by Jane Henry
Oh God. The smell of sex, arousal, and longing permeated her senses.
“We were at ten,” he growled. “And now I think you’re warmed up.”
His fingers were on the edge of her panties now, pulling them down slowly, like he was unwrapping a present.
“Donnie!” she gasped. He’d see she was wet. “Oh, no. Please don’t! I…”
Another hard spank, this time on her naked skin, left her howling.
“Count,” he ordered.
“Eleven!” She counted out four more spanks, and by now, she didn’t care that he knew she was aroused. All that she wanted was his hands on her.
At fifteen, she wriggled her pussy up against his lap, looking for something, some kind of pressure or release, but he was still spanking her. Every thwack of his hand on her naked skin sent shock waves of delight zinging to her clit. God, she was so turned on.
At twenty, she was holding onto her self control by a mere thread, and silently begging for release, writhing on his knee, the heated sting on her skin only making her arousal flare uncontrollably.
“Twenty-two,” she panted, two swats later. He paused, rubbing his rough hand over her hot skin before lifting his palm and bringing it down again with another stinging smack. “Twenty-three!” she shrieked. With his left hand, he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled, before delivering another swat. “Twenty-four,” she moaned. Another rapid spank followed another, and she exhaled. Finally, they were done.
“And one for good luck,” he growled, giving her the hardest spank he’d given her yet.
“Ow!”
He was done now. Her cheeks were flaming hot, but her body was on fire. What would he do to her next? Slowly, his hand lifted and he replaced her panties as she raised herself up, pushing off the loveseat, but when the time came for her to look at him, she lost her resolve and buried her face on his chest.
“You gonna be a good birthday girl?” he said, a thread of humor in his voice now.
“You’re not mad?” she said, smiling into his shirt.
“Nah, babe. I was pissed at first.”
“That I didn’t tell you it was my birthday?” she giggled, the absurdity of the situation suddenly striking her, while she became blissfully aware of the scent of him, leather and musk, as she sat engulfed in his arms.
“Yup,” he said. “You knew, and that’s why you got all pissy this morning, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t know I was supposed to,” she said, with another laugh. Or that you cared, she thought.
He pushed her gently off his chest and one large, rough finger tipped her chin up, so she was looking straight into his dark brown eyes, his square jaw framed with sandy-colored stubble, his hair hitting his chin.
“Why wouldn’t I want to know?” he said.
Ignoring the obvious response, she answered his question with a question. “How did you find out?” she asked, still aware of his finger under her chin.
“Got downstairs. Paid some bills. Saw the date,” he said, his eyes darkening. “I know your birthday, honey. I just didn’t remember today was it.”
Ohh. Well, huh.
She looked away, but his hand tightened on her chin, bringing her eyes back to his. “I’ve called in backup today, so we have the day off.”
She blinked, and swallowed, then blinked again. “You did?” she whispered, not trusting her voice.
“Yep. Gonna celebrate your birthday right,” he said. His eyes traveled downward, and she realized she was sitting her freshly-spanked, panty-clad bottom on his lap. She could feel his hard-on straight through the thin fabric.
“How does one celebrate a birthday right?” she whispered, as his head dipped closer to hers.
“You start with a birthday spanking,” he said. “Then you get a cake. And you get something good to drink. And you do something just for you.”
“Just for you?” she asked. “Like what?” Her breath was a mere whisper as his fingers spread over her jaw, cupping her face and gently tipping her face up toward his. “Like... like with a kiss?” From the man of your dreams? The one you’d give anything to be with?
His lips tipped up a second before he kissed her, soft and sweet. Her ass throbbed and her body arched closer to him, wanting more than the chaste kiss. His left hand went to the small of her back, the warm touch making her feel precious to him, as his right hand gently entwined around a fistful of her hair. He pulled away, groaning, tossing his head back on the couch.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“What?” she felt sudden disappointment hit, yet hope fluttered at his obvious arousal.
“I lose all control when I’m around you,” he said. “Been trying years to get myself under control and all you have to do is bat those eyelashes and I come undone.”
Grace tucked her head shyly, hiding the grin that she couldn’t control, not sure just exactly how much to push her luck. She shrugged. “Not sure I mind,” she said.
She felt his hands on her shoulders as he shook her, his eyes suddenly sobering. “Hey,” he said. “You should mind. It’s not right for any old guy to just take advantage of you.”
His tone rose her ire, and her head snapped back up. “I don’t let just any old guy take advantage of me,” she said. “How do you think I got to twenty-six still a virgin? For real? You think you’re just any old guy?”
God, no. She wanted to slap him straight across his beautiful face, but knew she’d pay the price.
His jaw clenched. “I’m not what you need, Grace. You don’t need some guy who gets off on dishing out pain. You don’t need a guy who likes control. You need some guy with a fucking B.A. who will make your mama proud. A guy with a real car, not the back of my bike.”
Her stomach clenched and her nose stung. Still sitting on his lap suddenly felt comical. She yanked at her pants as she pushed off his lap, pulling them up as she stood, marching toward the door.
“Oh yeah?” she said over her shoulder. “Fuck this, Donnie. How nice of you to give me control over everything by deciding exactly what it is that I do and do not want or need.” She blindly walked, not thinking about where she’d go or what she’d do, but knowing she couldn’t stay another minute in this stifling apartment.
“Grace—”
“No! I’ve lived my whole life with other people telling me what to do, and I’m sick of it!” she shouted, only paces away from the door now. She heard him get to his feet, as her hand reached for the doorknob.
“Grace, stop.”
She froze, her hand on the doorknob, as she whipped around to face him.
“What? So you can tell me what else I need? A white picket fence in suburbia with the swing set and tricycles? Seriously, Donnie? Do you have any idea what I want? Has it ever occurred to you to ask me?”
His eyes flashed, arms crossed on his chest, but she saw a flicker of pain cross his face, and she knew she’d somehow hit home.
“Get your hand off the doorknob.” The words were spoken in a low, calm tone, but she knew it was the tone that meant he expected her to do what she was told. Her ass still throbbing, she released the door knob and clenched her jaw, folding her own arms petulantly over her chest for emphasis.
Fine, I’ll obey but you won’t make me do it nicely.
As he raised a brow, her pulse quickened, and she dropped both her arms and her gaze.
It appeared he would.
“Come here.”
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. But what if the stand-off was because she wasn’t good enough for him? She didn’t have the figure of that girl downstairs. She didn’t know a damn thing about doms or subs or what they did in a place like this, though the friends of his she’d met were... normal enough.
She looked at him across the room, and when she spoke, her voice wobbled. “What if I don’t want to?” she whispered.
“Gracie,” he said, his voice growing soft, as his arms opened up to her. “Honey, you do. You know you do. Now c’mere.” He sobered,
his voice deepening. “And you know if you step one foot out that door, I’ll give you the spanking of your little life.”
Her pulse spiked as she walked to him on trembling legs. Where would she go? Who else would take care of her? In seconds, she was back in his arms, burying her face on his chest as he held her close. Why had she been angry? Was she going crazy?
“Tell me, Gracie,” he said, his hand on the back of her neck, possessive and soothing, as he held her face up to his chest. “Tell me what you want. Not what anyone else wants for you, not even me. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” she whispered.
“Yeah, babe. What does Grace Diaz want?”
“I don’t want a house in suburbia and a guy in a suit, Donnie. I want a man who knows me, the real me, so well, he’d do anything to protect me, even if that means… putting me on the back of his bike, and taking me to his very own place, where he can keep an eye on me, so I don’t get hurt. I want a man who loves fiercely, who’s strong and steady. I want someone to watch over me.” Her voice shook strangely, and she closed her eyes. “I want you.”
He sighed, holding her close to him.
“Donnie, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I know that I lost you once, and I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t know if tomorrow I’ll still be here, or if Chalo-whatever will find me, or if-if… Mikey will track me down, or if they’ll come and get me.”
“Baby,” he said, pulling her to him fiercely. “They’re not gonna get you. I’ll kill them before they get you.” She heard it then, the street boy she’d grown up with who broke legs and jaws without apology, her hero, the one who’d protect her when no one else could. He would; he’d kill every last one standing up for her.
“I know,” she whispered. “God, Donnie.” The moment could be lost, and the brilliant clarity she had then could flit away. She had to say it. “What if today is the last day we have?”
“Grace,” he said, his voice pained. “No, baby. Stop.”
But she would not be deterred. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, both of her hands on his shoulders now. “No, Donnie,” she said, shaking her head. “You asked me, and I’m only answering. What if I die a twenty-six-year-old virgin? And I never told the one man I’d pledged my life to that I loved him? I love you. And I don’t want to lose you.”
Her voice shook, tears on her cheeks now, but she did nothing to stop them.
He shook his head, his eyes on hers probing. “God, Grace. You’re not gonna lose me, honey. You’re not—”
“Then make me yours, Donnie. Damn it!” Her voice rose in desperation. “I’m not that little girl anymore. I’m a woman. You asked me what I wanted, and I told you. I want you. You.” She was crying freely now as he lifted her up in his arms, her legs encircling his waist, while he walked her to his bedroom. She leaned in to kiss him, needing to taste him, needing him to know how serious she was with more than her words.
Lowering her onto the pillows as he knelt down next to her, he lifted his mouth off hers just long enough to whisper a heated, tortured, “Grace.”
“Make me yours, Donnie,” she begged. “Please.” And she didn’t know how or why, but she was filled with certainty, a clarity that everything had led to this moment. “Let my first time making love be with a man who cares about me, Donnie. Let it be with someone who knows me, and who wants to make my first time special.” Her voice cracked, as he leaned in and kissed her cheek, her whole world consumed by him, his scent and warmth, the beating of his heart, and the way he held her close, as if somehow he couldn’t get her close enough.
Releasing her just long enough to snag the end of his shirt and pull it off, she sighed in contentment, running her hands over his strong, muscled chest, needing to feel his naked skin against her palm. He lowered himself down to her, kissing her softly again, his hands at her top now, lifting it up. As he bared her, her breasts nearly spilling out of the top of her bra, he groaned out loud. With a tortured moan, he pulled her pants down. She lifted her hips as the fabric slid slowly down over her bare legs, beckoning him, begging him to take her.
She was laying on Donnie’s bed, stripped to nothing but her panties and bra, and he was kneeling over her, her big, strong, muscled, hero was staring down at her with nothing short of adoration.
Her fantasy had come to life.
“Gonna make you mine, angel.”
Her sob caught in her throat as his mouth came to hers, sweet and gentle, like only a man with the strength of a giant could be, as if she were spun glass in need of a tender touch. His mouth went to her neck, his warm, whiskery kiss making her thighs clench together in a sweeping wave of arousal. His tongue flicked out in a sensual gesture that set tingles down her spine, as his hands went to her waist.
“I want you to have special, Grace,” he whispered in her ear. “I need you good and ready for me.”
“God, I’m ready,” she groaned, and he only shook his head, as he removed her bra. Lowering his mouth to the valley between her breasts, his warm, soft tongue tracing a path to the pink peak of her nipple. He took one breast in his mouth while his hand traveled between her legs, the tips of his fingers dragging down the edge of her panties. One finger dipped low, stroking her slowly, as his mouth did wonderful, torturous things to her breast.
“Nice and ready,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hurt her? The only thing that would hurt her now would be if he stopped.
He lifted his mouth from her breast and whispered in her ear. “I like things rough, angel. I like inflicting pain. I call the shots in here. But today, this is about you, and today you need gentle.”
She shivered in delight. She knew he could be rough. Her ass bore witness to the sting of his palm, and she well knew she’d only had a taste of what he had to offer. But knowing he could be rough made his gentle ministrations just that much sweeter.
He released her just long enough to slide his own jeans down, the length of his erection tenting his boxers as he knelt back down to her. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples once more until she thought she could climax from that touch alone.
“Donnie,” she panted, her head falling to the side, hips bucking. “Oh, God.”
“Not yet, Gracie.”
He pried her legs apart with one knee, and she gratefully opened for him, as he lowered himself down. Slowly, his hands dragged the length of her body, her panties grazing over her curves as he moved them down and lowered his mouth.
“Ohhhh, no,” she said, suddenly embarrassed at the thought of whatever he planned to do.
Slow, delicious, lazy laps of his tongue along her slit made her moan. “Donnie,” she gasped.
“Need you ready,” he said, lifting his mouth off of her just long enough to whisper, before he returned to the delicious assault of her senses.
“I’m going to…” she began, and he was up, pushing his boxers down, holding his massive body over hers as he gently spread her legs even wider.
“You’ll wait, Gracie. That’s it. Open wide and relax. Do you trust me, angel?”
“So much,” she said, her voice shaking. “I trust you with everything.” This was it, the moment when he’d make her his, and when he did, there would be no going back. Her hero would make her his, and things would never be the same again.
Bracing himself over her, he gently probed, his own breath suspended as if time were paused. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.
“I trust you,” she said.
“Need protection, baby,” he said. He reached for his bedside table, removing a condom and sliding it along his erection as his eyes bore into hers. Her heart beat in thunderous anticipation, on the cusp of something so monumental she could hardly breathe. Slowly, carefully, and so gently, he entered her, and she could feel the way he was holding back, his leashed strength as he filled her. There was the barest twinge of pain as he stretched her, but it faded as he slowly built a rhythm,
and with each slow, firm thrust of his hips, electric waves of pleasure shot through her. “Does it hurt, Grace?” he whispered, holding her tight against him.
“It’s perfect,” she answered, because it was. Nothing could’ve prepared her for what it felt like to be connected to him like this, the combination of pleasure-pain bringing her closer to ecstasy as she lay beneath him, surrendered to him in the most vulnerable of ways. The tempo of his thrusts increased. He was panting now, and she felt herself building. Everything he did was a delicious contradiction—slow and fast, pain and pleasure, full but not enough. “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “God, Donnie, this is so good. So, so good. Please, honey.”
His breath was ragged with every move of his hips, and he held his body weight off of hers so that she felt both warmed and secure beneath him. “That’s it, angel,” he said. “God, you feel so perfect, Grace.” He closed his eyes. “So perfect.”
“I can’t—” she gasped. “I’m going to—”
She couldn’t hold on another second and his words only made her want to let it all go, where she was safe and free and treasured. “Come for me. Gracie, baby. I love you. Come, honey.”
She climaxed with abandon, her hips jerking upward as he groaned, her head falling back against the pillow, as her hands grasped onto his strong, muscled arms. He held her tight, her body pressed up against his as the two of them came as one. She rode the waves of pleasure until they both lay spent, and as she settled into the warmth of his arms, she did nothing to staunch the flow of tears that freely fell.
“Grace,” he said, looking at her with concern. “Did I hurt you? God, if I hurt you—”
“No,” she sniffled, shaking her head. “I’m crying because that was so right. You… me… us… like this.” And her tears flowed harder.
His eyes softened, his lips quirking as he brought his mouth to her forehead in a tender kiss that warmed her through.
“I love you, Grace Diaz,” he whispered in her ear. “I always have, and I always will.”
