Free Fair Game by Jasmine Haynes

his cock right before her. She couldn’t breathe, she needed him so badly.
    “Don’t,” he said, and his voice seemed so far away.
    She looked up. “Why?”
    He didn’t say anything, just stared down at her.
    Eyes locked, she leaned closer, breathed in that musky male scent. Then she put out her tongue and unerringly found the tip of his cock. He tasted like sweet cream with a dash of salt. She licked him all over her lips.
    A growl rose up in his throat.
    “This isn’t fair,” she whispered. “You weren’t supposed to look so good in them.” She wasn’t supposed to succumb to the need to touch and taste.
    “I didn’t look good in them until you got down there on your knees.”
    She nuzzled her face against the smooth material and the hardness of his cock. This wasn’t going as she’d planned. He was supposed to beg to get out of them because he felt ridiculous. His eyes, however, weren’t begging for that . Taking her hand, he folded her palm against his cock.
    Sliding her thumb across the slit, she stroked him. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the elastic and touched flesh. Hot, hard flesh. He groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair. She ached to take him with her mouth, and yet she loved the pleasure of caressing him with her panties still wrapped around him. Holding on to his thigh, she tightened her grip. She’d gotten just a hint that day in the elevator. Time stopped, and all she could hear was his breath, her own, and a low rumble of need in his chest.
    “Christ, you’re going to make me come.”
    Then his body jerked, and she covered his crown with her other palm as he bathed her hand. He made barely a sound, but his fingers stroked through her hair. So much come, it dribbled down the front of the thong. Looking up, she found his eyes on her, and just as she’d made him taste her fingers after she’d masturbated, she put her palm to her mouth and licked him from her hand.
    “Damn you,” he murmured.
    “Now give me my panties back.”
    He gazed down at her forever, his eyes totally unreadable.
    “Everything fine in there? Can I get you anything else?” Damn. The saleswoman. Josie had somehow forgotten where they were.
    “We’re doing great, thank you,” Kyle said, not a hitch in his voice, not one single giveaway that he was standing behind a flimsy curtain, naked except for a pair of her soaked panties. “Could you bring us the red bustier from the same rack?” he called. “And perhaps some matching panties or a thong. I’d like something frilly for her to try on.”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    “Thank you.”
    He’d done it again, gotten the upper hand. She was the one down on her knees, not him. His musky, distinctly male aroma, the taste of him . . . it fogged her brain. She’d stroked him; he’d come in her hand. It was nothing more than teenagers did in the backseat of Daddy’s car, yet she salivated for his full cock in her mouth, his touch on her, fingers, lips, tongue, everything.
    Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. Naked but for the slip of green satin, he was undeniably magnificent, even after he’d orgasmed. He stole her breath all over again. Which made her realize she hadn’t said a word for long, long moments.
    “I’ve decided you should wear my thong home,” she directed, hoping it would reclaim some of her control.
    His lips twitched. “It’s wet.”
    “Exactly.” His come had soaked in, creating a patch of dark jungle green amidst the brilliant emerald. She handed him his pants.
    He gave her a full-blown smile. “I think you have the makings of a dominatrix.”
    “Here you go, sir.” The saleslady was once again outside the curtain. Josie couldn’t answer him.
    Kyle stuck his hand through—“Thank you”—and came back with a delicate red corset and several pairs of panties. Then he lowered his voice. “For you.”
    Josie took the fripperies. Her pupils were wide, her breathing fast, her lips still glistening with traces of the