Michael's Flight

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Excerpt

"Forgive me, Mistress, yes. I find you very desirable."

Cashmere turned within the space between his thighs, the movement against his legs sending shards of arousal through him. "Why would you need to be forgiven? It is much more pleasant to have a man who desires you in your bed than one who must be coaxed, limiting how much you can enjoy him."

"Then I am glad I please you."

"Now, with the worst of the grime removed, let me begin to truly enjoy you." She leaned over him, brushing her breasts across his arm, to a tray of soaps. She selected one and, pulling a washcloth from the rack, dipped the soap and the cloth in the water and began to work up a thick lather.

With feather-like gentleness, she plied the cloth on his face. Taking special care where the sand had grit on his cheek, playfully poking her finger into the fabric and running it along the rim of his ear, slowly, sensuously washing him. Michael swallowed, realizing from the way her eyes widened that she saw the hunger he felt for her on his face. Yet she seemed otherwise unmoved by his reaction. Rather she was absorbed in studying his body, what made him react, how his stomach rippled when she splayed her hand along his ribs.

Shortly, she leaned back against Michael and reached for his hands. "Now, you will bathe me."

His mouth desert dry, Michael wished he'd begged a drink of water instead of gorging on the fruit. He licked his lips and reached for the cloth and soap. She laid her head back on his chest, her hands stroking his thighs, this time fitting her hand between her hips and his sensitive inner skin. She sighed, contented.

Mesmerized, as if watching someone else, Michael lathered the cloth and started at Cashmere's wrist, rubbing the cloth in slow, lazy circles, applying just enough pressure to remove whatever dirt had found its way to her arm. Her arms done, he nudged her forward ever so slightly so he could wash her back. When he'd covered every inch of her, except for one, she chuckled.

"You seem to have missed something, slave."

"I would not offend you, Mistress."

"Thenwash my breasts, but use your hands."

Michael gasped. "My hands are rough, Mistress. There are calluses."

"I know. Bathe me."

The desire lacing her voice forced him to drag in air and not pant like a dog in heat, Michael again reached for the soap, lathering it in his hands until the soap poured over his fingers before reaching for her breasts. Slowly, gently, he ran his hands over each globe. Lightly, barely touching them, he fought his building desire to test their weight, to run his hands around them, gripping just enough to make her gasp before turning her so that he could suckle on her nipples.

"Are you afraid to touch me, slave?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Don't be. Massage my nipples. Show me how you want me to tend to yours."

Of their own accord, his fingers jerked, pinching her nipples. She moaned, her head lolling against his chest.

"Yes, that's it. That's what I want."

He rolled his fingers over and around her nipples, his breathing quickened despite his efforts to remain calm, detached. She would use him for her pleasure and toss him aside. Of that he had no doubt. When he slid his legs over hers, drawing her thighs apart, she moaned again.

"Yes, that's it, use your hand. Pleasure me with your hand, slave."

Certain he misunderstood, Michael only tentatively slid one hand down her rib cage, the other still kneading her breast. She wriggled against him, spreading her thighs wider, making him wonder if she knew how she aroused him. Did she know how his cock throbbed with need for release?

"Show me what you would do with your cock."

Stunned by her direct words, Michael shot his middle finger between her lower lips--oblivious to the blunt movement.

She purred, nails digging into his thighs. "Yes, that's it, rub me there. Yes, there."

Finding the rhythm she wanted, Michael worked his finger in and out. When she gripped his thighs even tighter, he inserted another finger, crushing her breast with his other hand. She undulated against him, her sighs coupled with moans of pure pleasure, making him harder than he had ever been in his life. This was the ultimate in torture. He saved her life, she made him pleasure her and it took everything he had to keep from lifting her up and plunging into her where they sat in the tub. His breath sounded so hard in his own ears that he was sure she would scream out in fear rather than the shuddering climax that came before he was even aware it had happened. It was only the rippling of her climax, in waves from within her sheath to the shivers through her body, coupled with her cry of pleasure that stopped him for giving into his own carnal needs. She lay against him while her breathing returned to normal and he fought to steady his own.

From the other room, they heard Stavin call out that their meal had been brought.

Cashmere responded, "Thank you, I will get it later. You may go."

When they heard the door close, Cashmere twisted in his arms, her hand caressing his jaw. "You please me very much."

Lost in her rich green eyes, Michael was unsure what to say or do. He only knew he throbbed with overwhelming desire for the woman. His lust could be slacked by anyone, even his own hand, but only thrusting into this woman would satisfy this need he had.

She ran her hands over his body, admiring him as if he were a finely made statue. "You are well made. Were you built so before you were sent to the fields?"

"I believe so. I don't know what I look like now."

"Ah. Well, you are beautifully defined. Bigger than most house or bed slaves, but I'm sure you know that. Is that why you were sent to the fields?"

"I believe so."

"Mmm. Well, I prefer bigger men such as you captives are."

She reached for his cock, stroked it and smiled at him, laughing lightly when it jumped in her hand.

"You won't last long once you are mounted, will you?"