What Happens After Dark

by Jasmine Haynes

  Not much except that she was real. With hobbies and reading tastes and a softer side that she’d never shown him.

  She’d actually been nothing more than a sex object to him, everything between them based solely on sex. She came to his house; they did nasty things; she went home. She never stayed the night. Occasionally he’d taken her out for a meal, but mostly to show her off in a sexy outfit. They’d never watched TV together; he didn’t know what kind of movies she liked.

  He knew only that she needed to be directed, that she wanted to feel forced to do what he asked, yet while sometimes she cried and begged him to stop, she loved it when he punished her. That continued to make him wonder about her past relationships. There had to be something there to explain it. Nevertheless, he would gladly give her what she needed.

  Then he would give her more than she’d ever asked for.

  “You’ve been withholding things from me, Bree.”

  “What do you mean?” She’d followed him halfway down the hall, but as he turned from the spare room and advanced on her, she backed up. She’d tugged her shirt back over her small perfect breasts, but her nipples were still diamond-tipped beneath the Lycra.

  “You’ve never cooked for me.”

  She gaped. “You want me to make you dinner now?”

  “Not now. Instead, I’m going to punish you for never offering. A good submissive must tend to all her master’s needs, including food, and you haven’t done so.”

  “But I’ve—”

  He was close enough to put his fingers to her lips and cut her off. “A master requires more than sexual sustenance, and you have denied me your full range of skills.”

  Her eyes were wide and brilliantly blue. A pulse beat fast at her throat. Her breath puffed over his fingers.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Take off your leggings and panties.”

  Without a word, she stripped down, and threw the leggings to the hall carpet. Her pussy was trimmed, the musky scent of her arousal rising to him, wrapping around his mind. His cock flexed in his jeans.

  “Go into the bedroom, kneel on the floor at the end of the bed and face the wall.” Then he added, “Slut,” for good measure.

  She didn’t hesitate, turning, the taut lines of her ass beckoning him.

  This is what she loved, orders. Do this, do that. No thinking, no questions. His blood pumped faster imagining all that he would do to her tonight.

  He entered the bedroom to find her on her knees, her body already prone across the bed, her arms outstretched, her ass in the air.

  “You love a good spanking, don’t you, slut?”

  “No, Master. It hurts.”

  He went down beside her on the carpet. “You like the way it feels when it’s smarting.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie. I just told you the rule was for you to always answer my questions with the truth.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He slapped her ass with a cupped hand, cutting off her words as she yelped.

  He stroked the reddened flesh, dipped down, and found her pussy wet against his palm. “If you don’t like it, tell me to stop.”

  She didn’t say a thing. Which was the same as begging for more.

  He wouldn’t let her get away with simple acquiescence. “Tell me what you want, Bree.”

  “I want to take my punishment so that you’ll forgive me. I want you to call me the names I deserve to be called.”

  He rubbed her bottom in rhythmic circles. “That’s not good enough, Bree.” He refused to use the words she wanted until she begged. “Tell me exactly how you want it.”

  She turned her head to look at him, her eyes pleading. “I want what you want.”

  “You think I like to hurt you?”

  She rolled her lips together, smudging her lipstick slightly. “Well, not like but, you know, um, that I deserve to be punished. I deserve to be called a slut and a whore and a bitch.”

  Deserve. She wasn’t going to admit that she got off on it.

  He smacked her again, harder, but still with a cupped hand that did no real damage. She closed her eyes, moaned.

  “Did you like that?”

  She gazed at him.

  “If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

  She breathed deeply, then her lips tightened as if she were refusing to speak.

  He didn’t slap her bottom again. Instead, he trailed the smooth line of her ass until his fingers slipped in the moisture between her legs. “You like it. You’re wet. You need more.”

  She swallowed, but didn’t say a word.

  His cock throbbed, and his jeans were suddenly too tight. “Say it,” he murmured. “You can only have what you want if you say it.” He leaned close to whisper against her silky hair. “I order you to say it.” Though he stroked up and down her cleft, he never entered, never touched her clit, yet she drenched him with her desire.

  Christ, they both wanted it. Goddammit, she needed to say it. He wasn’t doing this alone. She was going to admit she wanted it.

  Then finally, her lips moved, her words were soundless. “Please spank me. Please tell me I’m your dirty slut.”

  4

  SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BEG. SHE DIDN’T WANT TO NEED THIS WAY. She wanted him to just do it.

  Bree wasn’t a true submissive. She was always in control, giving only enough to get what she wanted. But as Luke’s hand descended one more time on her ass, she couldn’t help giving in. “Please,” she whispered. “I need it.”

  When he slipped down to her pussy, sliding against her, caressing, she felt herself go mindless with that need. The moan that slipped from her lips didn’t even sound like her. She never wanted to think about all the reasons she needed it this way, hot and hard and painful and dirty. It was just the only way.

  “Your butt cheeks are warm, you dirty girl,” he murmured, caressing her. His fingers grazed her rear hole, then he swatted her once more.

  It stung but in such a delicious way, the pain zipping to her clitoris and making it throb. Do it again, she wanted to beg. Please, please, make me feel. Her very skin seemed to quiver beneath his touch.

  She clenched her fingers in the comforter as he punished and soothed, slid across her pussy, this time reaching down to glide deeper between her legs, over her clit. She ached. The punishment was all tied up with the pleasure. She couldn’t have one without the other.

  “Do you want to come?”

  “No.” Not yet. She preferred to ride the edge. And he wasn’t spanking hard enough; he hadn’t hurt her enough. With someone else making you come, there was all the guilt and the bad feelings associated with it. Unless there was the hurt first. She only deserved the pleasure if she took the pain. Derek had known what she needed; Derek had been a sadist. Luke was too good to her.

  But tonight, he took her again and again with the slap of his hand until every nerve ending tingled and spasmed and the bedspread abraded her nipples with each move of her body. Still, her ass didn’t hurt enough yet.

  “Look at us,” he said, putting his hand under her chin and turning her head to the closet mirror.

  He was dark, and with her naked bottom and the white top, she was light in contrast, despite her black hair spread across the light blue spread. Her ass gleamed red. He buried his hand between her legs, and the woman in the mirror groaned. The sight was decadent, naughty, tantalizing.

  He spanked her bottom again as she watched, sensation rippling through her flesh. “Come,” he demanded, delving deep between her legs to her clit. She shuddered for him.

  She bucked and rode his hand, moaned, groaned, then cried out.

  He swatted her. “Liar. You didn’t come.” Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Dirty little cunt.”

  She quivered. He rarely used that word, but he wanted her to come. He wanted her climax to be real, unlike the other night. So many men had never cared if she faked her orgasms. But not Luke. Why did he have to care one way or the other?


  “Harder, Master. I deserve a harder spanking.”

  “I will spank you until you come. I won’t stop until you scream my name and mean it.”

  He smacked harder, then caressed, a steady rhythm that was driving her mad. Abusing her ass, then sliding along her pussy to stroke her clit. She was wet and quaking, teetering on the edge, gasping, crying. God, it was so horribly good.

  He slapped her hard. “Take that, you filthy slut.”

  Her bottom burned. She wanted to cry out her need. “I’m a whore. I deserve it harder, Master, more.”

  “Whore.” He swatted her again, slid between her legs, abused her clit, stuffed his fingers inside her. It was on the edge of brutal. And so perfect.

  Oh God, oh God.

  His hand on her, time after time, until she was screaming for him, until the pain shot down her legs. In a blinding flash, she simply imploded, her legs clamping around his hand, her breath puffing, her mind whirling. Then she was gone.

  HAVING SEEN BREE IN THE MIRROR, LUKE DIDN’T BELIEVE SHE’D ever truly come for him before, or if she had, it was nothing to rival this. It was the way she said his name, almost on the backs of her tears, sobbing. He didn’t know how he could have missed it all those months. He was an idiot.

  He closed his eyes remembering her in the throes of that orgasm. Christ, she was gorgeous. The spanking wasn’t his usual mild fare; his hand smarted and his heart was only just coming down off the high. Yet even as he wanted to be pissed that she’d withheld so much from him—that he hadn’t even known the extent of it—it was all too fucking good to let the anger seep in. He’d finally breached some sort of barrier. He was in her house; he’d made her come cataclysmically.

  Now, propped beside her so he could see them both in the mirror, he stroked the hair back from her face. “You’ve done well,” he said. “You’ve taken your punishment and now you deserve your reward.”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze in the reflection. A normal woman would have said that the orgasm was the reward. But not Bree. “You want me to make you come?”

  She was so quick to give him pleasure, so uncaring of her own. “No. You’re going to make me dinner.”

  She rolled to face him. Without the mirror distancing them, he saw the gleam in the blue depths of her eyes. “I make a mean mu shu chicken.”

  “And dessert.”

  She smiled like a glowing child eager to please. “Hot chocolate pudding. My mother used to make it.”

  Used to? He didn’t know whether her parents were living or dead. He didn’t know a damn thing about her, except that she was eager to suck him off, make him come, cook him dinner, prepare a favorite dessert. It was all about him.

  He’d been fighting that all along. Now he understood how to use it to his advantage.

  SHE WOKE IN THE DARK TO FIND HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER. SHE felt overheated, constrained, tied down. And not in the good way she liked when he handcuffed her to his bed. She hadn’t expected him to spend the night, but he’d insisted. He’d actually wanted to cuddle, for God’s sake. “You will fall asleep in my arms. I want to feel it.” Rather than melt the ice around her heart, it terrified her. She’d never spent the night with him in his bed. He’d never asked her to. She didn’t want to. He was mixing her up by stepping into places she hadn’t expected him to go.

  Yet he’d loved her mu shu chicken. It was simple, easy, and she used tortillas instead of the thin Chinese pancakes, but the food was delicious. Hot chocolate pudding didn’t go with the mu shu at all, but he’d liked that, too.

  She’d been breathless with his praise. She’d felt as if she’d performed some sort of miracle. Then he’d made her suck him to climax in the darkness of her bedroom. He said she was the best he’d ever had. Those words were what she lived for. I’m the best. I’m special.

  Now, lying in her bed, his chest to her back, he shifted, his arm tightening around her. She couldn’t move without waking him.

  Men, they said whatever you wanted to hear. Until they were tired of you. Until you weren’t special anymore. Then they stopped complimenting, stopped saying you were the best. You spent all your time trying to figure out how to fix it, how to anticipate their needs, how to make sure they forgave whatever sin you’d committed that had alienated them. Of course, it didn’t work. After that, there was only the punishment with none of the pleasure. Because suddenly you were nothing to them. Nothing. The way Derek had made her feel in the end.

  But not Luke. She’d never been with a man this long. They weren’t in a relationship, but still, she’d never had a man keep coming back for six months. Of course she knew the fact no one else ever stuck around meant there was something wrong with her; she just didn’t know how to fix that.

  His breath ruffled the hair at her ear. Through the thin curtains, the light pink of sunrise pushed back against the bedroom’s shadows.

  She’d never thought of telling him she cooked. Because she lived alone, most people thought she didn’t cook for herself. Even her mother asked her if she ate ramen out of a cup for dinner. She wondered at the other things she could do for Luke, things that would make her special to him.

  His hand suddenly slid up her abdomen to cup her breast. A thumb flicked her nipple. Then he pinched her. Bree sighed. She didn’t have incredibly sensitive nipples. But when he pinched hard enough, she could feel it all the way down to her belly.

  Maybe he’d like her to get breast enhancements. She had a bit of money in the bank, and she didn’t think it cost as much as it used to. “Do you wish my breasts were bigger?”

  He was silent a long moment, his hand unmoving on her, then finally he ran his fingers in a circle around her breast. “You’re perfect.”

  Like her cocksucking and her cooking.

  “Don’t change yourself. I want a real woman.” He slipped down to palm her pussy. He’d made her sleep naked, and she was already wet. His morning woody throbbed at the base of her spine. “I want everything to be real.

  She knew he meant her orgasms. “What do you want me to do to you this morning?” she whispered, her gaze on the sun rising outside the window.

  “Spread your legs and masturbate for me. I want to watch.”

  Masturbation was dirty and naughty, and Luke loved watching. He made her feel beautiful and precious when he watched her.

  They shifted almost synchronously in the bed as Luke threw back the covers. His cock, turgid, cast a long shadow. He stroked himself as she spread her legs and tunneled down to her pussy, finding her clit and circling.

  “I can see how wet you are.”

  “It’s too dark,” she murmured, her body already starting to move against her fingers, an unconscious matching of rhythms. She could come easily this way for him, without guilt, because he wasn’t touching her.

  “There’s enough light. I love the way you masturbate. Close your eyes and pretend I’m not here.”

  She obeyed, feeling the shift on the mattress as he propped himself on an elbow. Then she slid a finger straight into her channel, gathering her moisture and moving back to her clit. “I’m such a dirty slut,” she said, willing him to pick up on her needs.

  “You’re a filthy slut, and I have a fantasy that will show just how much of a slut you are,” he whispered as if he were part of a dream. “I will take you to a club, lay you down on a clean bed, and have you masturbate for strangers. So they’ll all see what a slut you are.”

  She felt something cut loose inside her with his words, his desire. She was suddenly a thousand feet higher on the precipice, her breath puffing through her lips.

  “You want to do it because you’re a dirty bitch. I need to see how hard my filthy slut will make them. I want them to salivate for a taste of your pretty, naughty cunt, knowing that you’re mine and they can never have you.”

  The names he called her were like endearments, and she moaned to the vision he created. All those men craving her, touching themselves because they wanted her so badly. She thrashed her head on the pil
low, his words surrounding her like a chant.

  “They will beg me to let them fuck my little whore. I want to know how much they’ll pay me to let them have you. Then I’ll slam them down, tell them you’re mine and they can never have you, not at any price. My slut isn’t for sale. She belongs to me alone.”

  How did he do that, make her crazy? From anxious upon waking up with him in her bed to mindless with desire. He knew that she needed to be desired and special.

  “They’ll try to fight me for you. But I’ll beat them back. Can you hear them, my sweet little whore?” he whispered his seduction.

  She could. In that state, above herself, just a body, just sensation, wholly sexual, she could hear men clamoring for her.

  “Fuck her, they beg. Let us see you fuck the bitch. And I’ll fuck you harder than I ever have while they watch.”

  She was wet, her clit hard beneath her fingers, her heart racing in her chest. His fantasy, his story, his words went on and on. Her own touch made her fly higher with him, until she reached a pinnacle far above herself. She cried out, plunging into orgasm as if he’d actually entered her in front of a hundred men who desired her, who would pay a million dollars for just one night with her.

  When she came back to herself, the room was almost light and tears streaked her temples.

  Luke lay beside her, idly stroking his cock. “That was fucking hot,” he murmured, holding her with the magnetic pull of his gaze. “I want to do it.”

  5

  CHRIST. WATCHING HER MAKE HERSELF COME HAD BEEN A RELIGIOUS experience. He’d loved it almost as much as he loved the way she sucked him. Afterward, Luke had taken her into the bathroom, shoved her down in the tub as the showerhead shot water hard against her, hair streaming down her back, and forced her to suck his cock until he lost himself in the feel of her mouth.

  She’d made him breakfast, French toast with powdered sugar and maple syrup, and now they sat at her kitchen table. “We’re going to spend the day together,” he said blithely. Step one, getting in her house, step two, forcing her to give him more time.