Free Pearl on Cherry by Chanse Lowell Page A

is as creamy white as your sinful throat.”
    He moved around her and sucked at her pounding pulse-line, then he dragged the tip of his tongue to the hollow of her throat and lapped at it, swirling his tongue around.
    “You taste like my cherry girl.”
    “I am Clarissa,” she corrected him.
    “No—not right now you are not. You are all I want. You are my cherry”—he licked down to the top of her breasts—“and you taste divine. I shall place pearls upon your naked breasts, roll them over your ripe nipples and suck at them both until they’re both as hard as the other. I think you would enjoy that.”
    He cupped her breasts, rolling his thumbs over her erect, straining nipples.
    “William. I . . . I am not a prostitute,” she whimpered.
    “You are more than my cherry girl. You are what I must have. What I must devour, because you feed the beast in me like no one else can. Come home with me now—let me pleasure you all night.”
    “I cannot,” she said, her voice breaking, but her eyes were still on him.
    “Why? Do I frighten you?”
    “Your intensity frightens me. What I shall become if I do these wicked things with you frightens me.”
    “You think me an animal that would leave you bereft?” He stroked her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs as he cupped her ears. “Listen to me now—and hear what I tell you—you are all I desire anymore. Why would I leave you destitute?”
    “Because I am in reality nothing to you. I am the cleaning lady who stores the props, sews the costumes and hides in the shadows like an ogre. You cannot possibly want anything from me other than my flesh, and there are other starlets far prettier and experienced than I at the art of pleasing a man such as yourself.”
    “Sing for me right now, and I shall release you. After you are done, I will kiss you, and if you want to leave, then by all means. I shall even drive you home without so much as touching you.”
    “What shall I sing?” She swallowed and dipped her head, searching his eyes.
    Why did he ask this of her? Was he mocking her? Trying to trick her into something awful?
    “You may choose for yourself, but I will be allowed to touch you how I see fit while you sing, so pick something to fit the occasion,” he said in his deep, sensual timbre.
    She sighed for a moment. Did he know how wet he was making her all over? She was sweating, she was trembling, adrenaline leaking out of her pores and moisture dripping from her secret folds—all for him.
    “In the lazy moonlight, there is a girl. A man above, and what he does. Oh, he does it all. He has it all. He will ruin her if she does not return the call,” she began her new song she had been creating over the last few days.
    He hummed in approval, gave a close-lipped smile and held her loosely, his hands roaming up her back.
    She pulled at her bindings for a moment, and when he grinned with wicked delight at her being stuck there, a flood of heat jolted through her cunny.
    “If she falls will there be a way, for she is lost to him this very day. He cannot see, for blindness is his. But she should run, how can she if she is lost? Will she succumb? Will she die? He will take her in the night, and she will catch fire.” The song shifted into a darker tone. “She cries as he plunges with desire, but it is not for pain she will expire? How can she tell her heart to stop stretching? Can she tell the moon to stop bleeding into her soul? Can she tell him to stop waking her mind? No, she is lost. She is lost. He is in her rushing blood, he is in her very heart. She is his, and there is no fight.”
    The song ended with a fading, low note. Her eyes were heavy, her breathing ragged.
    She wasn’t sure what to do now. His hands were in her hair, then he fisted at the roots, tipping her head back. “Did you make that song for me just now?”
    “No, I’ve been nurturing it for days,” she said, breathless at this angle.
    He inhaled deeply at her neck, and her knees weakened