"Joanna Wylde - Dragon's Mistress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

she pulled away.

"Oh, no," she said. "That's far too easy, Drake. Like I said, I want to earn my money."

She leaned over him, rubbing her breasts against his chest sensuously. Her nipples were tight, hard
pebbles against him, and he groaned in pleasure. Then she kissed him, her lips light and moist against his.
She teased him, nipping and lapping at him, then dropping little kisses along his jaw and neck. Her mouth
worked its way lower, trailing fire along his chest. Lower and lower she moved, and then one hand was
gripping the length of his cock. Her lips were almost there, and she felt his stomach muscles clench in
anticipation.

She looked up at him through her veil of hair, her eyes filled with a look of power that said he might
be ruler of the world, but for that moment she was his ruler. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back,
content to be under her control for now.

Her tongue slipped out, tracing the little ridge that ringed the head of his cock. He shivered,
quivering at her touch. She grasped him firmly in her hand, then pulled down on his skin. He felt sensitive,
exposed. Then her tongue touched him again, this time right above her hand. She trailed it up along the
underside of his erection and wiggled it against him as she reached the little notch below the head. His
hips thrust up at her once, involuntarily. She laughed throatily, then her mouth engulfed him fully, sucking
him into its warms depths.

She slipped down on him, sucking him in hard and then pulling back, her lips trailing over him. Her
head moved down again, hot against him. She moaned, unable to control herself. Up and down she went,
moving faster and faster.

The sensations built in him. He was so sensitive that the motions of her lips and tongue against him
were almost painful. He was getting closer, his breath came faster and his heart pounded in his chest.

Her mouth pulled away from him, and she was sitting up, giving him that smile again. Then she was
scooting up his body, her hair sending shivers through him as it trailed along his skin. She raised her hips
and slid down over him; he grunted in reaction to her movement. She was a hot, tight glove enclosing
him, squeezing him. Her hands were braced against his chest as she twisted her body against his,
massaging him with her interior muscles. Then she froze, and he heard an embarrassed cough. She sat up,
still impaled on his length.

Drake leaned up on his elbows and looked to see who had entered.

His spymaster was standing there, wearing the uniform of a servant and holding a heavily laden tray.
The man looked up and down her body with interest.

"You requested food, Your Grace," the man said in dulcet tones. "Shall I put the tray on the table?"

"Yes," Drake said, his voice harsh. The witch had started squeezing him again as she sat their, her
movements completely invisible to their audience. "On the table, that will be all," he gasped out.

The man gave him a sardonic look, then turned to set down the tray. He gave them a curt bow, then
turned to leave the room. Drake let himself fall back down on the bed, straining as she continued working
him deep inside. The door closed with a click, and she gave a tinkling laugh.