by Kari Gregg
"Please," she whispered shakily. "Please lick me." He sneered at her.
Cracked his palm down.
Another red mark.
Another shuddering whimper.
"You shouldn't have moved."
Smack!
She cried out.
"You deserve to be punished."
Chapter Nine
Tears welled in her eyes, slipped free of them, as he swatted her spread thighs again and again and again. She gritted her teeth, gasped. Shuddered. A sob tore from her throat.
Mitch's mind blurred, his senses narrowing to only the shrill crack of his flattened hand striking her skin, her increasingly abandoned wails as he beat her. The steady slap of his palm reddening each of her smooth thighs set a heady cadence with his wildly pounding heart.
"Please," she finally begged and his heart stuttered. Close.
She was so close.
"Please, no more. Stop," she cried, fat tears spilling down her cheeks as he smacked her thighs, landing blow after blow, never pausing. "Please!" Her thighs blazed a fiery red, her tender skin so warm she burned his palm when he slapped her. "Fuck your finger into your pussy," he said, his hand picking up speed.
"Then maybe I'll stop."
She tossed her head back, jaw clenched.
"Do it, babe." He increased the strength of his blows. "Or you'll wish to God you had."
Sobbing, she snaked a hand down to her snatch and shoved her first finger inside.
Mitch didn't let up, raining blows down on her thighs so fiercely he knew the pain must be hideous. Overwhelming.
Which was exactly the point.
"Masturbate."
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Mitch growled deep in his throat. "Masturbate, goddamnit." Sniveling, her nose rosy and dripping, cheeks wet, Liv pumped her thin finger in and out of her hole.
Mitch finally slowed.
If he didn't, his dick would spurt before he pushed inside her. "Put another finger in." He smacked her thighs, his chest heaving as she obeyed. "Another." He landed another blow. "All of them. Shove all your fingers inside you."
"It hurts," she cried, jamming the fingers of one hand up her cunt.
"Good girl," Mitch panted, reigning in the force behind each stinging slap. "Good, good girl. Fuck yourself, Livvy."
Groaning, weeping, she slid her fingers back and forth, in and out of her dripping wet snatch.
Mitch lowered his hand to his hard, heavy dick.
"Use your thumb on your clit. That's it. Rub. Rub it harder." Instead of striking her thighs, Mitch's other hand stroked them. Liv's breath hissed. "I know. It hurts. Poor baby," he said, wrapping his fingers around his cock to give it a slow pump. "This is going to hurt you a lot worse. Work your pussy, honey. Fuck it 'til your fingers drip. Stretch it wide for me."
Sobbing at each brush of his hand on her tender thighs, Liv bucked her hips against the fingers she shoved frantically in and out of her pussy. Until her fingers dripped?
They were already wet and glistening, her juices making them slick and slippery. She rubbed the thumb over her clit so desperately Mitch shuddered. Pushed to the limit, he ripped her fingers away. She wailed, but he ignored it, grabbed her other hand, and lifted both over her head. "Hang onto the headboard," he told her and settled between her flaming thighs. She flinched. Cringed. Mitch grunted at the heat of her flesh against his hips.
He grabbed hers in a vise-like grip, lined up his cock.
He speared it into her.
She screamed.
"Lock your legs around me," he said.
"No," she wept, shaking her head. "It hurts. Stop." Mitch's touch gentled. "Have you forgotten your safe word, sweetheart?"
"No." She shuddered. "No, no."
He nudged the soft curve of her hip. "Then get your ass moving, babe. Wrap your legs around me. Or I'll beat them again."
Lines grooved the sides of her mouth, but she looped her ankles around his waist.
"Hang on tight," he said through gritted teeth.
Then, he fucked her.
The violence of his thrusts rocked her body. A moan of pain tore from her throat as his hips pistoned, scraping the raw and ravaged skin. She sobbed wildly, her cunt clamping around his cock like a fist at the sudden slap of pleasure. Though it had to hurt, she tightened her legs around his pumping hips and lifted hers to greet each thrust.
The primitive triumph of watching her pain unite with her pleasure jolted through Mitch like lightning. He gritted his teeth, pounded his dick into her. Each wet slap of his flesh meeting hers lashed his already shattered senses, sucking him deeper. It tightened his balls. Roared in his ears.
"Come, damn you." He snarled, pumping. "Come. Come!" With a mewling cry, she arched her back.
Feral, blubbering howls ripped from her throat.
Liv constricted around him so hard Mitch's vision grayed.
But he didn't stop.
Not when she bawled and screeched with the intensity of her release. Not when her body collapsed, useless and spent, underneath him. Not even when her flaming red thighs spread, her body open and achingly vulnerable to each brutal thrust.
He fucked her, reveling in each grunt as he rammed his cock in. And gritted his teeth at the sweet drag of her pussy when his dick retreated. "Dig your heels into my ass. Pull me deeper."
The muscles of her thighs shook, but she jabbed her feet into his butt cheeks, flexed her thighs to make his next thrust so crushing, Mitch's head spun. He threw his head back, pumped into her again, moaned out his pleasure from the depths of his soul. Again and again, her heels dug into his ass and spiked his cock into her. Mitch's heart beat wildly. He groaned, lost in everything except the tight grip of her cunt, the tingling bite of need that gnawed his spine. He wanted to come, so badly it ate him alive. "Play with my balls," he muttered, dragging one of her limp arms behind his pumping ass. "Squeeze them."
Liv cradled his sac in her small hand.
Her fingers tightened around him.
He roared, his body arching as though an electric current had charged through him. Voracious pleasure mauled his nerve endings, consumed every part of him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toenails.
He jerked.
Spurted.
Shot thick and wet into her.
His senses redlined.
His world exploded.
* * * * *
"You were right," Liv said against the skin of his chest. She flinched as Mitch skated his fingers up and down her sensitive, stinging thighs. Flinched and sighed. "I should know by now. When it comes to sex, you're always right." He kissed the crown of her head. "I'm usually right outside of bed, too." She slapped at his chest. "You wish."
He tipped her chin up. "Which is why you'll have dinner with me, at my partner and his wife's house this week."
She snorted. "Like hell."
His grip on her chin tightened. "You'll do it, Liv."
"I will not." She glared at him. "I agreed to Fridays, Mitch. That's it. You have no other rights or claims on me otherwise."
"Then I'll tell Artie to make it Friday. A late dinner." Mitch's gut knotted. "We'll leave for their house right after your dad's and Gary's."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Meeting each other's friends isn't what we . . . this thing . . . is about."
Mitch blew out a frustrated breath. "For Christ's sake, Livvy, I lost everything I had in my last divorce. I keep telling Artie what we have is just sex, but he doesn't believe me. Would it kill you to eat some chicken and reassure my partner that I'm not running like hell into another marriage? He loves me and he's worried. Another divorce would bankrupt me."
Her brows furrowed. "You want me to convince them that there's nothing serious between us?"
"Oh, we're serious. Deadly serious. There's nothing more serious than the beating I just gave you or how hard I made you come," he said, lips twisting to a smirk. "But it'd be a huge favor to me if you'd meet them. Seeing us together will go a long
way toward convincing them that marriage is the last thing on either of our minds." Her lips curved to a wicked bow. "You want me to crawl into your lap and blow you at their dining room table?"
He chuckled. "You don't need to act like a slut for Artie." He reached over, killed the bedroom light. The glow of his laptop, slideshow of dirty pictures still scrolling, cast the elegant features of her face in soft shadow. "If my partner has any brains in his head, he'll realize we're both sluts for each other and that's all it'll take." She stared at him. "I don't want to."
His lips thinned. "I'll use my belt on you."
"Good." She cuddled into his chest. "I changed my mind about your belt." His cock stirred. "I won't touch you again, not another swat, unless you do what I say, Liv. I mean it."
She pinched his nipple between her fingers until he sucked in a sharp breath, then she laughed. "Okay. But on your head, so be it. I won't be held accountable for my actions."
"I'll make it up to you." Mitch brushed a kiss over her lips. "I promise."
* * * * *
"She's . . . an interesting woman," Artie said over his beer in the den.
"Yeah. Liv's one of a kind." Mitch stared past the eat-in bar to the kitchen, where Liv helped Barb make the after-dinner coffee nobody wanted. As far as excuses went, that one was particularly piss-poor. You scooped grounds into a filter, dumped water in and bam! Coffee. Nobody over the age of six needed help brewing it. Barb had just been desperate to seize any excuse, no matter how flimsy, to herd Liv away from Mitch, to talk to her alone.
By the thinning of Barb's lips as she arranged mugs on a tray, didn't look like that was going well.
Not for Barb, anyway.
Liv's full, red lips stretched to a sinful bow in response to whatever Barb was saying. The TV Artie had turned on when they'd evacuated the dining room drowned out the words, but when Liv's lush mouth moved in reply, Mitch could imagine. How did we meet? I don't think we were ever formally introduced. Mitch yanked me into his bedroom and that was that.
He grinned.
Mitch still couldn't believe she'd said that.
It was true.
Mostly.
He had pulled her into his bedroom. The fact that they'd both been kids at the time and she'd been hiding from her drunk asshole of a father, Liv had apparently decided was irrelevant.
Mitch had to admire her audacity.
He'd wanted to ease Artie's mind. His partner had harassed him fairly regular about his distraction, his growing attachment to Liv. When there was no need for Artie's concern.
Not that Mitch didn't like Liv. He did. A lot. Hell, the way she fucked and sucked him, how she'd grown in her sexual confidence with him, and was willing to try any sweaty fantasy he dared throw at her . . . what wasn't to love?
He loved her talented mouth.
He loved her greedy cunt.
He loved her tight little ass.
And he loved the way she petted and soothed him between rounds of deliciously feral fucking. He could talk to her, too, really talk. Liv understood him. She accepted him, listened to him, and never, ever judged.
Being with her felt good.
Right.
Even when they weren't panting and groaning.
Didn't mean he wanted to marry her, though.
Of course, he was a guy. Only natural for him to want her fuck holes at his command and his command only, but seemed to Mitch, he already had that. No matter the horny fantasy he'd planned to reward her with after this ordeal of a dinner was finished, Mitch knew he and Liv were solid. Her trust in him knew no boundaries physically. And emotionally? She coddled and catered to him when he needed affection, challenged him to hold his attention enthralled.
They were a perfect match.
Already.
So there was no need to marry her.
But scared out of his mind by Mitch's increasing fascination, Artie had launched a freaking campaign to meet her. His business partner knew him well enough to grasp how deep Mitch's attraction ran. Nothing Mitch had said had thus far convinced Artie that Liv was his fucktoy.
His very lovely and much beloved fucktoy.
But his fucktoy, nonetheless.
As Mitch wallowed, shamelessly, in his fucktoy status with her. Artie's concerns would've been laid to rest if Liv had simply showed up for dinner. She snarled at any sign of commitment, the traditional signals of a serious relationship. Her frigid glare at Artie and Barb's diplomatic fishing would've dissuaded them about any marital ambitions on her part.
Problem solved.
Instead, Liv had raised her fucktoy banner and waved it proudly. Dinner had been an unmitigated disaster.
Our plans? Well, I can't speak for Mitch, but I plan to let him take me home so I can fuck his brains out. She'd smiled over Barb's honey mustard chicken. But I'm pretty sure his plans involve my ass and the rather large belt he's wearing. She answered every question Artie and Barb threw at her with perverted, fuckyou-if-you-don't-like-it sass. And when they'd stopped asking questions, she'd kept the wicked smartassery rolling.
Mitch hadn't laughed so much since . . . .
Well, probably never.
"I can't say that Barb likes her. She's a little . . . crude," Artie was saying. Mitch grinned.
Yeah.
Liv could carry off Queen of Crude without batting an eyelash—when the spirit moved her.
Tonight, the spirit had moved on a tectonic scale.
Gone were the conservative gray sweaters and sedate low-heeled pumps. When he'd picked Liv up after Gary's, she'd been trying—and failing—to wear a black miniskirt. The hem flirted with the top of her thighs and barely covered her ass cheeks. When she crossed her legs, he'd caught a flashing glimpse of cream satin panties and Mitch was dead sure, so had a gaping, wide-eyed Artie. The blouse she paired with it was so sheer if Mitch paid attention and she moved just right, he could make out the lace of a matching demi-bra beneath it. Three-inch spiky heels graced her slim feet. Mitch wouldn't say she'd painted herself like a whore—working girls didn't look this good—but the red lipstick she'd slicked onto her mouth had made Mitch hard and kept him hard throughout the evening.
He was willing to bet that the sight of those scarlet lips had hardened Artie's cock, too, which probably explained why Barb was less than pleased.
"She wants what's in your pants, but at least it ain't your wallet." Artie drank his beer. "I almost wish she was after the wallet. She's got your dick wrapped around her little finger, son."
"Any reason her fingers touch my dick is okay by me," Mitch said. But he couldn't yank Artie's chain any more than Liv already had. "She's putting you on, man. I told Liv that you thought we were getting serious so she decided to persuade you otherwise. In her own special way." Mitch laughed. "She works for a lawyer, Artie. Drives a used Mazda. We tear up the sheets together, but she's no cheap tramp." His partner exhaled a long breath. "You're good enough to sleep with, but she won't meet your friends and family proper?" He shook his head. "She's going to rip your heart out and eat it with a spoon."
That wiped the grin off his face. "She couldn't care less about my heart." Artie snorted into his beer. "That's the problem."
Chapter Ten
Mitch beat a hasty retreat from Artie's. Liv had laughed like a loon in his truck, asked him if his partner was still worried about her sinking her claws into his company in a fat divorce settlement. Mitch had forced a grin, thanked her for the entertaining performance.
He didn't tell her that his partner was still worried, that Artie's focus had simply shifted.
No point.
And Mitch didn't want to think about it, anyway.
So when he got her home, he dragged her into the apartment, shoved her against the wall, and kissed her.
Kissing her made it all go away.
He walked her backward, toward the dining room, his mouth eating at hers. When he lifted his head, he stared at her with hot, hungry intention, his balls tight and aching. "Take it off," he said
.
Her chest already lifted and fell in shallow pants.
Her fingers rose to the high button at her neck, flicking it free, then raced on to the next.
Mitch leaned back against the doorjamb of the kitchen, tucked a foot behind his calf, and watched her strip. Liv made short work of the sheer blouse, ripped it down her arms and off her hands, revealing an eye-popping cream demi-bra. The lace was so delicate, Mitch wondered if it'd melt in his mouth, if he could just eat it right off her, but he didn't move to her. Not yet. He jerked his chin at the skirt instead. "Keep going." She unhooked a catch at the base of her spine. With a sly grin, she pulled the concealed zipper down and her little black mini-skirt became a little black puddle on his dining room floor.
More cream-colored lace.
But very little of it.
Wispy black curls peeped behind the fragile lace, peeked around the high cuts—
His dick throbbed.
"The bra?" he prodded.
Her lips parted, but she reached for the front clasp.
Her tits sprang free, spilling from each gossamer cup.
He lifted a finger, twirled it. "Turn around."
She pivoted, facing the heavy vertical blinds he'd installed over the sliding glass doors to the rear deck yesterday.
Mitch's mouth curved to a wide smile.
Liv had put on a show for Artie.
Now it was his turn to repay that favor in kind.
He maneuvered around the towers of boxes he still hadn't hauled to storage, slid behind her. Lifting her hair, he skated his mouth along her nape, enjoying her delicate quiver. He bit, then kissed the curve of her neck, reaching around her to palm one breast, his body shaking at her low moan. With the other hand, he reached for the control rod for the blinds.
She stiffened when the blinds slid aside, thrust out both hands. They slipped between the blinds, kissing the glass. "Mitch!"
"Shh," he murmured into her skin, let his tongue explore the line of her throat. He walked his fingers up her arms to grasp her wrists, draw them down to handcuff them with one hand at her belly.
He held her there, immobile, as he continued opening the blinds.
