The hair on his head was not blond. It was not brown. It was lighter than it was darker, definitely lighter than the hair that adorned the rest of his body, and it had the same burnish of the hair between his legs.
She moved around him slowly, continuing to draw him in, memorize him, for if they only had this one session, she wanted to remember it forever. Savor the Adonis fate saw fit to drop into her sphere, even if he broke in fifteen minutes, which meant she’d never have such a moment again because she’d never select him again.
She slowly made her way around him, inspecting the dizzying array of muscles on his back, again appreciating the curves and hollows of his backside, allowing her eyes to caress the wealth of visible sinews carving along his forearms.
And his hands.
Strong. Capable. Long fingers that matched the rest of his body, ending in squared-off tips. They were oddly elegant and at the same time virile, and she fancied in studying them they were longer than most cocks.
Which meant just with the length, if he knew how to use them, he could bring her to orgasm thrusting them inside her.
He was no Adonis.
He was Zeus.
She drew her lips in, wetting them, feeling the saturated soak in her panties that was beginning to coat her upper thighs, gathering her wits as she finished her slow circle and came to stand several feet in front of him again.
His eyes were on hers.
Her eyes dropped to his dick.
Yes, he enjoyed this. His balls were even tighter in his scrotum, his cock hanging so heavy, it looked painful.
“Do I pass inspection, Mistress?”
Again with the cheek.
But there was now a thread to it, an edge. Not pure impudence. He could no longer pull that off.
He’d been affected by her perusal. He tried to hide it but he’d failed.
Amélie gave him her gaze.
“You do know…” she said softly and took a step toward him.
She allowed her eyes to roam his face.
God, she wanted to touch him.
Please, please, please do not let him break in fifteen minutes, she begged the fates and moved her attention back to his eyes. Or ever, she ended her plea surprisingly.
Before she could allow that thought rising unexpectedly to tear into her concentration, she took another step toward him.
He flicked his gaze down, it came back hungrier, and she watched him draw his lower lip between his teeth and slide it against that white ridge until it was free.
At the sight, her breasts grew heavy, her nipples strained the fabric of her bra, his exposure of his desire, to have her closer, for her to touch him, the baring of those teeth, oh yes.
She wanted very badly to touch him.
“That your opening line out there was unacceptable,” she finished her earlier thought.
He looked boyishly confused for a second, it was intensely endearing for that second, as he muttered, “Uh … what?”
“The ‘how you doin’, sweetheart,’” she explained something they both knew didn’t need to be explained. She drew infinitesimally closer, the barest of leans, but he was already so attuned to her, his eyes darkened further and he reciprocated her lean, drawn to her like the pull of a magnet. “Stand strong, Olivier,” she ordered quietly.
She watched the beauty of him baring his teeth in a snarl of frustration he controlled before he swayed back and did as told.
“You know that’s unacceptable,” she repeated. “And obviously,” she drew in breath, locking his attention on her, “I must do something about it.”
He stood there, caught in her focus, hands behind his head, and said nothing.
“As I mentioned before, unless I forbid it, you’re welcome to speak, just do it respectfully,” she invited. She went on to prompt, “Don’t you agree?”
“You gotta do what you feel you gotta do … Mistress.”
The words were respectful, mostly.
That said, they weren’t entirely acceptable.
What they were was voiced in a tight, thick rumble like each was a piece of gravel, and his mouth was full of the same he had to force them through.
At the same time she liked his acute reaction to her, she grew concerned at its quickness. She was taking her time, to be certain. But she hadn’t been at him an hour and she’d done nothing to him but make him stand naked for her perusal.
He was going to break.
Fuck, she thought.
“Drop to your knees,” she ordered.
Her extreme relief was only part of her reaction when he treated her to another of those bitten-back snarls, not a look of desperate neediness, eager to jump at her command.
In fact, he was so not eager to jump, it took several very long moments before he bent a knee, his big body teetering in a controlled fall that, when he hit that knee, it was a wonder everything in the room didn’t jump at his landing.
His other leg came down.
And the new depth of emotion in his eyes as he looked up at her was astounding.
He did not like to look up.
She checked the expanse exposed below.
His cock had grown past impressive to legendary.
But he definitely liked to be made to look up.
Not easily broken, then.
Oh yes, her mind whispered.
“Behind you, Olivier,” she said gently, “on the floor, there’s a series of steel eyes set into the wood. They’re in a number of lines. I want you to place your left calf against the outermost line, the same with your right on the other side.”
He twisted to look behind him. She saw his chest heave mightily once as his predicament assailed him. He seemed to still and she watched avidly as he struggled with the mental constraints that separated him from his true nature.