Page 138 of Blush

“For future reference, sir, I would like it if you would like it.”

I growl as I head to the bureau in the room to get a cloth to wipe my semen from her. This is going to be a night for the books.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Amanda

I never imagined.

I don’t have a lot of friends other than Jackson. I don’t have girlfriends—people to dish with—like Frankie does, so my knowledge of blow jobs comes from reading romance novels and watching a few porn videos here and there.

The woman always looks like she’s enjoying it immensely. I had my doubts, but I loved it.

Was it uncomfortable at times?

Yes. My jaw hurts, and my neck is a little stiff.

But I pleased Jackson. I could tell by the look on his face, by the soft groans coming from him. By the way he grabbed my head, the way he went faster as he continued.

I feel so much satisfaction—almost as much as if I’d had an intense orgasm myself.

And I realized then. I realized the power I have. The power of the submissive.

I want to learn more.

“All right, Mandy.” Jackson wipes himself from my cheeks and chin with a soft cloth. “The next time, I’ll finish in your mouth.”

The idea makes me hot. To take that part of him into my body.

It’s like sharing something I’ve never shared with another man. I’ve never had any cock except Jackson’s in my mouth.

I want it to stay that way. I want it to stay that way forever.

But I can’t get ahead of myself. He may not be thinking in terms of forever. He probably isn’t. He’s made it quite clear where he stands with me.

I need to think of this as a lesson. As a lesson only with a willing instructor.

The problem? I don’t want to use what I’ve learned with anyone else.

“I want to do something special for you, Mandy,” he says.

“I’d like that, sir.”

“I need to get something from the bar. Will you be okay here for a few minutes? If you want, I’ll unbind you.”

“I’ll be fine, sir.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m not worried, sir.”

I’m not. I feel more myself bound here for Jack’s pleasure than I have in a long time. Maybe ever. He adjusts his jeans and leaves the room, clicking the door locked.

Nerves skitter over me, but I’m not sure whether it’s from apprehension or anticipation. I don’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, because Jack returns quickly, and in his hand is a ceramic bowl filled with—

I gasp. Sweet Bing cherries.

“I got lucky,” he says. “I didn’t dare hope they’d have fresh cherries. I was going to get maraschinos, but this is so much better. Your favorite fruit and mine.” He turns his back then, takes a few moments to do something I can’t see.