Dragon's Lair Read Online Free

wore beneath. Remy reclined on the chaise, crossing his legs at the ankle. The bulge of his cock was obvious, and he made no move to hide it. He wanted her to see.
    It was her second weekend at the club. The first had been a rousing success. She had worked hard, seen to the customers, and been utterly professional and unflappable even in the midst of things that had caused even Philippe to raise an eyebrow. She had not, however, taken Philippe up on his offer. Remy smiled as he thought of Philippe’s grudging admission that Lilly had turned him down, even after his famous foot massage. His smiled faded when he recalled that she had turned him down as well. Their brief interlude in the storage room had been the first indication that Lilly, in spite of her apparent softness, had a will of iron. For Remy that only cemented the fact that she was the one. Every night she worked at the club, Philippe would drive her home. She would allow him to see her to the door, but never allowed him to go any farther. He’d allowed it to go on so long because it had amused him to see Philippe so befuddled by her. But his own desires were beginning to rage more hotly than was comfortable. It was time the farce ended. He had decided that they would claim her that night.
    Philippe entered the club then, having locked the door. Patrons could exit, but not return. It was that time of night, or morning to be more precise. Remy watched him stroll across the lounge, noting the play of muscle in his thighs as he moved. Philippe was the embodiment of power—tall and strong with muscles that rippled and flexed with every move. He was a fierce fighter and could be both ruthless and merciless. That only made it sweeter when he submitted. Frustrated by Lilly’s apparent virtue, Remy was on edge. Some rough play was precisely what they both needed to regain perspective.
    “Everything is locked up tight,” Philippe said as he entered the alcove where Remy awaited him. “The club is emptying out. I expect the stragglers to leave before the hour is up.”
    “Did I give you to permission speak?” Remy said. His voice was cold, but he knew there was no disguising the fire in his eyes. Someone else might have thought Remy was genuinely angry, but the game was familiar to them both, and he knew Philippe would respond accordingly. A hint of resistance was required to make it more interesting. When Philippe did speak, his voice was low and husky, revealing the desire that burned inside him. It fanned the flames of Remy’s own desire.
    “No, Master Remy, you did not.”
    Remy pointed to the floor. “On your knees. Crawl to me.”
    Philippe dropped to his knees and, on all fours, approached the chaise. Had he been a true submissive, meek and obedient to Remy, his eyes would have been downcast. But he was not. Even on his knees, his head was held high, proud, and his eyes never left the bulging cock that strained against Remy’s well tailored pants.
    Remy reached out, tangling his hands in Philippe’s long hair, dragging it free from its restraints so that it fell in wild disarray over his massive shoulders. “Suck my cock.”
    Philippe reached for Remy’s belt, but Remy halted him, meeting his questioning gaze.
    “Yes, master?”
    “I did not tell you to remove clothes. I told you to suck my cock.”
    It was a ploy, designed to prolong the pleasure for both of them. Dutifully, even eagerly, Philippe rose to his knees and leaned forward, his hot mouth closing over the head of Remy’s cock through the fabric. The texture was rough on his tongue, the zipper abrading his lips. Even then, he could smell the musk of Remy’s need and feel the heat of him. Philippe’s own cock had hardened to the point of agony, strangled as it was behind the fly of his jeans.
    Remy’s hand tightened in Philippe’s hair, tugging painfully. Philippe’s cock had hardened to the point of pain. He was so hot, so desperate to come, but unwilling to let the play end so soon.