Coming Tomorrow DARK MUSE RIDER
Poe is Serving up Pancakes!
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So she wasn’t so good at being submissive in real life. Dammit. But what he was doing was tormenting, not the kind of pain she wanted. Guess that was his soft pain. She wasn’t sure, and that was the other problem. She wanted to know what his hard pain was. It had better be actually hard. And making her halfway suck his cock was not hard. Not hardly.
She’d have to speak to him about this … hardness thing. He needed to understand what kind of pain she wanted. Not the damn teasing tormenting kind.
She made her way to the kitchen.
Her stomach lurched in lust at seeing him cooking at her stove. He’d put on a pair of black flannel pants and wore nothing but milky white skin over bulging cut muscle that danced with his cutlery skills. And that gorgeous black hair hanging down his shoulders, needing her fingers pulling and …
“I’m making you pancakes,” he muttered without turning.
She sat on the stool in the center of the kitchen, trying to think of a clever reply that amounted to fuck stupid pancakes! You need to fuck me. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know.” He finally glanced over his shoulder at her. “Would you like warm milk with that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Poe, really?”
“What?” he said, turning back to his pancakes.
“You know what.”
“Spell it out Scribbler.”
“So I’m Scribbler now?”
“Right now, yes.”
She let out another huff. “This is not the kind of pain I want Poe.”
He turned with a platter of fluffy pancakes for five, and set it on the snack bar before her. “We had a deal,” he said simply.
“Well I’d like to talk about that deal.”
He fetched plates and utensils and set them down with a light, “Okay,” before turning to dig in the fridge.
“Well for one, I don’t like being teased.”
He returned with butter and milk, setting them down. “I see that.”
“And part of this game should be about me getting what I like.”
“You want a Dom,” he said, sitting on his stool and loading his plate up. “That’s what I’m being.”
“What makes you think a Dom gets everything he wants, how he wants?” She added her exasperated laugh with that.
He eyed her while swirling the syrup bottle rapidly over his stack then set it down still staring at her. “Are you saying a Dom shouldn’t be in charge?”
She watched him cut his pancakes into perfect squares. “Yes, in charge but at the consideration of what his sub wants and needs.”
He stabbed a pancake and laid one on her plate. “But your stories say you want to be sexually dominated. Butter and syrup?” he asked.
“Right! Sexually dominated, not punished with a year-long tease,” she cried. “Butter only,” she said after a few seconds.
Her clit tingled when the corner of his full mouth tugged with a smile. “Year long, Scribbler?”
She watched him slather butter on the pancake. “I mean, that’s what it feels like,” she said. And feeling was the only form of measurement that mattered in these things.
He cut her pancakes the same as his and then poked at his own and shoved a forkful in his mouth, staring at her, chewing slowly. His tongue swept over his lower lip then upper.
“Oh my God, you’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?” he muttered, slowing his chomping.
“Teasing! Stop playing dumb, Rider!”
He fought a smile and lowered his head. “I’m just eating. Scribbler.”
Anger shot through her that he was still punishing her, and calling her Scribbler to rub it in. “Sure you are,” she said, nodding. “Just casually eating pancakes while It should be my pussy you’re pouring syrup on and eating and licking like that!”
He froze in mid chew and fire arched from his gaze right to her clit. He stared at her for many seconds then straightened a little before slowly sliding his plate to the side, silently telling her to put her ass where that plate had been.
“What are you waiting for … Contessant?”
Oh mercy. All her sass slowly fizzled out, replaced with breathless … something. Something very not sassy. She eyed the slow tilt of his head, and the challenge was enough to stand her up. But that was it.
“Bring your pussy here,” he said, in case the message wasn’t clear. “Put it where my plate was.”
Right. Yes. She eyed the counter now. Just … put her pussy where his plate was.
She made her way over and he scooted his stool back, giving her plenty of room to … put her pussy where his plate was. Because that was something she’d done never times in her life.
“Disrobe, Contessant,” he said, while she stood next to him, eyeing the countertop like it were a mountain. Mount Pussy Where Plate Was.
Disrobe. Her brain repeated the directive three times before her body moved to do so. She let white terrycloth fall to the floor, too concerned with that look on his face to do anything else. Those silver eyes. They were all over her breasts like the bristles of a metal brush, scraping over their hard tips. The tingle in her clit made her entire body shudder.
Poe grabbed the nearest stool and slid it next to Contessant. A ladder. To climb up by. And just how was she supposed to do that without looking stupid?
As though sensing her dilemma, he moved the stool and pointed before him. “Stand there.”
She moved into the spot he indicated.
“But… face me,” he said.
She turned slowly, feeling like she were facing a firing squad.
“Hold on,” he said softly, his gaze still locked on her breasts.
She put her palms on the snack bar and he stood. She looked at the wall of muscle and silky skin just before her now. She glanced up to find him staring down at her. His mouth lowered and pressed into hers, warm and sweet, even as his warm hands wrapped her waist and lifted her up.
She gasped when he pulled away, his fingers softening before gliding down to her hips and over her thighs. He pulled his stool close and sat before her.
Charlotte’s heart pounded as he stared at her closed legs, or what was between them that he wanted.
He finally raised only his eyes to hers, his message loud and clear. Serve. Me. Your pussy.
“How would you… like my legs?”
His gaze rose to a thousand degrees before he muttered, “Out of my way.”