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his tattoos as he stepped out of his black slacks, revealing strong thighs, and the even stronger bulge of his erect cock under his black boxer briefs.
    A shudder of need went through her.
    Have to touch him, to feel his cock in my hand…
    She licked her lips.
    “Now you,” he said, moving toward her, a glint in his eyes.
    He bent over her, helped her unzip her dress and slip it over her head.
    “Ah, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said, real awe in his voice. “But let’s get this off.”
    He reached around her, unsnapped her black lace bra, and she felt the weight of her breasts, the heat of them, her nipples hardening in the cool air.
    “Yes, gorgeous girl. Lord. Even better than I’d imagined.”
    He knelt on the bed, towering over her as he pressed her down onto the mattress. The cotton quilt was soft against her back. His breath was hot on her cheek as he whispered, “I need to see your tattoos. To see how you’ve marked your skin before I do that myself: mark you. To see just how beautiful you are.”
    He gathered her breasts in his hands as he spoke, and all she could do was sigh at the warmth of his palms, his skin pressed against her stiff nipples. He kissed her cheek, her neck, playing with her breasts, gently at first, then he gave her nipples a small pinch.
    “Oh!”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “A…a little. But it’s good, too.”
    “Very good. Do you know about safe words?”
    “Yes.”
    “Tell me your safe words.”
    “
Yellow
for too much. It means slow down.
Red
means stop.”
    “Yes. Excellent. Trust that I will respect them absolutely. Yes?”
    “Yes.”
    He pinched her again, hard enough this time to make her pull in a gasping breath.
    “Is it still good?”
    “Oh yes…”
    Her pussy was aching, soaking wet. She needed to come again.
    “Touch me, girl,” he commanded.
    She reached for him, stroked her hand over the cotton of his boxer briefs, reveled in his sharp intake of breath. He was big. Hard as iron. She looked down as she reached into the gap and pulled his cock free.
    Oh, it was beautiful. So damn hard, the tip dark and swollen. The flesh was like velvet, the same golden brown as the rest of his body. So thick her fingers couldn’t quite wrap around it. She licked her lips again.
    “Stroke me,” he told her.
    She started a slow slide of her fisted hand, up the heavy shaft, down again.
    “Ah, that’s good,” he said.
    He was caressing her breasts, his palms soft, pausing to pinch her nipples again and again. She was on fire, burning for him. Loving every moment of this delicate torture. Loving the contrast of his soft touch, the sharp pinches. Loving it enough that she felt no desire to question his absolute authority over her at this moment.
    He moved in until one of his thighs was between hers, used it to press the tiniest bit against her aching cleft.
    “I love how wet you get for me, Mischa. For
me
. How slippery you feel. Like fucking heaven, if you want to know the truth. I love how you stroke my cock. That delicate female hand around me. Ah…”
    She squeezed his cock, felt him jump a little in response, smiled to herself.
    His hips arched into her hand. His voice was a little breathless now. “As much as I love this, I’m going to love fucking you even more, especially with you wearing these fishnet stockings, the tall heels. It’s too good. But now I want you to stop.”
    He released her breasts, took her hand from his rigid cock, his fingers closing over hers tightly.
    “Your tattoos are beautiful. All these flowers spilling over your shoulder. I love that they’re all black and gray. It makes for an almost chiaroscuro effect. Like my charcoal drawings.”
    “Yes. That was the intention,” she told him, barely able to think straight.
    “I’m going to turn you over now, to see what else is there.”
    Desire was like some living thing, coiling through her body. She wanted him to admire her tattoos, to admire her body. “Yes. Do it, Connor.”
    Connor