by Cara Bristol
“What you do to me.” She smiled against his lips.
“You make me hunger for you, love you beyond reason. I love your strength and your softness. That you challenge me and defy me in small ways, but then submit with your whole heart.” Hot breath filled her ear.
Mark painted her body with his desire, nibbling on her neck, sucking her nipples, tracing circles on her abdomen with his tongue. He scooted lower and settled between her legs, and the urgent insistence of his kiss slowed to languor, coaxing her passion with unhurried strokes of his tongue, the glide of his lips, the graze of his beard she loved so well.
Her engorged clit tingled under the attention of his mouth, her pussy welcoming the invasion of his fingers. He brought her to the edge of orgasm, then flipped her over, hauled her to her knees, and claimed her in one surging thrust.
She gasped at the shock of entry, the overwhelming stretch, the glorious pressure. She tossed her head and squeezed his cock. Growling, he nipped her nape in a primitive act of mating. She cried out at the unexpected sting while clenching him tight. Holding her hips, he began to thrust.
Her face kissed the floor, her ass stuck high in the air. Need clawed at her, and she raised her hips, taking him deeper. She didn’t think he’d ever felt as satisfying. As smooth. As hard.
“You feel incredible,” he murmured.
“Mm,” she moaned in agreement.
“Always good, but this time—” He froze. “Oh fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not wearing a condom.”
“I’m on the pill, but I forgot to take it this weekend.”
He started to pull out.
“No.” She clamped around him and grabbed his thigh.
“Stephanie, you could get pregnant. The deed might already be done. My cock is leaking like a motherfucker.”
She twisted her head to meet his gaze. “If you want four children, shouldn’t we get started?”
His eyes blazed white hot. He curved his hand over her abdomen and thrust into her slowly, deliberately. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
With dexterous fingers he stroked the very tip of her clit. “Now. Let go. For me.”
Sweet, sharp sensation exploded. Her ecstasy arced as he surrendered to her body’s enticement and spilled himself with a deep, rumbling groan.
* * * *
Stephanie pillowed her head on Mark’s chest and wedged a leg between his thighs. He caressed her shoulder and possessively cupped her hip. Her spanked bottom throbbed, but the rest of her body felt loose and languid, as if she’d received an hour-long massage. Contentment seeped into her bones. If nothing else changed, this moment alone was perfect.
The jaggedness of her unceremonious canning had dulled like it had happened a long time ago. She would need to find another job, but she could deal with it. She hadn’t enjoyed the spanking, but it had gotten her to release her pent-up emotions. Mark had been right. Again. Not that she would admit it to him. His ego needed little stroking.
“I haven’t been out of work since I was sixteen,” she mused.
“You don’t have to be,” he said. “Liz asked me to tell you Rod and Cane still has that position.”
She wound a curl of his chest hair around her index finger. “Can you see me directing a feminist women’s program at an organization of men who spank their wives?”
“As easily as I see this feminist marrying this man who spanks.” He tweaked her nipple.
At his words, the impossible turned possible. Ideas formed. It would be a challenge, to be sure, to assist women in developing their potential and influence within the context of a domestic discipline marriage. She would benefit along with them. It comforted her to know that she could lean on Mark, that he would protect her, provide for her. He knew what she needed even when she didn’t. But at times they would butt heads, and she would end up over his lap. Teaching other women how to negotiate those complex dynamics would help her learn too. Excitement stirred.
“Working with Rod and Cane will give me more flexibility after our son is born,” she said.
Mark splayed his hand over her stomach. “Or our daughter. You do know that genetically the male determines the sex of the baby.”
“I know you like to control.”
“I do.” He drew lazy circles on her skin. “By the way, Bethany thinks the reason you were fired was because of some class. She feels responsible for you losing your job.”
“She didn’t help, but she wasn’t responsible. I’ll call her later and let her know.” She marveled that she could speak of the incident with such calmness, but it was all because of Mark. His loving discipline had reshaped her attitude. He got her to release her bottled feelings, to come at his command, to consider a job she would have blown off without blinking.
She pressed herself against his thigh and hugged his waist. What you do to me. She smiled. Mark DeLuca spoke, and her body and mind listened. She lifted her head. “When we get married, you’re going to expect me to obey, aren’t you?”
“Will it be a hardship?”
“Not a hardship, although it might be a challenge from time to time.”
He brushed her lips with his. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”
“What kind of ceremony would you like?” she asked.
“A quick one. What do you want?”
“A garden wedding. A billowy white dress like Princess Diana’s, a big bouquet of orchids and lilies. A sit-down, catered dinner, a huge, beautiful cake, and a live band at the reception.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that you love me the way I love you.”
His gaze grew tender. “I do, kitten.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” she added. “Never stop calling me ‘kitten.’”
Epilogue
One year later
Stephanie and Mark were married under an arch of climbing roses in the rear garden of the Rod and Cane Society mansion. Wearing a satin-and-lace gown, its ten-foot train beaded with seed pearls, the beaming bride glided down a white aisle runner spanning freshly mown grass toward her teary-eyed groom.
As she vowed to love, honor, and obey, a five-piece band finished setting up their instruments in a huge white tent staked nearby for the reception, and caterers readied a four-tier cake baked by a renowned pastry chef, as well as an elegant sit-down meal.
Stephanie got the wedding she wanted. Except for one thing.
She didn’t have a bouquet of orchids and lilies.
Instead of flowers, she carried their infant son, Mark DeLuca Jr.
Loose Id Titles by Cara Bristol
Reckless in Moonlight
* * * *
The ROD AND CANE SOCIETY Series
Unexpected Consequences
False Pretenses
Body Politics
Cara Bristol
Cara Bristol writes the kind of romance she likes to read: spicy tales of love and lust that are fun, sexy, and stirring. She believes a touch of taboo or a hint of kink only makes a love story that much hotter.
When she’s not whipping up erotic stories, Cara loves to travel the world with her husband, walk the beach of the Pacific Northwest island where she lives, and though she hates to admit it, watch reality TV shows. Oh, and she reads -- erotic romance, of course.
Cara loves to hear from readers! Check out the links below to find out how to contact her.
Main Web site: http://carabristol.com
Blog: http://romancewritersbehavingbadly.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/#!/CaraBristol
Email: [email protected]
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Ch
apter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Loose Id Titles by Cara Bristol
Cara Bristol
