apart.

His eyes roved intimately over my smooth, shaven folds. Over the soft, hidden flesh I bared to his eyes.

"Wider," he said, voice thick. And the rough maleness of his voice, the hot desire I saw in his eyes… it sparked my own desire. That dark, contrary part of me that liked the taste of danger flared to life, and I was suddenly, abruptly, turned on despite my helpless, submissive position. Or maybe because of it. An exquisite feeling of vulnerability danced with a sense of wielded control. Safe danger. My favorite kind.

I spread my legs farther apart, and he shifted, bracing himself over me in the space I had made. With my wide open display and his close viewing of that display, he could not help but see the dewy response starting to seep out.

"You like this," he rumbled thickly, and I bit back a moan, fought not to open farther to him.

Tease him too much and he will take you, a voice inside me warned. My own voice, not Mona Louisa's.

"Yes," I murmured, "a part of me is very attracted to you. To the situation. But my mind still says no. Not yet, at least."

"Not yet, but soon."

I laughed hoarsely. "Yeah, at this rate, probably real soon. Just… not today."

"I have already given you my word."

"I just wanted to be clear. No matter how my body, uh —"

"Responds… and how sweetly it does." His head lowered down until he was poised right over the most secret part of me — shaved, no longer hidden — lying glisteningly wet, open and exposed to him. The thought of him looking at me down there was enough to tighten all the muscles of my body.

He blew a soft, deliberate breath over me. There where I was so freshly bared and so incredibly sensitive. I moaned, I couldn't help it. I moaned at the feel of that delicious puff of air ruffling over my heightened nerve endings. The sight of his massive head with his two thick horns poised between my legs — talk about phallic symbolism — brought forth another gush of arousal. Welled up another moan side me.

No! Don't move. Don't make a sound, I told myself as my body clenched, both inside and out. I tried, I honestly did. But when he blew again, a second deliberate puff of air that riffled like a thousand fluttery fingers across my skin there where all my nerves seemed to have swollen up and gathered, my body no longer listened to me, was no longer in my control.

I came in a brilliant, shocking, shuddering climax, twitching helplessly. He blew again, a third hard jet of air against the most sensitive part of me. moving the current of air over me like a stroking tongue, milking out the orgasm, drawing it out longer, playing me with merciless expertise. Cries spilled from my throat as pleasure — God, such pleasure! — wracked my body.

When he finally raised his head, lifted that incredibly stirring breath away from me, I felt like a puppet sagging limply on its loosened strings.

Oh my God!

I must have said it out loud because he smiled. With the musky scent of my release perfuming the air, with his skin stretched so taut over the broad planes of his face… those dangerous phallic-shaped horns, the rawly sexual look in those black eyes fixed so fiercely, possessively on me, he looked thrillingly, primitively, dangerously male.

"Imagine if I had actually touched you… licked you… sucked you."

His words and the provocative images they invoked rolled a second small orgasm through me — like the slap of a tiny wave that catches you unaware after the big wave had passed by you, and you thought yourself safe.

I gasped, shuddered, writhed beneath him, a guttural moan spilling out from me. "Mercy," I cried hoarsely. "No more."

He smiled, stretching his lips wide, making me suddenly want to taste them… to taste him. I sat up and he started to draw away. My hands grabbed him, stopped him. He was no longer smiling. Slowly I brought my face closer to his until my lips almost touched those wide mobile lips. My tongue flicked out and I licked him, tasted him, made a pleased sound. Another lick, another taste, and then another until I had traveled from one corner of his mouth to the other, leaving my wetness, my own taste, behind.

I pulled back to watch his own tongue emerge, lick his lips, sample the flavor of me.

"Thank you," I said in a husky voice. "That was unexpectedly lovely, both the pleasure and the keeping of your word."

He stared at me for a long moment and stood back up, the cushions shifting under the withdrawal of his weight. I stood as well, and found my legs thankfully up to the task of keeping me upright.

A dark gray hand picked up the little scrap of cloth that was my dress and offered it to me. I took it and found that dressing was almost as easy as undressing. Lift the cloth over my head, drop it down over my body, and like that I was covered once more, outwardly clothed, excruciatingly naked underneath. A little bit like how I felt toward him now.

There was still the remembered fear, the memory of violence and pain that I had suffered under his careless hand. But now coating that like a soothing balm was this new memory, this new knowledge — of his tenderness, his restraint, of our intimacy. Of his word given and kept. Of his breath, just his breath, wringing such pleasure from my body. Of my tongue licking over his lips, tasting him. And of him tasting me in turn. The baring of skin and flesh — it was an intimate act that drew you closer to the male you made yourself vulnerable to, if he treats you with care. And he had.