22
1025 Words
“What’s wrong with your hands, sweetheart?” Still looking at me, he presses a gentle kiss on my throbbing c**t.
“I don’t know what to do with them.”
A dent forms in his cheek. He’s trying not to laugh at me. Then he sits up and whips off his belt. “I know what to do with them.”
The thrilling dominance is back in his voice.
I could really, really get used to that.
He gathers my wrists together and quickly wraps his belt around them, slipping the buckle under one of the loops to keep it secure. Then he raises my arms over my head, resting my bound wrists on the arm of the sofa.
Looking deep into my eyes, he commands, “Don’t move from this position, or I’ll spank your ass until it’s red.”
I can’t decide which one I’m more: outraged or turned the f**k on.
I say hotly, “You will not spank me!”
He smiles. “Oh, yes, I will.”
“James! I’m a grown woman!”
“You are. A sexy, beautiful grown woman with an ass like a ripe peach that’s going to get spanked for disobedience if you move your arms.”
“I don’t like spanking!”
He pauses to examine my expression. “That’s something you’ve tried before?”
I twist my lips, loath to admit I haven’t. “I mean…not exactly.”
He’s still examining me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Is that a yes or a no?”
After a moment, I admit grudgingly. “It’s a no.”
“So you just object to it in theory, then.”
“Of course I object to it in theory! What kind of person enjoys pain?”
“Masochists.”
“Ugh, semantics! You know what I mean!”
Another pause as he gauges my expression, then he demands, “Tell me what really bothers you about it.”
I blow out a hard breath, annoyed that he can read me so easily. “Fine. Aside from the pain aspect—which I’m not into, for the record—it seems…belittling.”
“Okay. I hear you.”
I’m surprised by that. Now it’s my turn to examine his expression. Never in the history of my experience with men has one said, “I hear you.” For the men I’ve known, acknowledging a woman’s feelings is like asking for directions: it simply isn’t done.
“Oh. Well…thank you.”
“If I promised it wouldn’t be painful, but it definitely would be a huge turn on for us both, would you consider it?”
That exasperates me. “How on earth can slapping my bare ass with your bare hand not be painful for me?”
The dominant tone makes a reappearance. “Because I know what I’m doing, that’s how.”
All the breath leaves my lungs in a wheezing sound like a punctured tire leaking air. When I’ve recovered, I say, “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. And while you’re thinking about it, I’m going to make you come.”
Down between my legs he goes, the wonderful, wonderful man.
Except he’s not wonderful, he’s diabolical—all I can think about is not moving my arms. And what will happen if I do.
Exactly as he intended.
He strokes his tongue up and down and around, pausing to slide a finger inside me. Then he goes back to the stroking and the sucking as I close my eyes and rock helplessly against his face.
My n*****s ache. I can’t catch my breath. My awareness narrows to that tiny bundle of nerves between my legs that’s throbbing under his tongue and the sensation of his thick finger pumping slowly in and out of me.
He reaches up with his free hand and tweaks my hard n****e, right through my bra. I jerk, groaning.
“You like that?” he murmurs, his lips moving against my s*x.
“Yes. Both. Do both, please.”
He knows what I mean, despite my being speech impaired at the moment. Slipping his finger out of me, he reaches up with both hands, scoops my breasts out of my bra, and strokes his thumbs over my rigid n*****s. When I whine in pleasure, he pinches them.
“Yes. Yes, that.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers, lowering his head to suckle my c**t again as he continues to pinch and stroke my n*****s.
Oh God, it’s good. It’s incredible. My entire body tingles. Tingles and pulses and shakes. A wave of intense heat radiates out from my core. I’m sure I’ll set the sofa on fire. Then his teeth scrape over my c**t and I almost lose consciousness.
Straining up toward his mouth, I beg, “Yes, please, don’t stop, please don’t stop, oh God, I’m so close—”
It isn’t until James freezes that I realize something is wrong. When I open my eyes and glance down at him, I discover what it is.
My fingers are clenched in his hair. Which means I lowered my arms.
Which means I disobeyed him.
Which—judging by his sly smile—was the exact outcome he was hoping for.
9
A
larmed,
I say, “Now, hold on a minute—”
“Up you go.”
He stands, pulls me up by my arms, then sits and pulls me face down onto the sofa, my belly over his lap, bare ass in the air. Pressing one hand flat between my shoulder blades and using the other to squeeze an exposed butt cheek, he ignores my frightened bleating and says, “I’m not going to hurt you. I will. Not. Hurt. You. Do you understand?”
I struggle to look at him over my shoulder, but can’t rise because of that big hand pinning me down. “You’re already hurting me!”
“How?”
I cast around frantically for a word, then decide on, “Psychically!”
“I’m hurting your psyche,” he says sarcastically. “Really.”
- Writer
