by Marie Force
I scowl at her, and that makes her laugh some more. What are we doing on my bed making out like fiends? That wasn’t supposed to happen. I start to pull away from her, but she’s not having it—and neither is my cock, who was enjoying the therapeutic heat treatment. Her arms and legs tighten around me.
“Don’t run scared.”
“I am not scared.”
“Yeah, you are.” She smooths a hand over my face, and damn if I don’t feel the tension leave my jaw. “I’m not that scary.”
She’s terrifying.
“I like kissing you, and I sort of got the feeling you liked kissing me.” She gently raises her hips against the proof of how much I liked kissing her. “So why are you wimping out on me?”
Wimping out? I’m going to spank her ass until it’s so red, she won’t sit for a month. It occurs to me that I’ve had that thought at least a dozen times in the last couple of days.
She shivers dramatically. “You’re so fierce when you’re pissed.”
“Then I must be fierce ninety-nine percent of the time I’m with you.”
That sparks more laughter, which infuriates me. She’s not the slightest bit intimidated by me, which offends me on a number of levels, primarily the dominant level.
“Are you just begging me to spank your ass?”
“Would I have to beg? How does that work?”
The burst of lust that those words stir in me makes my mind go blank. “Are you saying…”
“That I want you to spank me? Hell, yes, I’m saying that. Can we do that now?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “We cannot do that now.”
“Why not?” The little vixen squirms under me, pressing her scorching heat against my cock, which is so hard, he aches—for her.
In that moment, I can’t think of one single reason why not. She’s here, she’s willing, and since when do I ever say no to an opportunity to spank a willing available ass? I never say no to that. And you were going to show her your stripes… For once, my subconscious is completely on my side.
Using my arms to push myself up, I move quickly, before she can change her mind or I can change mine. She’s wearing jeans that are so tight, they’re like a second skin. I pop the button open, and she goes completely still as I unzip her and whip the jeans down over slender hips and long legs.
The tiny scrap of silk that covers her pussy is soaked through.
Knowing I made her so wet makes me want to howl. It makes me want to chant: mine, mine, mine. I turn her over so she she’s half on the bed and half off, her ass on full display. I lick lips gone dry and reach out to cup her surprisingly supple cheek.
She gasps and raises her hips, seeking more.
The scent of her arousal fires me up like nothing ever has.
Don’t do it. Don’t touch her. Don’t go there. Don’t, don’t, don’t. I finally got my subconscious on board and now my better judgment is being a royal fucking pain in the ass. I’ve got both hands on her sweet ass, and I’m like a junkie finding a fix. One touch and I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Even the possibility of ruin couldn’t stop me from taking what she offers so blatantly.
She’s moaning and squirming, seeking more.
“We need a word that stops everything if it’s too much.”
“It won’t be too much.”
Fucking hell. “No word, no play. That’s nonnegotiable.” The saucy look she sends me over her shoulder makes me want to roar with the need to do everything to her, every single fucking thing I can think of. “What’s it going to be?”
“Quantum.”
The word is an interesting choice. I have to give her that. Hearing that word in the midst of a scene would serve as a reminder of the many reasons I never should have touched her in the first place. “That works.”
“Are you going to spank me now?” Her eyes glitter with excitement that she doesn’t try to hide or disguise.
Her every want and desire is as obvious as the light dusting of freckles on her face. It would be so easy to take advantage of that kind of honesty, and it pains me to think of how simple it would be to crush her spirit. I would never do that, but someone else might, which is another reason to keep her close. I’m being protective of her, or so I tell myself. In reality, I’m a self-serving son of a bitch because the thought of spanking her makes me so hard, I’m leaking copiously.
I tighten my grip on her ass cheeks, squeezing and shaping them. “Is that what you want?”
“I believe I already said it is.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Because I’ve never done that before, and it excites me, especially because it would be you doing it.”
I take a deep breath that I need desperately because her words make me lightheaded from the rush of heat and blood to my cock. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that he’s injured and sidelined. He wants in on this right fucking now.
“Put your head down and don’t say another word unless I ask you a direct question. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Emmett. I understand.”
Dear God, her willing supplication is nearly as much of a turn-on as the sight of her naked ass waiting to be spanked. And I didn’t think she could be submissive? I ought to make her call me sir, but I love the way my name sounds coming from her, so I allow it. For now. I have no intention of letting this proceed beyond some basic spanking and dirty fucking, so there’s no need to further indoctrinate her. As long as she has a safe word and isn’t afraid to use it, that’s enough for now.
I continue to caress her tender flesh, watching as her wetness seeps from her panties to her inner thighs. Bending over her, I lap up the moisture with my tongue.
She goes rigid, her entire body stiffening as I lick from one side to the other.
“You’re making a mess.”
“I’m not making the mess.” Her voice is higher than usual, strained. “You are.”
“Shhh. No talking unless you’re asked a direct question.” The more I lick, the wetter she gets. “You’d better not leave a spot on my comforter.”
She moans, and the sound is like a live wire directly connected to my dick.
I pull her cheeks apart and dive in, licking her through the wet silk that barely covers her bare pussy.
She goes wild under me, her responsiveness making me crazier than I already was.
“Emmett…”
I spank her left cheek—hard.
She comes, her entire body seizing from an orgasm that makes her scream.
“What a naughty girl.” I fight to control myself and my own burning need to come. “Who said you were allowed to do that?”
“Allowed? How am I supposed to stop it?”
“You’re supposed to control yourself.” I spank her right cheek and then rub the handprints on both sides until she moans deeply.
She’s perfect, submissive, playful, willing. Grasping the waistband of her thong, I tug it down to just below her cheeks and then pull them apart to swirl my tongue around her back entrance.
“Jesus fucking hell,” she mutters.
I spank her, twice on each side, before giving her my tongue again, swirling around and around the tight circle of her ass. “Has anyone ever played with you here?”
“No,” she says, making a sound that resembles a sob.
Hearing she’s untouched there only makes me crazier than I already am. It’s like I’ve been overtaken by some outside force bigger than myself. Even with every ounce of sanity I still have telling me this won’t end well, I still find myself opening the bedside table drawer, removing the bottle of lubricant and squeezing a healthy amount on my index and middle finger.
“Wh-what’re you doing?” she asks, earning another series of spanks that remind her of my instructions.
“What’s your safe word?”
“Qu-quantum.”
“Do you need it?”
She shakes her head.
“Words. I need words.”
“I don’t nee
d it.”
I smooth the lube over her anus. “Do you need it now?”
“N-no.”
I push a finger into her tight channel. “How about now?” I notice she’s fisting tight handfuls of the comforter as if she’ll need to hold on for whatever comes next. Good. She ought to hold on, because I’m nowhere near done with her. She’s so tight that I have to go slow so I won’t hurt her, which is not the goal here. It occurs to me that I’ve got a finger in her ass and I still haven’t touched her pussy. The thought makes me smile as I can only imagine what she must be thinking.
“Push back. Let me in.”
She moans, and God, that sound… What it does to me. I want to make her moan for hours.
Leaning over her, I take a bite out of her pink ass cheek and push my finger deeper into her. She’s having small orgasms, one right after the other. I withdraw my finger and add a second one, pushing them into her as she fights to stay still.
“Do you need your safe word?”
“No,” she grunts.
That’s my girl. Wait. She’s not my girl. You’ve got your fingers up her ass. She may not be your girl, but she’s something to you, and it’s probably time you admitted it. No. I won’t admit it. The thought makes me mad at myself, and I take it out on her, fucking her harder with my fingers while she writhes beneath me, frantically rubbing her clit against the comforter. I think it’s safe to assume there’s going to be a wet spot.
“Do you want to come?”
“God, yes,” she gasps. “Please.”
“Not yet.” While I continue to fuck her mercilessly with my fingers, I spank her left ass cheek repeatedly.
She screams and comes so hard that her internal muscles nearly break my fingers. I can’t wait to feel that happen when I’ve got my cock jammed up her ass.
The thought of that is all it takes to finish me off, too.
Chapter 9
Holy fucking shit. What the fuck just happened to me? He stuck his fingers up my ass and gave me the biggest orgasm anyone has ever had. I didn’t even know it was possible to come that hard or that I’d actually like what he did. It’s not like no guy has ever tried to touch me there. I just haven’t allowed it.
Until Emmett told me he wanted to, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
I’m completely demolished after that epic orgasm, and I come down from the highest of highs to realize his fingers are still inside me. I’m impaled, utterly destroyed and ruined for all other men who aren’t my gruff, sexy, remote Emmett.
“You want more?” he asks in the sexy-as-fuck voice I hadn’t heard from him before he carried me to his bed and changed my life, one spank, one thrust at a time of his fingers in a place where no one else has ever touched me.
“Yes, I want more.”
“I want to fuck you so bad.”
“I can’t believe you’d actually admit that.”
His hand comes down on my sore ass. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in big trouble.”
“Mmm. I love your kind of big trouble.”
“You shouldn’t share every thought you have in your head,” he says, as he languidly slides his fingers in and out of my ass, which has stretched to accommodate his blunt fingers. Once it stopped hurting, it started to feel really, really good. Who knew that being touched there would turn me on the way it does? Not me, that’s for sure.
“Why not?”
“Because. It makes it too easy for people to take advantage of you.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Taking advantage of me?”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“You’re not doing anything that I don’t want, Emmett.”
He leans over me, his forehead on my back as his fingers glide in and out of me.
I feel another orgasm begin to form. It grows and multiplies with every deep thrust of his fingers and is helped along by the brush of his chest hair against the ultrasensitive skin on my ass.
“Turn over,” he says gruffly.
“Uhh, how do I do that with your fingers… there?”
“You go, I’ll follow.”
I move gingerly, not sure what to expect as I turn onto my back. Sure enough, as I move, he comes with me, his fingers still planted deep inside me.
“So hot,” he whispers, using his free hand to brush the hair back from my face.
I can’t imagine how I must look after two huge orgasms. He lifts my top, unclips my bra and sucks my nipple into his mouth. I bury my fingers in his hair, needing to hold on to something as he plays my body like a maestro, like he was made for me and me for him.
Wouldn’t that be something?
He kisses his way down the front of me, nudging my legs farther apart, which is nearly impossible with the thong tangled around my thighs. He rips it off me, and I nearly come again because no man has ever wanted me so badly that he ripped the underwear off me to get at what’s between my legs.
Emmett drops to his knees next to the bed. “Scooch closer to the edge.”
Again, I wonder how I’m supposed to do that with his fingers buried in me.
He takes care of that for me, moving me effortlessly, his huge muscles flexing and bulging. Then he drops his head to my pussy and destroys me with his tongue. He sucks hard on my clit, and I shatter, screaming and crying and pulling his hair. I’m completely out of control in a way I’ve never been before. Afterward, I’m a quivering, trembling, snotty disaster, a wreck of my former self.
And he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
She’s incredible—responsive, sweet, sexy and apparently up for anything. With one taste, I’m completely ruined and dying for more. I bring her down slowly, easing her with softer strokes of my tongue and fingers until she stops trembling and sags into the mattress, utterly spent. Her chest heaves with the deep breaths she continues to take as she recovers.
By the time I withdraw from her, I suspect she’s half-asleep. I get up and go into the bathroom to wash my hands and change into new shorts. I run a washcloth under warm water and return to the bedroom to tend to her. As I press the heated cloth to the sensitive flesh between her legs, her eyes pop open, and the impact of her gaze slamming into mine takes my breath away.
The emotional overload is unexpected. Emotion is never part of my usual routine, which is about the physical release and nothing else. Everything about this encounter was different, however, and that’s unsettling to someone who doesn’t do involvement when it comes to women. I clean her up, and she curls onto her side, gazing at me with big, trusting eyes.
Because of who she is to our mutual friends and colleagues, I need to be extra careful in how I proceed here. The last thing I want or need is everyone pissed at me because I hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her. Despite the many ways she drives me bonkers, I like her and care about her, but I can’t be what she wants or needs.
I’m just not wired for permanence or forever, which is why she shouldn’t be looking at me as if she’s seen the promised land and I’m it.
I give her a slap on the ass that startles her out of the languid state she’s drifted into. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
I go out to the kitchen and pour a healthy amount of Absolut Citron over ice and drink most of it in one big gulp, leaving the bottle on the counter. I have no doubt I’m going to want and need more before long. At the stove, I turn on the burners I shut off after it got hot in the kitchen. Just thinking about that has my cock stirring back to life. The poor guy is supposed to be on limited duty, and he’s been working extra hard today, which is completely her fault.
The good news is that he still works the way he did before a little foot nearly ruined him. I never again want to hear the words “penis fracture.” I was so much better off before I knew penises could break. Cringing at the memory of unspeakable pain and fear, I refill my glass, and I’m well into my second drink when Leah comes out of the bedroom, moving like a drunken sailor after a particularly raucous port of call. I take perverse pleasure in re
alizing I put her into such a state, but I’m not sure how I feel about having rendered her apparently speechless.
The Leah I know is never speechless.
She goes to the stove to tend to the pasta and the carbonara while I try not to stare at the hint of pink cheeks peeking out from under the hem of the T-shirt of mine that she’s wearing. Her nipples stand at attention, her lips are swollen and her hair is a mess. I want to grab her and drag her back into the bedroom for more.
Stand down, I tell myself and my cock, who’s in favor of the bedroom-dragging plan. He would be. He loves bedrooms and fucking and willing women who’ll do anything we dream up, no matter how dirty. Knowing Leah thinks the same way we do has him leaking at the thought of actually sinking into her tight heat—and she will be tight. I have no doubt about that.
“You want a drink?” I ask her.
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
I pour vodka on ice, hand it to her and then stand back to watch her move. I do that a lot. Watch her move. I do it in the office and when we’re at parties and other gatherings. Looking never hurt anything, or so I’ve told myself. Now I’ve touched her, and she’s gone quiet, which is so not like her.
“What’s wrong?” There’s a question I’ve never asked a woman before. Most of the time I’m not there to care. I’m there to fuck. I fuck, she comes, I come, we call it a day—or a night. That’s how you keep things uncomplicated. Asking questions such as “what’s wrong” is the road to complication.
“What? Nothing is wrong.”
“You’re quiet. You’re never quiet.”
“I’m quiet sometimes.”
“No, you’re not.”
“And you know me so well?”
There it is. The sassy retort is much more like the Leah I know and lo— Whoa. Stop. Taking another deep drink of vodka, I gather myself and my thoughts and take a second to get my shit under control before I say something that can’t be unsaid. “I know you well enough to know that ‘quiet’ is not a word anyone would use to describe you.” I move so I’m behind her, arms propped on either side of her, my body pressed against hers. “Things got kind of intense in there, and now you’ve gone silent on me, which leads me to wonder what’s wrong. And if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m going to think I pushed you too far and you didn’t like it.”
