Free The Only Choice (The Choices Trilogy #3) by Dee Palmer Page A

shoulders.
    “Fuck!” I cry. “I can’t, please Sir. . . . arhhh.” His lips press and suck my folds and his tongue circles my clit building the instant tremors that had barely subsided, his mouth fixes over my very centre. He sucks and draws his tongue flat across the nub of nerves, only to flick with the tip of his tongue so lightly I try to tense my thighs and move my hips to gain some much needed leverage. His hands clasp down tight and I know I’m not moving anywhere he doesn’t want me. “Arghhh.” I puff out aching again for release. “Please . . . please I’m begging please.” I pull myself against his grip but I can do nothing more and receive an angry growl and a graze of his teeth over my sensitive flesh. He stops once again as I start to spasm.
    “Please what?” His cold voice cuts me out of my haze, he looks calm and unaffected by my pleas and I realise he could probably do this all night but my body is spent.
    I whisper. “Please. Kiss me Sir.” My eyes are closed and I hear him shuffle and let out a deep moan. He wipes his mouth along the inside of my thigh, the slight scrape indicating a shadow of stubble not yet visible. Standing firm against my swaying, trembling body he cups the back of my head and I sigh conceding this sweet painful submission. His lips touch mine, soft and sure, sweet and tender. It’s killing me, his tongue is tentative as it traces the seam gently urging me to open; my fight and resistance long departed I welcome him. Light tangled dances; my tongue strokes his and quickly turns demanding and vital, like my next breath. He pulls my hair and I catch my breath while I try to regain my focus on his feral eyes so close to mine. His jaw is clenched and the small muscle ticks wildly at the sharp edge of the curve on his face. He releases me and frantically pulls at my bound wrists, unclipping the cable and untying the restraint but without giving me time to stabilise on my feet he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the sofa. He reverently lays me flat, suddenly I’m made of glass again. His hands slowly trace my skin from my neck, along my collar bone down my torso. To my hips and back up sweeping movement until he captures my breasts and holds watching with heated eyes as my nipples tighten and my breath hitches. Shaking his head he straightens and starts to undo his buttons and zip. He takes himself in his hand stroking his length slowly, fuck I’ve missed this sight. So strong, so sensual, so fucking sexy.
    My next words surprise me as much as him, but in a moment of clarity in a haze of passionate euphoria my inner common sense peaks through. “Condom?” It may have been quiet but it had the impact of screaming through a bull horn.
    “What?” His eyes widen but quickly narrow and he seems undistracted as he continues to languidly stroke himself. I tilt my head because it wasn’t a trick question but in this bizarre standoff it looks like I am the one that needs to clarify.
    “Condom Sir, I don’t mean to offend, but I don’t trust her as much as you seem to.” I try to shift away and squeeze my legs together but he pushes himself further between, not quite leaning his full weight over me but his hips are keeping my thighs spread and his other hand on my hip prevents me moving away.
    “We are not doing this now.” His deep voice is strained and he pushes the tip of his cock against my folds, smoothly moving up and down the slick sensitive tissue causing my thighs to quiver. I throw my head back and whimper because I need to feel him more than my next breath, more than my sanity and certainly more than my timid common sense which didn’t stand a chance against this desire consuming every fibre of my being. He pushes deeper and we both exhale on a guttural moan. He moves further up the sofa taking me with him, pushing deeper, getting closer. I find my fingers gripping his hard unforgiving muscles on his back pulling him closer; needing his weight, his