Rock Me Faster (Licks of Leather #4) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,2

for the past I’d given up.

Atonement was a red-hot bitch.

When I was secured, she climbed onto the bed and straddled my hard stomach. “You’re safe. Let your mind go.”

I wanted to, but images of what might have happened if Angie hadn’t literally taken the situation in hand saturated my brain.

My erection was at half-staff, which only added to my guilt. Angie wasn’t going to find relief with a limp cock, and neither was I. As if reading my mind, she slid down my body until her lips hovered above my uncooperative dick.

“Just feel,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes, wanting to anticipate the suction of her mouth. But all I could think about was how fucked up I’d become and how I’d allowed myself to be reduced to this simply to function.

Stop mind-fucking yourself, and focus on fucking Angie.

When she wrapped her mouth around me, I finally stopped fighting my ghosts and surrendered. My cock sprang back to life. I reached for her head, but the chains—as they’d been designed to do—kept me from touching her.

It was for her own good—and mine. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to fist her hair, set the rhythm I liked, and use her mouth. Sadly, the power I once wielded was nothing but a memory of a life long gone.

No matter how frustrating and unfulfilling this sterile fucking might be, this was my new norm. My penance. It was depressing as shit and I still couldn’t accept it, so I told myself that every directive Angie followed was an extension of my control. Yeah, it was pure bullshit, but thinking too hard on the reversal of the dynamics would only drive me insane.

Since I had a schedule to keep and a plane to catch, I lifted my lids and watched her mouth work my cock.

Soon, the mounting friction sent tingles crawling up my spine.

“Enough,” I growled. “Grab a condom and your vibe and shove me inside you. Now.”

Angie complied, and after rolling the latex down my length, she straddled me again, positioning her opening to my crest. She pressed the buzzing toy to her clit, and with a grunt, I lifted my hips and drove deep inside her.

Inwardly cursing the cuffs, I closed my eyes again and let her set the pace. She knew how I liked it—hard, fast, and ruthless. And as always, she didn’t disappoint. I made sure Angie got the pleasure she deserved first, then followed her over.

Panting and sweating, she collapsed over my chest. This was the worst part, because I couldn’t even give her the aftercare she deserved.

Stop, fucker. She’s not your sub or your girlfriend, the voice in my head barked at my guilty conscience.

“I need free, babe,” I murmured softly.

“Oh, right.” Angie lifted her head. “Thanks. That was…”

She didn’t finish her thought, simply lifted off my still-stiff cock, disposed of the condom, then started working the clasps free at my wrists.

“It was what?” I asked as I shook out my arms, sending blood flowing again.

Angie paused briefly, then freed my ankles. “Amazing as always, but…”

“But?”

Sliding on the robe draped across the chair near the fireplace, Angie sent me a sad smile. “I’m not going to be here forever, Ross.”

“You’re here now.”

“I know, but…” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve known you since you were four years old, and—”

“I’ve already told you. The age difference doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not talking about that. You’ve been in a dark mood I haven’t seen you in for a long time. What’s going on? What’s bothering you?”

“It’s not any darker than usual. I mean, yeah, it would have been nice to have more than a few short days to rest, regroup, and recharge, but other than that, nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure? I’m worried.”

“About me?”

“No, worried that doing all this”—she waved at the cuffs—“is doing a disservice to you.”

“It’s part of what I pay you for.” The second the words left my lips, she blanched, and I cringed. “I didn’t mean it like that, Ang. You’re more to me than—”

“A hooker? Sadly, that’s what I feel like.”

“Fuck.” I sat up and dragged a hand over my bald head. “How can I fix it?”

“Start living again,” she pleaded. “It’s time for you to move on.”

“No.” I shook my head. My gut clenched in dread. “I’m not ready yet.”

“You are. It’s been four years. I can’t be your crutch forever. You need—”

“Crutch? You suggested we try the cuffs. And guess what? It worked.” Fear and anger churning, I launched off the bed and grabbed