by Jane Henry
As she turned from the door and came back to him, he gestured for her to come back over and kneel before him, but he took her hands and lowered her gently so she wouldn't crack her knees on the floor again. As she lowered in front of him, he felt himself grow hard. There it was again. Her lowered eyes, kneeling in the position of submission in front of him, was so damn sexy.
He could have her do anything he wanted. She'd promised to obey him. And that meant doing whatever it was he asked. He felt the power of his control over her between his legs, no doubt. But he knew this was about more than bedroom dominance. It was far deeper than that, and though both of them had more questions than answers, there was one thing he knew intuitively.
Exercising control over the power he held over her was absolutely crucial.
He had to. He had to show himself he was worthy of her submission by being a man, a man who controlled himself. When she'd lain over his lap the night before, he'd been angry. He wanted to punish her for what she'd done. But as he began, as she lay vulnerable over his lap, as he brought his hand down in punishment, he'd been aware of how easily he could hurt her. With every stroke, he'd gotten harder. Every time his palm connected with her bare skin, that had grown warm and red beneath his hand, the power surged through him and he had to temper the desire to strike harder.
He'd exercised complete control. But he knew that the ability to lose that control lay right there, right beneath the surface, and one moment of releasing his self control could hurt her. Now was when maintaining control was of paramount importance.
As she knelt in front of him, he was struck with her simple beauty. Her eyes looked up to him, nervous and expectant, waiting for instruction. She was waiting for him; to see what he'd do next. And it was beautiful.
He remembered how she'd turned to putty in his hands when he'd whispered the threat to spank her. What would happen if he were to spank her again? But this time, without the taste of punishment?
"Stand up," he ordered. She stood quickly before him. He tapped an index finger to the black yoga pants she was sporting. "Off," he said. Her eyes widened, but she obeyed silently, hooking her thumbs to the edge of her pants and lowering them down. Still maintaining eye contact, he patted his lap. She swallowed.
"You want me over your lap?" she whispered.
"Now," he said.
She lowered herself over his lap so that her torso lay on the bed and her legs dangled to the side. He ran his hand over her bare skin, and felt his arousal stir under her belly as she squirmed. Oh, yeah. He could get used to this. She twisted her head to the side so she could speak, her cheek against the bedspread.
"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered.
"No," he said. "I'm not punishing you."
She nodded. He liked keeping her here. He liked the feeling of power it gave him. He ran his hand from her lower back to her upper thighs, and she moaned.
"Do you want a spanking, Meredith?" he whispered.
She nodded and paused. "I think so." She smiled. "Yes, sir."
"Why should I spank you?" he asked. "Do you have naughty thoughts you need to tell me?" he teased, as his hand trailed, up and down, over the curve of her bare skin to the small of her back, and she trembled with each stroke.
Her head tipped to the side, a small smile played at her lips. "I have many, sir," she whispered. He raised his eyebrows.
"Is that right?" he asked. Swat! He cracked his hand down hard and she yelped. He spanked her again, this time on the other side, and she squirmed on his lap. Oh, he needed to make her squirm.
"Do you play with yourself, Meredith?" he asked, and she instantly flipped her face down so she was face-down on the bed again. No answer.
Swat!
"I asked you a question," he said. Hmm. Maybe he wasn't being stern enough. Maybe he needed to step it up. He reached for her hands that lay on the bed, pulled them back, and pinned them to her lower back. Swat! This time his hand landed sharply on her upper thighs and she bolted upright with another yelp.
"That hurts!"
Swat! Swat! Swat!
"You're damn right it does," he said. "I'm not tickling you, baby, I'm spanking you." He gave her one more hard swat for good measure. "And you didn't answer my question."
"I don't do that!" she protested. He paused, his hand resting on her bottom.
"Is that right, Meredith? You know lying will get you punished." She squirmed as he rested his hand on her lower thigh.
"Okay, um, maybe I did a few times," she said. "But not all the time!" Arousal pulsed through him at the thought of her 'few times', and he had to focus to bring himself back to the present. He brought his hand down in rapid succession a few more times.
"You'd do well to be honest with me, baby," he said. He flicked his fingers between her legs and the breath hitched in his throat with how ready she was. Her obvious arousal caused his own need to course through him.
"Yes, sir," she said.
Shit, there it was again. He couldn't take it anymore. He lifted her and tossed her up on the bed, pulling himself up with his arms, as his legs were still unpredictable. No preamble, no warning, he shoved her back so she was pushed against the pillows as he quickly removed his own pants. He took her hands and pinned them over her head and captured her mouth in his, a hard, crashing kiss he felt in his groin as he slid his tongue in her mouth and she moaned. He had to have her. He had to take her. He settled himself over her and entered her.
She was so ready for him. She cried out, a soft, almost cat-like mew as he gripped her hips for leverage and ground into her, thrusting into her so hard it was almost vicious, but he had to, he needed to. He couldn't help but overpower her. The feel of her small, soft hands pinned under his larger ones, the sound of her pleasure with each thrust of his hips, the feel of her soft, vulnerable body beneath him, was intoxicating, and he soared with the heady feel of power. He leaned his mouth down to her ear.
"Should I let you come?" he teased, barely holding himself on the edge.
"I'm not sure I can hold myself back if I wanted to," she moaned.
"Ask me," he ordered. "If you dare to come without my permission, I'll punish you."
At his words, she moaned again and he pushed her hands down harder on the bed as she begged, "Please, sir, may I come?"
He smiled wickedly. "You may," he whispered. And as she came, as her head fell back on the pillow, her hips bucked beneath him and he felt himself soaring over the edge himself, hard, so hard he groaned out loud and swore into the soft hollow of her neck as his head fell.
They lay silently, panting, and he rolled over on his side and pulled her onto his chest. She lay her cheek down on him and sighed.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "That was so hot."
He chuckled. Nothing like a little appreciation. "Hell yeah," he said.
She laughed, a soft, shuddering breath of a laugh that tickled his neck. "Am I allowed to say that?" she asked.
He sobered. "No," he said. "Absolutely not.”
She smiled. "Well, that's not fair," she said with a pout.
"You're not allowed to pout either," he growled.
She frowned at him teasingly. "Do I need to ask permission to breathe?"
He gave her a contemplative look. "May be a good idea," he murmured. "You know, just as we learn the ropes."
She sobered, lifted up on her elbow, and looked in his eyes.
"If you do that again, handsome, you may have to remind me to breathe," she whispered.
He pulled her head down to his chest and kissed her forehead, chuckling to himself.
Hell, yeah. He could get used to this.
The End
Jane Henry
Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ev
er since. In 2012, she became interested in the D/s lifestyle, and has discovered her love for writing romance with a D/s twist. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.
Visit her blog here:
http://janehenrywriter.blogspot.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JaneHenryAuthor
Facebook: Jane Henry Author
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100010937346139
Please contact her via email:
[email protected]
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