Tiffany Reisz - The Queen

Elle lowered her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Pick a number between one and ten.”

“What?”

She pulled back and looked down at him.

“You heard me.”

“What am I picking?”

“I’m not going to tell you until you’ve picked your number,” she said.

“But how do I know what number to pick until I know what I’m picking?”

“Exactly.”

Griffin narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re evil.”

“Still waiting on that number, Griff.”

“Fine. I don’t know. Seven?”

“Seven. Good.”

“What’s good? Why is seven good?” Griffin sounded slightly panicked.

“Because seven is the number of orgasms you’re going to give me today. And when I’ve had seven you can fuck me. And you can’t fuck me until I’ve had seven.”

“Seven orgasms? You want me to get you off seven times? One-for-each-day-of-the-week seven?”

“Is that a problem?” She cocked her head at him.

“Yes, that’s a problem. A big problem,” Griffin said.

“Is it? And why so?” she asked.

Griffin grinned up at her, a grin she felt right in her belly.

“Because I should have picked ten.”

Elle laughed and kissed him again.

“Ten might kill me,” she said.

“But what a way to go.”

Standing up, Elle crooked her finger at Griffin, who slipped his hands into her underwear and started to slide them down her legs.

“Fold them,” she said.

“What?”

“Fold my underwear. Don’t throw them.”

“You threw my T-shirt.”

“Who’s in charge here? Hmm?”

“You are.”

“Good. Now fold them.”

Griffin gave her the classic “you’ve gotta be kidding me but if it’ll get me laid...” look and obediently folded her black silk panties. Clearly he hadn’t folded much women’s underwear in his life as they resembled a pocket handkerchief when he’d finished with them. Someday they would go out in formalwear, and she’d make Griffin put her panties in his breast pocket.

“Any rules?” he asked.

“You can use your mouth, fingers and toys, but no cock.” She crawled back onto the bed and lay back on the pillows.

“How many fingers?”

“Are you asking if you can fist me?”

“They don’t call me Griffin Fist because I know how to box.”

“If you can get your whole hand in there, then you’re welcome to. But I’ll be surprised.”

“Have a little faith in me. I’m the David Copperfield of fisting.”

“The Dickens character or the magician?”

“There’s fisting in Dickens? I should have majored in English instead of art.” Griffin winked at her as he grabbed a pillow from the head of his bed and pushed it under her hips. He kissed her again on the mouth and she sensed real affection in Griffin’s kiss. He cared for her. It made it easier for her to relax and open her legs for him without any nervousness or self-consciousness.

With the tips of his fingers, Griffin found her clitoris and lightly rubbed it as he kissed her neck. Passionate kisses on a naked neck. No, she didn’t miss her collar at all.

Griffin slid down her body and settled between her thighs. Carefully he parted her wet folds, touching her at first with his fingers. When he lowered his head and licked her clitoris she inhaled sharply. Such sudden pleasure, it was a gift.

“The clit.” Elle sighed. “The only organ on the human body designed solely for pleasure. Proof God is a woman.”

Griffin laughed and his warm breath brushed over her most sensitive parts. He worked his tongue over her again and again, lightly at first and then harder as she began to pant. What was better? What she felt or what she saw? Looking down and seeing Griffin’s naked shoulders, the leather harness strapped on his back moving with every breath, the hard muscle, the tan, the prominent ridge of biceps as he held himself in place. Bare feet. Ripped black jeans. A willingness to submit to her.

“You were the right man to break my dry spell,” Elle said.

“Welcome to a long, hard wet spell,” Griffin said, a divine bit of poetry.

He pushed his tongue deep inside her before returning his attentions to her clitoris. He slipped a finger into her and pressed into the soft depression right under her pubic bone. Elle let out a very un-domme-like gasp of pleasure. She was so close...so close... She hadn’t been touched so intimately in so long she knew she would come any second now. Any second... Everything throbbed inside her, everything ached, and her hips rose off the bed and pulsed against Griffin’s mouth. Between her thighs his head dipped and his tongue licked and his lips sucked and she came with a cry, clinging to the pillow Griffin had put underneath her.

He rose up as she panted to calm her racing heart.

Griffin wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“One down,” he said. “Six to go.”

“I’m not going to survive it,” she said, panting hard. “I should have made you pick a number between one and five.”

“Too late. Don’t give someone as competitive as I am a challenge if you don’t want me to do it.”

With that pronouncement, Griffin’s head disappeared again. Not between her legs but under the bed.

“Griff?”

“Be right back,” he said and she heard him rummaging under the bed for something. She put both her legs on his back to anchor him and because she really wanted to put her boots on his back.

“You make a very sexy ottoman, Mr. Fiske,” she said.

“I’m not Turkish.”

“I meant the furniture, you ridiculous slut.”

When Griffin resurfaced from his under-the-bed diving expedition, he had a metal briefcase with him.

“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing it as he clicked the locks.

He opened the lid and turned it to face her.

“Vibrator collection,” he said. “Brand-new. Time to christen them. Your pussy is their maiden voyage.”

“You’re a man with a vibrator collection?”

“I was a Boy Scout a million years ago. Gotta be prepared.” He gave her a three-fingered salute.

Griffin set the open briefcase next to her on another pillow. He sat back on his knees and unzipped his pants.

“No cock yet,” she said wagging her finger in that way Kingsley wagged his. Great, now she was doing it. Must be a dom thing.

“I know, but I want to get closer to you. Is that okay?”

She smiled at him. “Very okay. But first—touch yourself.”

His jeans were unzipped and open, hanging low on his narrow hips. She wished she had a camera to take a picture of this scene—Griffin running his hand up and down and all over his erection, the look on his face as he stared directly in her eyes while he did it, shameless, sensual, sexual, all in one.

She crooked her finger at him and he crawled over her kissing her on the mouth again.

“Can I take your clothes off?” he asked. “Please?”

“Of course.”

She sat up to help him pull her shirt off. This time she didn’t have to tell him to fold it neatly and put it away like a good boy. Fast learner. She liked that.

He unzipped her denim skirt and folded it. He slid her bra off her arms and hung it from the knob on the nightstand drawer. When he went for her boots she issued an order.

“Leave those on.”

“With pleasure,” Griffin said, dipping his head to kiss the laces.

“For a dom, you’re a very good sub.”

Griffin grinned at her. “If I have to fold your underwear and kiss your boots to get inside you, then I’m more than happy to do that. But—for the record—King diagnosed me as a born service top.”

“You think I’m bottoming from the top?”

“Maybe I’m just topping from below.” He kissed her right on the tip of her nose. Typical top. She’d show him who was boss. At least in this scene.