Free Sedition by Alicia Cameron Page A

something. Because I want to prove that I’m not just some sex-crazed slut who’s addicted to cock, even though I know he doesn’t think that. Instead of answering, I contemplate the minimum time that I should put between hating my master and wanting to fuck him.
    “Would it help if I buttered you up and gave you head?” he asks, finally.
    Of course it would. He’s fucking amazing at giving head. And that would be him servicing me, right? I try to convince myself that that’s the reason I’m growing more excited, not the weight of his body above mine. “Maybe,” I mumble, trying to smile at him. There’s not even a word for what I’m feeling right now. Something between horny and spiteful and grateful and curious. Try finding that on a feelings chart.
    “Still won’t give me a straight answer, will you?” he mutters, tugging my pants down anyway.
    I don’t grace that with a response, but I have no desire to stop him from undressing me. Actually, I lift up my hips to help. He obviously wants to go down on me, and I can’t say I want to turn him down. In fact, as he takes my cock into his mouth, I definitely don’t want to turn him down, and the ridiculously breathy sigh that escapes my lips confirms that.
    I don’t know why it’s so mind-blowing every time he gives me head; he does it fairly often, far more often than I return the favor. Maybe it’s because it’s something I never expected. The men I’ve been with in the past have almost always wanted me to service them, not the other way around, but with Cash, it’s like it’s his way to still be in control. He might be on his knees with a mouth full of cock, but he knows as well as I do that he’s the one pulling all the strings. I don’t even think to challenge him.
    Not like I have a chance to as his hands work their way around me, teasing out the areas that need additional stimulation, brushing past my ass almost innocently. God, that feels wonderful. I forget everything that happened between us, focusing on the sensations, on the way he makes me feel. I relax back down on the bed, letting him work me over, letting him bring me almost to climax before stopping.
    He comes up slowly, lifting me back farther on the bed as he does and trapping me with his arms and legs as he hovers over me, predatory and sexy. He grips my jaw firmly and turns my head to face him, catching my eyes.
    “The truth, Sascha, do you want to fuck?” he asks. His voice is completely serious, calm and controlled, as always. “I do want to be inside of you again, but I wouldn’t force you, and I don’t want to coerce you. Hell, even if you just want me to suck your dick and then leave, I won’t push you. I always want you to want this.”
    Well, if I wasn’t hot for him a minute ago, I am now, hot enough that I can let my pointless rage go and admit to both of us how I’m feeling. “Yes, Cash, I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me every night until I scream, even when I’m angry at you, unless I explicitly tell you that I don’t. But even when I’m angry at you, I’m still attracted to you. I still want you to fuck me.”
    He smiles.
    Asshole.
    Then he gets some lube, which makes me feel a little better. Okay, a lot better. Okay, a whole lot better. I’m trying to forget his stupid smirky smile and focus on the slippery finger he’s introduced, but he insists on talking.
    “You know, I didn’t quite mean that I needed that much confirmation,” he teases, taking advantage of the fact that all I want to do is fuck and squirm and moan my pleasures for the next hour or so. “But I appreciate it. I enjoy that you like this.”
    I make some sort of pathetic whimpering noise of joy as he makes quick work of getting me ready, his fingers relentless and practiced as they stretch me out. He grips me by the hips and shoves me further onto the bed, pausing for a moment. I’m drawn out of my blissful trance by the frown on his face as his hands linger on one of