Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

For the first time, she felt a tiny trickle of satisfaction with the thought. Something within her power to give.

While the idea of him drinking his beer excited her, this casual use of his slave, she also liked the idea of him being too aroused to do anything other than dig in for the ride, so she put all her effort into it.

His thighs trembled, and he thrust up. She scored him with her teeth, swirled her tongue over the base, found his heavy testicle sac and squeezed it, caressing the sensitive perineum. She knew how to slide a finger slow and easy up his backside and make him see stars, but for now she focused on this.

She did miss hearing him, the guttural whispers an aroused Master would make, the murmured command to suck his cock harder, faster. As if he knew that, the clutch of his hand and the thrust of his hips communicated that message, making her wetter. She wanted him between her legs, wanted to feel whole and real. She also craved the spurt of his seed into the back of her throat, his roar of release vibrating through her touch, breaking that muted sound barrier.

When he came, it was all that and more, his hand clenching on the back of her neck, his cock thrusting into her mouth so hard it was all she could do to keep in rhythm, drawing it out as seed flooded her throat and tongue. She heard his male groan of satisfaction, the animal sound of it thrilling her to her toes, her calves slick with her arousal. She didn’t slow down until he started twitching with the sensitivity. Licking him, teasing him with small kisses and nips, she savored his shudders. He caught her chin and pulled her up, lifted her in an amazing display of strength to straddle his lap. He kept her off his cock, despite her moan of protest. Instead, he cradled her face and cleaned his fluids from her lips with his T-shirt, wiping the moisture from her eyes, caused by the strain of powerful thrusts. Finding his abdomen beneath the raised cotton, she dug into his muscles with needy fingers.

“God, your cunt is so flushed and swollen. You want your Master to fuck you, don’t you?”

When she nodded, he claimed her lips, tasted himself and her at once. He gripped her ass, made her writhe against him, whimper as he prolonged the wet, sucking pleasure of his mouth. But then he drew back and held her, his hand on her throat where the collar was, a reminder. “Not right now, but soon. First, I’m giving you that bath.”

She’d tried to protest, explain she did know how to shower herself, but that had won her a stinging swat on the bottom before he shepherded her into the garden tub. He’d given her a very thorough bath, embarrassing and arousing at once. Sliding his fingers into her pussy as well as her anus, he left her on the cusp of climax before he turned to rinsing her, stimulating her nipples with the sprayer.

God, she wanted him inside her, but the frustrating fact was that she wasn’t used to so much physical exertion, and he was far too intuitive. “It’s bedtime, sweetheart,” he said after he dried her gently, cupped her face. “There’ll be time for the rest.”

He even carried her to his bedroom, a sign that she couldn’t conceal her utter lassitude. It had a quiet, tranquil feel to it, an aroma of wood and Peter. The bed’s cushiony quilt and abundance of pillows also bore his reassuring scent. He lay down with her, a consolation prize, and while she lay with her head on his chest, he described everything in the room in detail, from the overflowing bowl of change he had on the dresser, to his pictures, snapshots of his travels for his company and with the military, and the view of the bayou out the open screened window. He did so well she couldn’t help but see it all, imagine herself as part of it, him wrapped around her.

When he at last went quiet, probably to give her the chance to doze off, she remembered what he’d said out on the dock. Tell me everything going on in that head or heart ofyours. Trust me with everything.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

She nodded, rubbing the firm pectorals beneath her cheek. Reaching up, she stroked the curve of one, found the bump of his nipple. “Were my tattoos ruined?”

His hand drifted down her back, traced the eagle and flag. “No, sweetheart. Your promise to your grandmother is still there.”

She wondered why it didn’t surprise her that he understood the most important one to her.

“When I got it, she said only trashy women got tattoos. And she worried that it might be blasphemous. But I think she liked it. She put her palm on it, said a prayer for me. So I’ve always felt her hand there, too.”

“I’m sorry she died, Dana. She sounds like a wonderful woman. Do you think she would have liked me?”

She would have loved him. But for form’s sake, Dana sniffed. “She’d have said you need to be taken down a peg or two. But she would have tolerated you.”

He chuckled, and the warmth of it slid through her, thickened her throat as she imagined him and Grams together, the banter they would have shared. How gently Peter would have treated her. She sought another subject before tears made her foolish. “Why did you decide to be a soldier? I bet you were an adrenaline junkie.”

“It was probably some of that,” he admitted. “But eventually I matured enough to realize how damn lucky I am to live here, to be given the blessings I have. So I pay it forward, hoping to give those choices to others. I know how that sounds these days. People make fun of it, think a guy like me is stupid.”

“I