When that happened, she graced him with a blindingly happy smile, and he was lost.
Gone.
Caught.
Head over heels.
If she had asked him for the world in that moment, he would have crushed everything and everyone in his way to get it for her.
Instead, he smiled indulgently down at her. "You've got it! Good girl! Now, stop trying to lead…" he teased. "Relax and…just let me guide you."
It happened automatically, without her really thinking about it. One moment, she still had to concentrate on where she was putting her feet, and the next, she heard him whisper, "Up here." And her eyes glided up to his.
She never looked away again as long as they danced. One song melted into another dance and then another until he finally turned the music down.
"But, Nickkkk," she wheedled. "I was just getting the hang of it!"
It was the first time she had called him by his name without him reminding her not to call him "Mr. Antonelli." He realized that fact, but he didn't think she did.
She was still trying to entice him out onto the floor as he pressed a rocks glass into her hand. "Take a sip of this, baby."
"Yes, Sir."
Another thing that he noted – with great relish – that he didn't think was a blip on her radar.
Yet, anyway.
She had long since kicked off her shoes, standing in her bare feet looking up at the Rogue's Gallery of ancient pictures that had hung there since his mother had put them up when he was still a gleam in his father's eye, adding some – usually of him – removing some to update them occasionally. He watched avidly as she sometimes went up on her tiptoes to get a better view. It was when he saw the hem of her dress rise to just past the slope where thigh became bottom, he realized he was going to have a hell of a time controlling himself if he couldn't have her in the next five seconds.
Of course, he prided himself on that very thing, no matter what the situation. He was able to reel himself in, somewhat, but he nonetheless found himself standing behind her as she rose up. His hands slid around her waist, startling her a bit and turning and lifting her just slightly, so that when he allowed her to come down, she was resting against the tent of his cock as it was badly concealed – more emphasized, really, by his pants.
As his mouth claimed hers for the first time – at once both gentle and firm – he warned, "I'm going to spank your bottom for being late to dinner – then I'm going to make you beg me for an entirely different reason."
Her hand engulfed in his, he led her down a hall that sported even more pictures of his family, but she didn't see them – she couldn't. All she could see was how the breadth and height of his shoulders blocked out nearly all of the light as he followed behind him. His room was obviously the master, but she would bet he'd had it gutted and redone from what it had been when he was a kid. There was radiant heat from beneath the bamboo flooring, a huge king-sized bed with an elaborately carved headboard, recessed, dimmed lighting and built in speakers that were still playing the music he'd had on in the den, only softer.
Nick surprised her by coming to stand in front of her, then dropping – gracefully for a big man – to his knees before her and reaching up under her dress as she tried to bend herself away from him, if belatedly.
A big hand, laid threateningly on her bottom, though, stopped her cold.
Nick used his hold on her to put himself into an even more intimate position, pressing on her behind and positioning her so that his face was nuzzling against the exact spot – however material covered it was currently – that he'd been aiming for.
She was still struggling, trying to get away, but he held her fast and threw her off by asking, "What did you used to call your father?"
"What?" CeCe couldn't quite follow his train of thought. Why in God's name was he talking to her about her father now?
"Did you call him Father? Dad? Daddy? Papa? What?"
"Why do you –"
She didn't get to finish the question before the hand that had been holding her still instead let go with a tremendous crack to her bottom.
"Answer my question, Celia."
He loved the way she danced a bit after he smacked her, obviously nervous that there might be another swat in the offing.
And she was right.
"Um – uh –" Jeez, he expected her to think at a time like this? "Daddy. I called him Daddy most often, I guess."
"Then that is your safe word. I can absolutely guarantee that mentioning anything to do with of our parents will act like a bucket of ice water on my loins, and I think that that's something that will naturally come to your mind if you're feeling stressed by something I do, or if I – intentionally or otherwise – cause you pain."
She nodded slowly. It was weird logic, but it seemed to fit, somehow. "Okay. I think I can remember that."
"Good."
Seconds later, when he had her backed up against a wall, his head beneath her hiked up dress, panties thrown carelessly onto the floor and her left thigh draped over his shoulder, she wasn't anywhere near as sure. The only thing she was certain of was that she could feel his warm, scotch infused breath on parts of her that craved so much more from him than just that. At the same time, she worried that the one leg she was standing on was not going to be anywhere near enough once he had reached what her body was counting on as his goal.
Nick knew it was an unusual position, but he had been pleased that she hadn't balked at it immediately. He could smell her arousal, and it was driving him mad, although he refused to rush, despite the urgency his own genitals were desperately trying to convey to him. With his mouth pressed almost pristinely against the outside of that delicate area, he murmured against her, "I want you to remember that I've got you. I won't let you fall; I won't let you get hurt, unless it's because I'm using my palm – or my belt – or my hairbrush – on your backside – and I will be using them – all of them – on you, in the very near future. I can promise you that."
He nudged her lips aside with his own, his hands fully occupied gripping her ripe bottom cheeks, both holding her in place and supporting her, unknowingly opening the floodgates, but still letting copious amounts of her honey drench his face.
And noisily, happily lapping up every bit of it.
"Well, I guess I don't have any more concerns about whether or not you're enjoying yourself," he teased, not that he'd really had any in the first place. He had felt her heat as it set directly over him, seen how big her pupils were, and now he tasted her passion directly.
She was his. He was going to make her his, in every sense of the word.
Perhaps even the legal one – who knew? It was the first time, in a very long time, that he had even begun to think of a woman in that way. It was still very early on, but Celia – she was proving herself to be just what he wanted, and he was loathe to consider the idea that he might lose her to someone who offered her more than he could or would.
When his mouth found the source of her pleasure, sealing his lips eagerly around it, her hands buried themselves in his hair, and he could feel her trying to guide him, trying to control what he did to her.
He leaned back a bit, saying, "Palms to the wall by your hips, Celia, and don't move them or you'll get an even worse punishment than you already have coming."
She wailed at that pronouncement, although she bit it back in the middle, as if she worried that he might correct her for that, too.
Smart girl.
As he bent forward again, he left his strong right hand on her hip, but brought his left hand to join him in his efforts, pressing the flat of his tongue over her clit, then plunging two fingers into her lovely little cunny, until they were buried to the last knuckle within her.
"Nick, nooo," she groaned, her breath then hissing through her teeth as he immediately began to move his fingers back out of her.
"Unless I hear your safe word, my dear, I'm going to consider that you're saying 'no' coyly, as if you don't want to want wha
t I'm doing to you, so you feel you have to put up some sort of protest, no matter how half-hearted it is."
He began to ram those fingers home within her, using his considerable strength to fuck her hard, wanting to see what she would do. He could feel her trying to come to grips with what he was doing to her, trying to squirm both away from and towards him at the same time.
He liked that – liked making her struggle with it, making her realize just how much she enjoyed him handling her like this.
But he didn't want her to come quite yet, so he withdrew from her rather precipitously, and she rewarded him with a low, long, heartfelt moan, at which he chuckled somewhat heartlessly.
"No, Celia, I will not allow you to come until we've dealt with your misbehavior first."
She looked petulant, and somehow managed to seem even more enticing to him, although he tended to dislike pouting. "I didn't misbehave. I was made late by circumstances beyond my control," she argued as he rose smoothly from his knees to turn her in place so that she faced the wall.
As much as he found himself charmed by her impudence, his voice didn't reflect that in the least. "Up on your tippy toes. I want you to reach for the ceiling, and then glue your palms against the wall at the highest point. No matter what I do, I don't want to see your hands come down or your heels touch the floor. Do you understand?"
Oh, damn, CeCe thought in alarm, this position was already almost impossible to maintain. And yet she was supposed to manage, somehow, to do it while he was spanking her?
And he didn't mince any words. He began to chastise her at once, as soon as she had assumed the position he wanted, that big, platter sized hand of his snapped down onto her right cheek, then her left, leaving separate distinct prints of every inch of his hand each time, from fingertips to the bottom – and as he began, so he continued.
CeCe wiggled, writhed, and tried, unsuccessfully, to dodge every swat, but they all landed exactly where he wanted them. Before long, she was quite sure that her bottom had swollen to three or four its original size – it sure felt as if it was a thousand times bigger!
And not only did she have to contend with the fire in her bottom, she also had to deal with the fatigue that she felt in her calf muscles. Once or twice, she had no choice but to let her heels down, hoping he wouldn't notice.
But he did, of course – each time – and that was when he landed ten consecutive smacks to the otherwise pristine back of each thigh, making CeCe practically try to climb the wall as she regained her tiptoes again in self-defense, not that it stopped the tremendous spanking he was delivering, in the least.
And when he'd finished reminding her to remain on her toes, he went back to blistering her behind, until long past the point she had begun to cry, past the point that the first true, devastated wail left her lips after only a few swats.
When he finally considered his job done and she was thoroughly corrected, Celia couldn't believe how much her backside hurt. Or how gentle he was, in direct contrast to how he had been while he was punishing her, as he brought her arms down, massaging them and her sore shoulders, then telling her to put her heels down, even bending down to rub her calves.
When he rose again, Nick caught her eye and took her hand, guiding her to the middle of his bedroom as he released what she knew had to be an enormous erection, not really undressing, but simply allowing himself the considerable relief of no longer being contained by what had to be a tremendously stressed zipper.
Then she felt his hand on the top of her head, applying gentle pressure.
CeCe knew exactly what he wanted, and it was something that she thoroughly enjoyed doing, although she had never had to do it with a blistered bottom before.
Chapter Four
And that made a big difference in her already considerable motivation. She didn't want to sit back on her heels at all – that compressed and abraded her poor raw flesh entirely too much to even begin to contemplate. Instead, she found herself leaning eagerly forward, taking every inch of him from the first time that big broad head touched her lips until the last. He wasn't freakishly large, but he was pretty big. It was a challenge to her to take all of him, but one she accepted and succeeded at doing. As she heard him moan for the first time – this big, powerful man, moaning in pleasure because of something she was doing for him – she nearly came, right then and there, a huge sense of pride welling almost painfully in her chest.
She would have taken everything he had to give her, but he stopped her after only a very short time, moving his hips back and reaching down to tuck himself back into his pants, then crooking his finger beneath her chin to stand her up.
"Although I appreciate your efforts, my dear, and I fully intend to avail myself of your obvious talents therein, that is not how I intend to take you, the first time."
Just the way he worded it – "taking her" – not making love to her, but physically claiming her – added incredibly to the throbbing ache between her legs that spilled over into every bit of the rest of her, sensitizing her entire body.
He guided her to stand, facing him at the end of the bed, holding her hands gently in his. "Take off that pretty dress for me, Celia."
Again, she murmured, "Yes, Sir." And he still didn't think she even realized it. "Would you…" she asked, presenting him with her back, reaching awkwardly for the zipper.
She could have managed herself, he knew, but he wouldn't have expected her to. "Of course, my dear. This is one of the most pleasant tasks a man can have, akin to unwrapping a particularly coveted present on Christmas morning."
No one had ever compared CeCe to a present before. A woman could get used to that, despite how her backside still stung from stem to stern!
She shimmied out of the dress, not knowing if he wanted her to make it a sexy strip tease, but knowing she wouldn't have the slightest idea, really, how to do that, anyway.
His hand was out for the dress, and he was frowning at her bra. "Take that off immediately, girl. I do not like them."
"But my breasts," she whispered, as if she didn't really want him to hear her protest, already reaching to undo the back clasp.
"Are just gorgeous, pert and wonderfully full, and they don't need the artifice nor the covering that a bra provides."
She thought the saw him lick his lips, but she must've been mistaken. She didn't agree with what he said – she'd always thought of herself as entirely too well endowed to go without support, but it was, after all, his call, not hers.
His hand was out for the bra, too, which she handed to him docilely.
He startled her by moving to collect her panties, taking them, with the rest of her things, into what had to be his closet and then using a key to lock the door.
She knew she should be concerned at that turn of events, and her eyes were wide, but she didn't feel uncomfortable or even particularly nervous about it, really.
When he returned to her, he cupped her elbows in his big hands, saying soothingly, "You'll get them back Monday morning."
Now there was the alarm she was expecting – racing along her nerve endings – and, as it seemed everything else this man did, landing right between her legs instead of in her brain, where it should have gone.
"M-Monday?"
He took a step closer to her, looking just that much bigger in comparison to her as he did so, his voice soothing but stern at the same time, somehow. "You didn't think I could get my fill of you in just one night?" He smiled slightly, tipping his lips to hers and murmuring against them, "I don't think I'll ever have enough of you."
And then he kissed her, really kissed her, for the first time, quite expertly, drawing her into his arms and lifting her so that her toes left the floor. Plastering her against him, he forced her to rely on him for balance, those strong arms wrapped around where hers had remained – tentatively – at her side, rendering her helpless against him in one smooth move.
She could feel the soft material of his expensive dress shirt, one of the buttons being impressed into
a nipple that didn't want to yield any territory to it, his belt buckle cold against her skin but not digging into it because of the impressively tented front of his pants.
When he moved back a bit, she couldn't stop herself from imploring breathlessly, "Nick, please!"
He chuckled softly. "You'll have to do better than that, Celia honey. If you want something from me, you must ask for it. You won't get it unless I want you to have it, but I insist that you ask me for exactly what you want."
Those teeth were worrying her lip again.
"You've never done this with anyone else, right, my flower?"
He'd asked her that before, but this time couching it in a different way. He should have been a lawyer!
Feeling herself blush, she lowered her eyes as he set her on her feet. "N-no, I haven't."
"But it turns you on, doesn't it? The mere idea of yielding control to me – submitting to me?" He crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at her. "I'm not on the carpet, Celia. Look me in the eye when you speak to me," he scolded
That beautiful head lifted, a touch of defiance in her eyes, even though she obeyed him. "Yes, yes it does."
"You enjoy it when I chide you, although it gets your back up a bit, which I have to admit I like the idea of."
She belatedly realized that her mouth was open again and she quickly closed it, eyes darting away from his for a moment before she met them again and answered, "Yes."
"You liked it when I fed you?"
"Yes."
"Now I know you enjoyed it when my mouth was on you a few moments ago," he mused deliberately, loving how her skin brightened because of his audacity. "I think the neighbors could tell, too," he teased, and her blush deepened, as he had intended it would.
"Tell me, do you know what you do not like?"
"My limits?" she asked.
His eyebrow rose. "I don't like to think of them as such. You have a safe word that I have already promised to honor, but I make no promises that I won't test your limits. Now what are they?"
Lion Page 4
