The Dollhouse by Stacia Stone Read Free Book Online Page A

body?” He mercilessly twisted the delicate peak of flesh and stars exploded in my vision. His hand moved down my body, fingers scratching at my skin, hard enough that I gasped at the pain of it. Questing fingers slipped easily between the slick folds at my center and teased at the entrance. “No one else has tasted this wet little cunt?”
    “No one!” I was sobbing now, both from the pain and from what hearing the filthy words on his lips did to me. “No one else, sir.”
    His hand moved back up to my breasts and I nearly cried at the loss of his touch on my most sensitive place.
    “Arch your back,” he commanded.
    My body bowed up as I complied without hesitation. His arm slipped under my back, raising me even higher until my breasts were presented to him like some sort of pagan offering.
    I stared down the line of my body into eyes that had turned dark as a jungle canopy. Our gazes met and held. I waited, not even daring to breathe. My wrists pressed hard against the wood of the headboard as I willed my arms to stop trembling. If he was pleased with my obedience there was nothing in the fathomless gaze to indicate it.
    There is nothing more erotic than when a woman offers her breasts to me, Dalea.” He blew gently over the sensitive skin. My nipples puckered and hardened in reaction. “Beg me to do what I want with them.”
    My voice came in a breathy sigh. “Please do what you want with my breasts, sir.”
    He clearly needed no further inducement. I saw his mouth descend before I felt the broad, raspy surface of his tongue flatten against my flesh.
    His head moved to the side, laving the other nipple in turn with wicked strokes of his tongue. The hand holding my wrists pressed down hard, grinding the delicate bones together until I made a small sound of pain. Instead of balking, the sound seemed to excite him more. His lips closed over one nipple, sucking it in earnest.
    The sensation, sharp and unrelenting, was so close to pain that I instinctively bucked against the iron grip he had on me, even as I knew my struggles were to no avail. His hand tightened around my wrists, unmoved by my struggles I might as well have been the wind trying to move a mountain.
    He watched me as his lips bared, still pressed against the skin of my areola. He wouldn’t, came the desperate thought. I felt a flash of fear as his mouth closed over the sensitive flesh of one nipple.
    That was when he bit down, teeth digging sharply into my skin.
    The jolt of pain ran like live wire from the aching flesh of my nipple and straight to my molten core. His head moved to the other side, repeating the harsh attention.
    Both of his hands moved to my chest, squeezing my breasts and pressing them hard together.
    Now released, my hands fell to his head of their own volition and my fingers coiled in his dark hair. It was thick and soft as silk. My hands moved frantically through the strands, pulling and clenching into fists. The frenetic movements were the only way I knew to ask for what I didn’t know how to put into words.
    I bucked against him, his erection hard against my thigh. The squirming contact wasn’t enough and I desperately wished there weren’t so much clothing between us, that I could feel his bare skin on mine.
    He matched the movement, hips moving against me in a rhythm as old as time itself, even as he never ceased the unforgiving attention to my breasts.
    We ground against each other. I didn’t care that the wool of his slacks was rough and scratchy against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, it only added to the overwhelming sensation. The friction against the aching bead of my clitoris was overwhelming. My hips rose and fell against him in a frantic tempo.
    His hands stayed in place, kneading at my breasts, but his mouth moved up my chest to my neck and nibbled a tantalizing trail to my ear. “Come for me, Dalea. Come now.”
    He thrust his hips hard into me. The feel of him rubbing against me there — the abrasive