King of the Amazons 3

Wearing only the hotel’s satin robe over bare flesh the color of the varnish on an aged painting’s frame, Monet moved to the couch.

“You’ve finished your drink,” she observed. “I’ll make you another.”

She turned away from him, the outline of her body strong against the wispiness of the robe. Monet felt Bruce’s eyes on her.

“I’m planning to suntan after you leave,” she continued. “I’m going to take full advantage of this sun.”

And then Monet was back out of the kitchen, gin bottle in hand, two glasses full of ice and tonic. She set them on the coffee table.

“I’d better make them out here. I’ll wear a rut in your floor if we do any serious drinking.”

She sat down very close to Bruce, crossing one slender leg over the other, letting the move push back the hem of her robe until the crush of her thighs was doing more to hide her privacy than anything she had on.

Monet mixed Bruce’s drink. She handed it to him. As she did, she leaned forward so that he could see almost all of her brown breasts, some of the intimate paleness that hid where her body curved supplely.

Bruce felt a flush creep up his neck. He didn’t take his eyes off her provocation, either because he was unable to or because he simply didn’t try. His cock gave a permissive spasm, his balls contracting. When he took a long pull on his gin and tonic, it felt like the warmth inside his body was rising up to meet the descending drink rather than something entering him.

Monet chuckled to herself, knowing that this was not a Bruce Wayne who intended to do without her company. She drank too, relishing the juniper taste of the gin and the bitterness of the tonic. The alcohol made her arousal feel closer to the surface. If it weren’t for her obsession with making this seduction pitch-perfect, she would simply throw herself upon Bruce, certain she wouldn’t be rejected.

Room service came by with a bottle of wine. It was a woman and she gave Bruce a come-on stare, but his attention wouldn’t be deferred from Monet. She was starting to feel loose—too loose not to make the first move. She sat on her hands to keep them to herself.

“That porter wants your body,” she told Bruce, leaning closer to him once she’d left.

Bruce laughed amusedly, but with mild disdain at the notion. It was strange to think of him assuring her that the porter couldn’t have him—wasn’t she taking him away from Diana? But Monet couldn’t care too much for that. Everything about Bruce shouted to her that he was free and clear to fuck her. That he could fuck her right down on the floor if he wanted to.

“Maybe it’s just me. Do you want my body?” he asked slyly.

“Yes. The sooner the better,” Monet told him, resting her right thigh against his leg.

He looked at her, his gaze seeming to penetrate her flesh, touch the secret and sensitive places inside her that should be vulnerable only to his cock. Almost involuntarily Monet spread her legs as if to make room for the hot flush that warmed the insides of her thighs.

“Are you sure about everything you’d be in for? I’d expect a lot from you.”

“I didn’t get where I am by failing to meet expectations.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He lifted his glass. She raised hers. They clicked them together and drank. Bruce’s leg nudged her thigh, letting her feel the hardened muscle that would soon be driving him inside her. Monet felt liquid heat touching her panties. Soon they would be dripping wet.

“I can’t think of anything else to say,” Monet admitted.

“That’s alright. I’ll just have to fuck you then.”

Monet set down her glass, as did Bruce. His left arm went around her waist. He pulled her to his mouth while her right hand slipped down to his groin.

His hardness proved that she was lucky to snare Bruce. Very lucky indeed.

His tongue took over her mouth. Her lips quivered as he stroked her tongue, up and down, up and down. The feelings didn’t stop going through her body until they reached her sex.

Bruce’s cock stiffened even more. He saw no need to restrain himself. Monet was ready, she was shaking like he was already inside her, her greedy acceptance of his kisses told him he could do anything he wanted to her.

He took his mouth away, Monet smiled, and she stood up with an eye for the bedroom.

Bruce pulled her back down. “Here. On the floor.”

“But, the bed…”

“I’d break it,” Bruce informed her.

“Then break it.”

Without seeming to rush, she nonetheless was in the bedroom next thing. The only wait Bruce would countenance was to draw out her anticipation, to glut her senses only when his efforts would merit the utmost response.

He lowered her down to the bed, came down on top of her. Opened up her robe so there was nothing denying her body to him, least of all her. Then he unzipped his fly. Monet gaped—suddenly there he was, his huge hardness between her thighs, approaching her wet pussy with enough slowness for Monet to back out if she suddenly decided to.

“Are you sure I won’t break?” Monet asked, shivering a little when Bruce touched his knob to her tender labia.

“No. But it’ll be worth it.”

“I know it will.” Monet arched her hips upward. “So go ahead and give me that nice big cock!”

Bruce tensed, his cock throbbed harder, and he started feeding it between her clasping pussy lips. Delectable tremors shook Monet’s body—her pussy clenched around Bruce’s manhood. He groaned thickly, then drove himself in hard. Showing her that now that she’d given herself to him, he meant to take full advantage of that fact.

Monet was enjoying herself too much; she had to whimper. Bruce wasn’t crushing her, no matter how much she would’ve embraced that. He was braced above her, looking down at her with a lust for her perfect body he was only starting to sate. Monet hoped she would be enough for the passion she saw in his eyes.

Slowly he started pleasing her.

He was not like any man who had ever had her before—thankfully few. She’d thought they were worthy. Bruce blew them all away. His cock was reaching to the core of her, touching places connected to pleasures that had never thrilled her before. She thought for the first time she might be fully satisfied in sex. With just this one man.

The sure thrust of his prick, as he sheathed himself in all of her cunt, let Monet know that Bruce was in charge.

He was in control of her, in control of her body, in control of the sensations that ran riot through her. She was his, responding only to him, barely needing to feel her own impalement to know that he’d taken over as adroitly as he’d mastered their kiss.