In the bedroom, the curtains had been drawn and pillar candles lit around the room, making it bright. And romantic. The ambience made her nervous in a way the hallway games hadn’t. She stuck to the rules, however, kneeling, saying nothing, even as he continued playing with her hair, using gentle tugs to straighten her spine and make her kneel up higher.
With her thighs spread, the position strained her muscles, neither sitting on her heels nor all the way up. “Stay right there,” he told her, then arranged her hair down her back. “How does that feel? Oh, sorry—you can’t answer.”
He walked around her, the smug look on his face showing he knew full well that her muscles were already vibrating with the effort to stay that way. Crouching in front of her, he toyed with her nipples, smiling when her breathing quickened. “So,” he said in a conversational tone, “here’s how this works. I want you to hold that position. Don’t move.”
For how long? Damn him, he read the question in her eyes and declined to answer. Messing with her head.
As if reading her mind, in fact, he dipped his chin in cheerful agreement. “If you move up or down, there will be a penalty.”
Chapter Eighteen
Emily stared at him, defiance and determination darkening her silvery eyes.
He almost regretted that she’d wanted to continue the game. For that everlasting moment in the hallway, when she’d panicked over the rope, he’d glimpsed something of the real her. Soft and frightened. Wounded. He’d wanted nothing more than to sweep her into bed and make love to her, melt that tension away. Why had the binding gotten to her when so little else had?
Not rape or assault, though she sometimes read that way. No, something else triggered her there. Not that she’d ever explain, with her determination to keep him out.
She thought she could avoid answering his questions, as if she didn’t know how much she revealed with her small tells—the flick of her gaze away when she hid something, the way she looked up slightly when making up a story or referencing a previous lie. Even now she thought to disguise how much it affected her for him to touch her hair. She’d taken his breath away, looking like a woman out of a storybook. A sexual Snow White, her hair that much darker and her skin that much whiter for the contrast.
A flush rose from her breasts as he worked her nipples, the strenuous position and arousal eating at her from both sides. Even her iron will couldn’t withstand this kind of physical strain.
Soon she couldn’t help but fail, and then he’d get to punish her.
While he waited, he contemplated what kind of penalty would be most effective to get through to her. There was more than one way to a woman’s heart. If she wouldn’t let him romance her, wouldn’t trust him with her secrets, then he’d break the lock on the back door and prowl around, look for himself.
The realization dawned on her that he meant for her to fail, the knowledge transforming her face. She hated losing, but he’d stacked the deck so he’d win. The loss—and a bit of punishment—would chisel at those walls. How best to get to her? An edge of desperation made her firm her lips.
“When you fail, as I can see you’ve figured out is inevitable, how shall I punish you?” He let go of her nipples, running his hands over her narrow ribcage to her waist, then palmed her thighs. Runner’s legs, but she hadn’t trained for this. They trembled. It wouldn’t be long. “Have you ever been spanked, Miss Emily?” He watched her face, looking for real fear, like she’d shown with the rope. It helped to know she would safeword out. A lot wouldn’t, especially stubborn newbies. “No? Not as an adult, I think. Maybe not even as a child. Were you a spoiled little girl? I bet you were Mommy and Daddy’s little princess.”
Careful, Sparky, don’t think about her in that white debutante’s dress. Turned over your knee and no panties beneath. She reacted, though, her flesh electric under his touch.
He moved his hands up her thighs. “Too bad you can’t tell me how you feel about it, the idea of me punishing you. Let’s see what your body says.” He cupped her mound, the silky dark hair tickling his palm, her pussy lips hot and swollen. She dripped with moisture. More, she shuddered at the light touch, closing her eyes, her whole body seeming to moan, though she repressed the sound itself.
His balls tightened with the need to have her, the power of holding her in the palm of his hand. He wanted her like this, focused on him, responding to him, seeing him.
“Look at me,” he demanded, and ran his fingers over her folds, savoring the way her eyes flew open, startled by the order, unguarded, without guile, and how she vibrated as his touch, close to orgasm just from this much. He established the rhythm, finding the one that affected her most, driving her up. Amazing, really, that she’d managed to hold the position this long. “Did I mention the rule that you can only come with permission? Of course, you have to ask for permission and you’ve forfeited the right to speak.”
She pressed her lips tightly together, eyes flashing with anger—which yielded immediately to pleading when he pushed a finger inside her tight channel. His cock throbbed with the desire to press into her. She swayed, starting to shake.
“You’re losing it, aren’t you?” he taunted her, her eyes full of unspoken words. In some ways, this communication felt more honest, with her relieved of the burden of lying to him. “Very soon, you’ll be draped naked across my lap while I spank your sweet ass. I think it will drive you wild. I know it will me. And I won’t stop, even if you beg me. I’ll be loving it too much, having you at my mercy, and when I’m ready, I’ll fuck you until you forget yourself and scream out my name.”
Her channel clenched around his finger and she started to shake in earnest, whimpering a little, as her pride frayed before the sensual extremity. Her tits bounced so enticingly he had to grab one, squeezing it and working a second finger into her passage, pumping them in and out of her. She gritted her teeth and made a keening sound, her body tight as a bow string. Mesmerized, he vibrated with her. He did this to her, made her lose all that reserve and become this wild and lustful creature. Which would break first—her strength or the climax?
Her thighs did.
With an incoherent cry of frustration, she collapsed onto her heels, closing her eyes in defeat, though she kept her hands on her neck, her body mottled pink with unrealized arousal. Ideal, since holding off the climax would make her experience of the spanking that much better. Much as he wanted to keep his hands on her, he let go and stood.
Moving behind her, he gathered up her hair, telling her she could lower her hands. The natural curl in her hair came out when it wasn’t restrained in the ponytail. Not black, but a dark chestnut, with glints of deep red, it spilled over his hands light as sea foam. Now he wound it around his left hand, drawing her to her feet.
She didn’t look at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging her with him. Touching the tips of her fingers together, she betrayed her nervousness. Everything else about her hummed with overwhelming excitement. He resonated with her, full of the power of the moment.
“Across my lap.”
Deliciously pliant, she obeyed, draping her long, delicate body over his thighs, following the lead of his hand in her hair. This was the trust she otherwise denied him and he reveled in it, smoothing his dominant hand over the tight, white and flawless cheeks of her bottom.
“Stretch your hands over your head and grasp the headboard.”
She did, seeming grateful to have something to hold on to. Something he understood. He couldn’t stand to have his hands free when spanked or otherwise punished. It made him frantic.
Savoring the moment, he caressed the perfect globes of her bottom, the skin like satin. She shook slightly, face buried in the mattress. He wound her hair tighter around his hand, which stilled her. Then smacked her bottom, once on each cheek, sharp and stinging slaps.
She cried out, more in surprise that i
t hurt. So sensitive. For some reason, newbies never expected it to hurt as much as it did. It wouldn’t take much to break her composure, all he needed before he entered her intimately. He set to spanking her in earnest, keeping the slaps to stings. Enough to pinken her pretty white skin, but not enough to bruise. Her feet kicked against the bed and her knuckles whitened with her grip on the headboard. She groaned and squealed, the tension in her body rising, thrumming with the sensory input.
She began to weep, her cries of pain thickening with the tears. This was always the hardest part for him, not to stop when they started to cry. Her pussy was hot against his thigh, however, and still dripping. Tears were part of it and he dipped his hand into her folds, giving her a break and reassuring himself of her continued arousal.
She gasped, clutching her thighs tight around his hand. Closer to orgasm than ever. Tugging her hair, he made her arch her head back. She sobbed a little, holding the climax off, her face wet with tears. It was too sweet, too tempting. He popped a thumb inside her and bracketed her clit. “Come for me now, Emily. Do it.”
With a cry that was almost a word, she did, bowing her spine and pressing the heels of her hands into the mattress. Her whole body convulsed, bucking on his lap as she came apart, climaxing with that wrenching fervency she brought to everything.
He stuck with her through the rippling aftershocks, and kept working her even as she moaned a protest, not letting her come all the way down. Sometime they’d find out how many times in a row she could climax.
But, at this moment, he couldn’t deny himself. He needed to bury himself in her, feel her wrapped around him when she reached the final extremity.
When her breath came fast again, her body filling with tension and her slick pussy pushing against his hand with increasing desperation, he smacked her pink cheeks, reveling in the way she moaned in response. She’d passed into the place where the pain and the pleasure all blended into one transporting feeling. Beyond the emotional, beyond the physical.
Keeping his hand in her hair, he moved her off his lap. She’d given up all resistance, letting him position her on her hands and knees, pressing her forehead to the mattress, her adorably pinkened ass high in the air and the captivating valley of her swollen pussy offered up for his enjoyment.
Stripping off his clothes, mad to be inside her, he snagged a condom from the bedside table, then crawled over to kneel behind her. Not entering her yet—to torture them both a little longer, prolong this first time together—he slid his sheathed cock along her lips, stroking her clit and reaching beneath to fill his hands with her gorgeous tits. She moaned, in a wordless place, fully with him. A Stradivarius of a woman, tuned precisely to him, her flesh hot, body yielding.
He pinched her nipples, hard, to penetrate the cloud and she cried out.
“Beg me to fuck you,” he demanded. She didn’t reply and he rocked his groin against her, feeling how close she was, how much she needed to come. She’d pulled up the fitted sheet from the corners of the mattress and had it clenched in her hands.
“You may speak now,” he gritted out, realizing he, too, hovered on the verge. She made him crazy, starving to be inside her. “But it better be to beg me to fuck you. Otherwise I won’t let you come for the rest of the night.”
She made a hoarse cry of denial.
Needing to see her face, he flipped her over and knelt between her beautifully spread thighs, pushing her knees wide to open her for his penetration. He positioned himself at her entrance and laced his fingers with her delicate ones, pressing her hands on either side of her head. With her hair like sable beneath her, her face flushed and eyes silver moons of nameless emotion, she returned his gaze. Yielding, pleading, yes, but also demanding.
“Beg me,” he ordered her.
Her eyes glittered, her lips pressed stubbornly closed. But she throbbed beneath him, her hips straining to close the distance, nipples hard against his chest. Unable to restrain himself, he nudged inside her and her eyelids lowered slightly in desperate pleasure, her vulva lips clenching on the head of his cock. It electrified him and he nearly lost it then and there, as his young self had with his first woman.
“Shit.” He dropped his forehead against hers, both of them slick with sweat, aware his own breath shuddered out of him. “I don’t care what you say, just give me the word.”
She moved under him, taking his earlobe in her sharp teeth and nipping him—a spark that went straight to his balls. “Fuck me, Fox,” she hissed. “And, if you do it right, I’ll scream your name.”
He lost his mind at that. Without finesse, he rammed into her, her channel hot around him. She convulsed, fastening her mouth to his and wrapping her legs around his hips, trapping him with anaconda strength. He wrenched his hands from hers and levered himself up, pumping in and out of her. She sank her nails into his ass, making him go deeper, her face avid and her eyes like a wild woman’s.
Just as he felt himself on the edge, the point of no return, the pressure in his cock and balls so great that nothing could stop him, she threw back her head and screamed. “Oh, fuck me, Fox!”
She convulsed around him, the vise of her pussy sending him spinning into blackness, into the void where he thrust and emptied himself into the welcoming cradle of her hot body. Chanting his name in gratifying cries, she milked him, wringing him dry with the grip of her hands, legs and her hungry mouth fastened on his neck.
At last, spent, he collapsed on her, her breasts crushed against him and slick with sweat, his face buried in the orange blossom scent of her silky hair.
Remotely, he knew he should be the gentleman and lift himself off her. And he would. Any minute now. The blood would return to the rest of his body and he’d be able to move. She dragged in a deep breath, her chest expanding under him, and he made himself do it. He found his elbows and raised himself enough for her to breathe.
She gazed at him from half-lidded, sleepy gray eyes, her lashes spiky black and damp, her pink lips moist and skin dewy. They curved in a smile, sweet, almost tender and full of a raw vulnerability that rocked him. Without thought or agenda, he kissed her. She tasted like a flower, opening for him with a total lack of reserve, her body lax. Still semi-hard, he rocked his hips, moving inside her and she undulated, her tongue meeting his, their breath mingling.
Some deep feeling moved in the same way, a wave of warmth, of renewed desire. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “I’d better deal with the condom.” Reaching between them, he held it in place and withdrew from her, feeling colder without her skin against his. He ditched the used condom in a wastebasket by the bed and handed her one of the washcloths he’d stacked there, using one on himself.
Emily sat up, her hair falling around her white body, knees curled to the side, and watched him with a bemused expression. “You keep sex-cloths in your bedside table?”
He finished drying his cock and tossed the cloth aside. “Yes. Much more civilized than Kleenex.” Taking the cloth he’d handed her, he nudged her knees open. She leaned back on her elbows, letting him do the honors. With a sense of worshipping at the altar of womanhood, he wiped her thighs clean, tenderly blotting her sweet, pink pussy. Experimentally, he took the cloth lower, drying the cleft between her buttocks and her tight anus, watching her face. She didn’t pull away so he set the cloth aside and stroked her, dragging moisture down to rub that opening, too, pressing in a bit.
“What else do you keep in your bedside table?” she asked, a sultry dare.
“All kinds of things. What do you hope is in there?”
“I don’t know.” She gasped when he worked the tip of his thumb inside her, slipping his middle finger into her vagina, her face alight with receptive interest. She’d let go of much of her reserve, all playful, open woman. “Try me,” she dared him.
“Okay then.” He picked up some lube and poured some into his palm. Holding her captivated gaze, he w
armed it for her and rubbed it into her cleft. Her lips parted, cheeks blooming with desire and a touch of embarrassment. He worked his finger inside her and she resisted, the ring of muscle tight. “You’ve never played this way?”
She bit her lip and shook her head, the momentary distraction making her loosen so he pushed in farther. A tremor of surprise ran over her face. “It feels odd. Good, in a different way.”
Fox sent up a prayer of gratitude. Not all women liked anal—not surprising, since they weren’t wired for the pleasure of it the same way—but, with one who did... “See what you think of this, then.” Pulling a slim dildo from his collection, he lubed it up, letting her watch. She was getting off on the novelty of it, the sense of adventure lighting her up from inside. She’d stopped thinking so much, he decided. The avalanche of orgasms, maybe the crashing release of being punished, it had all softened her and released her at least temporarily from whatever worries plagued her so.
He pressed the dildo inside her virgin asshole. Smaller than his finger, it stretched her gently, going much deeper. She sighed at the sensation, nearly drew her knees together, but then relaxed. Still propped on her elbows, she watched him work it in and out of her, eyes darkening with arousal. “It feels so full, but it’s not very big. Not like it would be if...” She met his gaze with some hesitation.
“Not like if I fucked you up the ass with my cock?” He teased her, loving that she blushed even more. “Or something larger? That’s something best worked up to.” Giving her a wicked smile he bent over, pressed the dildo deeper into her and sucked her rigid clit into his mouth.
Chapter Nineteen
The paired sensations shuddered through her. The illicit novelty of the oil-slicked black rod working her rear passage, stimulating deep places she’d never felt, while Fox’s clever mouth stroked her clit. The way the increasing arousal carried her on a gentle wave this time.
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