Diane's Journey

“This looks like a regular kitchen.”

“That’s because it is.”

He washed her scraped knees with the soapy cloth and paid no attention to her indrawn, hissing breath when he pressed a kiss near each scrape.

“How come you have a kitchen in your barn?”

“Because it’s not a barn. Hands.”

Dutifully, she presented her hands and watched as he cleaned them with the same quick, thorough efficiency he had used on her knees. He kissed each bruised palm, too.

“It looks like a barn.”

“It’s not.” As he dried off her knees and hands, he added. “Any other scrapes? Bumps? Bruises?”

She shook her head ‘no’ at each question then caught her breath as he placed a hand on either side of her and leaned closer.

“I’m afraid I must insist on a complete exam.”

“You must?”

“Red Cross requirement. Never let an injured person leave the area without a thorough examination.”

He had thick, dark, unruly hair, she noticed apropos of nothing, then his mouth covered hers and she forgot everything except the need to be closer. The man was delicious, his mouth hot and dominating as it plundered hers, his tongue a teasing enticement.

“Mmmmm.” he hummed an approval when he lifted his head to draw her deeper into his arms.

Diane discovered that he stood between her parted thighs with one arm around her back and a hand cupping her chin, holding her just so. With a delighted murmur, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Undamaged flexibility,” Donnal observed approvingly and kissed her again.

When he slid both hands under her bottom, her *warning - brain impairment* light went on. Diane resolutely switched it off and lost herself in the undiluted joy of thrusting her hands through his thick hair while kissing him with an avid hunger that should have surprised her.

He tasted good. He tasted bloody wonderful. Everything about him was just right...his scent, the heat of his hands kneading her ass, even his size. Just right.

It occurred to her, after a millennium or three, that they were moving. She tightened her legs around him. Please let there be a bed, she prayed. Donnal moved his mouth to nibble and suck on her neck and thezing of pure lust that shot through Diane had her abruptly amending her prayer to:Bugger the bed, please let there be sex in the next 60 seconds!

“You’re purring,” he chuckled.

She blinked, trying to focus, trying to think. Not an easy task when one’s neurons are scrambled. Donnal had paused in a doorway and when she glimpsed the big bed in the room beyond, Diane sent a silent prayer of thanks to the powers that be.

“Once we enter this room–“

“Less talk, more sex.” Diane interrupted, tugging at his hair in an effort to bring his mouth back within range.

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest and he gave her a fierce, hot kiss.

“Agreed. We will talk later, little cat.”

Three long strides brought them to the bed. Donnal let her slide down the length of him until she stood on her own, but he kept his mouth on hers. Branded by his heat, claimed by his touch, Diane murmured a curse as she tried to get closer, thrusting her hands beneath his t-shirt. She needed to be against his skin, against that delicious male heat, she needed it more than she could remember needing anything.

“Easy,” he said softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Donnal removed his t-shirt and then caught her close in a strong hug. She purred her approval and flexed her fingers into the skin over his ribs. God, he felt good! All male heat, rough satin, resilient flesh. His chest was covered with dark curling hair that narrowed into the perfect arrow pointing the way to the snap of his jeans.

She sank her teeth lightly around his nipple and sighed as it hardened in her mouth. His sharply indrawn breath delighted her and she fumbled at the fastening of his jeans.

“Hungry, aren’t you?” he got out, in a kind of breathless chuckle as he caught her wrists in his hands. “No. That is for later.”

Diane groaned in frustrated lust then he pushed open her blouse and slid his hands across her ribs. Shivers of desire rolled through her. She sought his mouth with an unfathomable desperation.

Donnal obliged her, taking her tongue into his mouth, sucking it gently. He undressed her as they kissed, curbing her needy haste with firmness. Before she quite knew how it happened, but delighted all the same, she found herself reclining completely naked on the bed, while Donnal smiled down at her with male anticipation.

When she lifted her foot to slide it down his leg, Diane was shocked to find he still wore his jeans. But when she would have relieved him of the last of his clothes, Donnal forestalled her by capturing her wrists and holding them above her head.

He grinned at her. She twisted a little, nibbled on her lip, considered a knee to his groin but reasoned that would defeat the purpose and anyway, he was looking as though he halfway expected such a move from her and damned if she would give him the satisfaction of being predictable.

“What?” she grumped at last, as he continued to simply watch her.

Her body was tight with need, she could feel a wave of moisture sneak outwards from her sex in preparation. Dammit. She couldsmellherself. And still, Donnal just knelt there, using his body to control hers.

“I want to look at you.”

She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Look later, ok? I’m wet enough to float a boat.“

He gave a sharp crack of laughter and then captured her mouth in a swift hot kiss. Her arousal, which had threatened to morph into embarrassment, returned hotter and more insistent than ever.

“Grumpy cat,” he murmured with a chuckle, “we have hours.”

Diane tried to reclaim the use of her hands. “You might have hours, but I–“ she broke off and winced inwardly at the almost-admission of need.

He shifted a little and she reopened her eyes. Donnal was making a slow visual inventory of her. Embarrassment clutched at her throat. His gaze had weight, she thought, as she watched it travel down her body. She could feel it. When he paused at her breasts, her nipples responded by tightening. He glanced up at her face through his lashes and very deliberately licked his lips.

Diane wriggled and made a noise, then cleared her throat and demanded, “Are you going to fuck me or simply ogle me to death?”

His brows flew up and his amusement deepened. “Is it possible to be ogled to death?”

“I’m in flames here.”

He leaned over her and licked her right nipple. “Hot, needy little cat. You are delicious.”

She growled her frustration and tried - really tried- to free her wrists from his grasp. The ease with which he curbed the attempt exasperated her.

“Donnal?”

“Yes?” he didn’t look up from his perusal of her naked squirming body.

“Donnal, dammit!” Surely that moaning, whimpering, female-in-heat wail hadnot come from her!

He shifted again, sent her a beatific smile and released her wrists. Sitting back on his heels between her splayed thighs, Donnal stroked his hands down her body in a long slow caress from her shoulders to her knees. So absorbed in the task, as though it was vitally important that he learn the shape, the texture, and the scent of her, that for a fanciful moment Diane thought he imprinted her somewhere on his back brain.

Then, disgusted with her infatuated fantasies, she brought a hand down to catch a handful of his thick dark hair. Again, Donnal captured her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“I want to explore you, Diane.”

“If I can explore you.”

“That will come later.”

“But...you want me to just lay here while you...while you—“

“Ogle. And touch, and taste, and pleasure you. Yes. Exactly.”

One word resonated in flaming letters in her enfeebled brain: ‘pleasure.’

“Promise I get to return the favor?”

“Unquestionably.”

With a groan, Diane lay back down, fisted her hands in the coverlet and muttered, “Ready.”

Donnal laughed even as he stroked his hand up her inner thigh. “More than ready, if I am any judge.”

She threw an arm over her eyes, hot with embarrassment and lust. Donnal.Dammit.

“Sweet, needy little cat.” he soothed, pressing kisses in a march up her thigh.

Diane sat up again and grabbed his head with both hands.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Donnal-dammit.”

“I want to taste you.”

Little trickling shivers of heated desire zinged up her spine to the base of her brain. “Get used to disappointment.” Her voice, thick with need, was less than forceful, more breathy. She winced inwardly at it.

He went completely still and quiet. His dark gaze was steady on her face, devoid of humor. Her teasing, laughing, almost-lover was gone. And in his place...in his place was a determined, relentless male.

“You don’t enjoy oral sex?” he asked in a flat voice that sent alarms shivering up her nerves.

“I do,” she admitted and looked away, squirming inwardly.

“You don’t like the idea of oral sex with me?”

“It’s not that, dammit.” feeling harassed and pushed and above all embarrassed, she looked away.

“Diane...”

“I need to...to use the bathroom!” she turned to glare at him then. Daring him to laugh, to make a flippant comment.

The depths of her relief, when Donnal relaxed and smiled at her, scared her. Was this what Ruby experienced with AJ? This profound desire to please and relief in finding humor where one might expect anger?

“Diane, let me wash you.”

“No.”

But he caught her against his naked chest and held her easily as she tried to escape the bed. The fight drained out of her like magic, as he held her skin-to-skin and their hearts beat an accelerated samba together.

He put his lips to her temple and whispered, “Diane, trust me. I won’t hurt you. I want to wash you, I want to taste you. I want to make love to you.”

She sighed and shivered. “Why?”

“Because I want you, silly cat.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” He soothed a hand down her naked back, cupped her cheek. “I am going to wash you now, Diane. Then I am going to taste you, until you whimper in dazed pleasure.”

“You will kill me.” she sighed. Donnal stroked his thumb over her lips and smiled at her, the heat in his eyes an enticement.

“What a way to die, little cat.” He paused a moment, his gaze a considering, pondering one. Then he asked the question she had expected all along and her heart thumped painfully against her breast bone. “Will it be easier for you if I restrain you, Diane? Would you like me to tie your wrists?”

Later, it caused her all kinds of agonies that she answered as she did; that she gave so much away.

“Yes. It would be easier. But I can’t let you do that.”

He stared deeply into her eyes at that. He stared a long, long time - at least, it felt like an eon or two. Certainly long enough for her to blush all over her body and kick herself mentally for being such a fool.

Abruptly, Donnal bore her back onto the bed, trapping her with his body. He stretched her arms above her head and she began to struggle in earnest.

“Resistance is futile,” he whispered with affectionate humor against her hair as he clicked the restraints over her wrists and brought his hands down to capture her head between his palms. The breath froze in her lungs and her heart hammered triple time. Bloody hell, he’d done it! Desire, incipient panic, hot lust flamed all at once and clogged her throat.

“I won’t hurt you, little cat.”

Then he kissed her into senility, completely removing coherent thought or objection.

Where he got the warm, wet washcloth, Diane had no idea. He didn’t seem to leave the bed. Maybe his kisses had pushed her into another dimension where time moved differently. In any case, she flinched at the unexpected touch of the cloth stroking over her sex.

“Sshh, my cat,” he said as he proceeded to use the cloth to clean and explore her thoroughly.

The cloth was at once pleasant in its warmth and vaguely irritating in its nubby texture as Donnal drew it over her from clit to ass. When he spread her lips and washed them with careful, slow attention, she sucked in a stuttering breath. God. Who knew how erotic this cleaning thing could be?

He eased the cloth over her sensitive, quivering skin repeatedly. She made a half-strangled sound deep in her throat and heard the smile in his voice as he murmured, “Sweet, sexy little cat. You are lovely here.”

She rolled mental eyeballs and held her breath, desperate to know where he would touch her next and half-fearing she already knew. Hot wet heat from perineum to clit. Again. Again. Donnal-dammit! He was licking her!

Diane twisted, moaning, as Donnal used his tongue to send her into moaning, lusting, needy incoherence.

“This is a new cloth,” a confusing non-sequitur until something warm, wet, and nearly-rough texture eased inside her.

She wanted to raise her head and confirm with her eyes what her other senses were yelling; that Donnal was carefully inserting a warm, wet, washcloth in her sex. However, since he chose that moment to lick her clitoris, sending waves of jittering pleasure up her spine, Diane forgot all else.

He used his fingers to stroke and twist and otherwise explore her. He used his tongue with bone-melting effect. After a bit, he stopped pushing more of the cloth inside her and settled for thrusting his fingers deep as he held her clit between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue. He hummed a dazzling vibrating counterpoint against her most sensitive flesh. He drove her arousal higher and higher until she bowed off the bed, her body taut and pulsing and searching.

“Please, please, please.” she chanted, not knowing whether she pleaded for release or cessation.

“Yes,” he said.

He sucked and nibbled at her lips, licked her whole length, pinched her clit between his fingers and settled to sucking it with varying intensity and speed. Diane shrieked and went over, pulling against her restraints and moaning in rhythm to her climax. As the waves of pleasure eased, Donnal slowly, steadily removed the washcloth from her sex and she jolted under a fresh wave of bliss.

“Donnaldonnaldonn-“ she babbled, unmade, undone, a mass of quivering nerve endings and female heat.

He was suddenly right there, mounting her, with his mouth over hers so he could swallow her dazed sounds of pleasure. As he thrust his body home in hers, he breathed softly into her mouth.

“I will be the breath in your lungs.”

Diane could not catch her breath as his body moved inside hers, the lovely friction sparking off nerve endings like fireworks. He nipped at the soft translucent skin of her inner elbow.

“I will be the blood in your veins.”

He caught her sweaty face between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes as he pressed his hips hard into hers. She blinked. She moaned. She rolled her hips to meet his ever-faster thrusts. She focused on his intent eyes. He let her see pleasure and warmth and glimmering affection in his eyes as he came.

“I will be the song in your heart.” He added, “For you are mine.”

This time, Diane’s climax peaked higher, locking her muscles and straining tendons in shivering paroxysms of release. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think; she could only feel. In her heart, she agreed. She was his. In her mind ...well, her mind was temporarily missing in action.

(this was a departure for me...more humor, less D/s. Shall I continue?...awaiting your feedback answers....jewel. PS. Moyd-my-Master I hope this story pleases you. I am yours.)