Ready for Love

by Carolyn Faulkner

  My legs remained stubbornly closed, and I hid my face in the couch cushion, not really wanting to disobey him, but not quite able to obey him, either.

  "Gemma Louise."

  How could a name I've heard all my life somehow become so damned powerful to me?

  I figured he was going to spank me when I didn't respond to that, but instead, he asked, "Are you all right? Is this bringing up memories of Andre?"

  "It's—it's just making me feel weird—losing this much control over my body."

  "Weird good or weird bad?"

  "Both, depending on at what moment you ask me."

  "What do you think will happen if you expose yourself to me as I've asked you to? Something bad?" He didn't seem to be angry, but rather genuinely curious and concerned by my response.

  "No—not exactly. It's hard to explain."

  He touched the thigh of the leg furthest from him. "Move the foot of this leg to the floor, and that will suffice. You'll be less exposed, but I'll still be able to get to you."

  Although I did as he asked, I was still quite apprehensive.

  And he didn't wait or talk to me about it before his hand boldly, if gently, claimed the area I'd just opened to him, and I gasped as he possessed all of me at once.

  "Okay, lovely?" he asked solicitously, his fingers gently squeezing my mons and outer lips.

  "Y-yes," I answered—now less anxious than panting in anticipation of where his fingers might delve shortly, most of my apprehension having evaporated.

  "I'm glad. You feel perfect in my hand, as if these parts of you were made to nestle in it."

  He stroked me there, like I was a cat, touching teasingly sometimes, almost tickling.

  Then he used his free hand to turn my face to his, and as our eyes collided, he slipped a finger into my cleft and touched my clit, slipping back and forth over the tip of it several times and making me feel a huge need to grab onto something solid, and there wasn't really anything around but him, so one hand reached for and found his leg, and the other grabbed onto the waistband of his pants, both holding on for dear life.

  Because, although he dipped occasionally down further south to gather more of my wetness, he didn't stop teasing my clit or occasionally smacking my bottom—just the slightest bit harder than he had been, building sensation after sensation, easily finding a rhythm that had me quickly out of my mind.

  So much so that I did as he had asked originally and spread my legs further, so that he had better access to me, although he had already proven that he really didn't need it.

  "All this lovely wetness—even though you've been spanked," he breathed. "That's wonderful. Just what I needed to let me keep touching you like this."

  I wanted badly to be able to move, but there wasn't a lot of room, and his arm was naturally across me, holding me down merely with its weight.

  I was trapped—feeling restrained—and loving every second of it, even though that had never been my thing.

  Apparently, I hadn't found the right guy.

  Until now.

  I could feel that familiar wave building within me—although it was doing so at a very slow pace. He might have continued to tease my bean, but he wasn't doing it quickly—as if he wanted to get this part of it over with so that we could get back to concentrating on him, which was, unfortunately, how some men behaved.

  But not Decker. He seemed very wrapped up in what I was experiencing—what he was causing me to experience. He seemed to be just as involved in it as I was, keeping the rhythm slow and steady and fit to drive me out of my mind.

  Finally, I couldn't bear it any longer. "Faster, please," I asked, barely able to get it out.

  "No, I don't think so. I think this is just the right pressure and speed. I'm in no hurry. I adore seeing you like this. This, too, is a part of your submission to me."

  I tried to fidget or wiggle away from him, wanting to take matters into my own hands, but he held me fast with almost no effort on his part.

  It was the longest build up to an orgasm I'd ever experienced—and it was just that much more of a devastating experience because of it. I could see the crest coming for quite some time, but it took so long to get to me that I wondered if I wouldn't lose my momentum.

  But I couldn't have been more wrong. When it finally came ashore, it took me with it, sweeping me away to an extent that was almost frightening. And I screamed—raw and uncontrollably, as if he was killing me—for the first time in a very long time.

  None of this deterred him or even spurred him on in the least. He simply kept stroking me, and the subsequent culminations were at least as animalistic as the first had been, making me writhe and heave and growl and groan like a wild thing, until he finally had mercy on me and removed that hand, switching me around so that I was lying on him again, my legs still spread, body still throbbing as if his finger had never left, curled up on his chest like a contented—if stunned—kitten while he soothed me with his mouth and his hands and that stunningly powerful voice of his.

  "Deep breaths, hon," he encouraged softly. "Although I would consider it an incredible compliment, I really don't want you to faint on me."

  "Why not?" I barely got out.

  He answered not in words, but in movement, reaching down between us to place me over his cock. I was still draped over him, still about as steady as a wet noodle, and he didn't ask me to really do anything or even change my position in the least as he sank himself into me with slow, careful deliberation, just about the same way he had tickled my clit.

  And the results were at least as devastating. I couldn't keep my mouth shut as he began to possess me that way—mewling, whimpering, gasping as my body was subtly, carefully forced to accept his presence within it.

  When he was as far inside me as he could get, his hands found my hips, gripping them firmly as he began thrusting.

  I was completely unprepared for how he was making me feel. That entire area had been so sensitized by the orgasms he had given me moments before that the mere thought of anyone touching me anywhere near there was unacceptable, and yet he was seated within me, slowly dragging himself out of me then pressing himself back in.

  Relentlessly.

  Just as he had been when he was touching me before, he wouldn't allow me to do anything to quicken his pace. Those big hands that roamed up and down my back also held me fast to him; my legs were spread open around his, and he had brought them up for leverage, but that also meant that I couldn't get off him without him lowering them.

  I was pinned there, and all I could do was hold on for dear life.

  Which I did.

  And yet he still managed to kill me several times over.

  Chapter 5

  I don't think I'd slept as well since Andre had died. I never did much like sleeping alone, and I hadn't had anyone in my bed since he'd died.

  And Deck fit the bill perfectly, once he allowed me to sleep, that was.

  A blush sluiced over me as I awoke remembering just how ravenous he had been last night. As much as I loved him, I don't think Andre ever exhibited quite such a hunger as Deck had for me.

  He took me in ways I hadn't tried since before my marriage, reminding me of the things I had missed in my more sexually staid marriage.

  And his dominance certainly did carry into the bedroom, although in much the same manner I imagined he would be as a disciplinarian. Not ranty or even loud, but with quiet confidence in what he was doing that only made me feel safer to be in his hands. And his mouth. And riding his fingers. And being ridden, as he'd mentioned about my sports car—hard and fast, but with a light hand on the rein.

  I had barely opened my eyes when the bedroom door opened, and he appeared with a tray, on which he had my favorite indulgent breakfast—coffee, a Diet Coke over ice with a straw, and two enormous, honey dipped doughnuts from my favorite regional bakery, Sully's, which was not too far down the road from me, unfortunately. But not this morning. This was my weekend of sin and indulgence, and I was going to
eat both of them without an ounce of guilt.

  Tuesday, there would be hell to pay. But today, I was going to dance with the Devil to every delicious tune he called.

  I sat up as he came towards me, and he put the tray over my legs, joining me on his side of the bed.

  "Good morning, lovely," he murmured, kissing me gently.

  "Good morning, handsome," I answered, blushing, but kissing him back and turning my attention to the food he'd brought. "So, this is mine. Where's yours?"

  He looked taken aback, although a smile played about his lips at the same time. "I figured we could share," he said, one big paw advancing boldly towards my plate.

  If I'd've had a fork, I would have pretended—well, I hope so, anyway—to stab him with it, but he hadn't brought one—smart man—so instead I reached out and slapped his hand smartly.

  "Hey! You're supposed to share."

  "Not these," I said, taking the plate and presenting him with my back, ready to defend them to the death, if need be, against all comers. Even ones who made love to me so deliciously last night.

  I heard him sigh, then he exited the bedroom to appear with his own two stack of the sweet glazed confections.

  Only then—when his own hunger would be sated without delving into my stash, did I turn back around to him and let him put his plate on the tray next to mine.

  "That's not very hospitable, you know."

  "I must not have eaten these things around you before. You can have anything else of mine, I swear, but if you reach for my sweets, you're going to withdraw a bloody stump."

  "I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty."

  "Does that make you want to reconsider?" I asked, joking.

  Deck guided my lips to his, and I could taste coffee and doughnut on his. "Never. You're spoiled, but you're trainable."

  "I am not spoiled!"

  His eyebrow rose as he ticked things off on his big, sticky fingers. "Andre bought you that Porsche. Andre bought you this house. I don't think Andre ever said no to you about anything, did he? He went on that cruise with you, even though he was terrified of ships."

  "You make it sound as if I forced him to come. I didn't. He went voluntarily because he wanted to be with me. And if it came down to it, I could have bought myself anything he gave me, you know."

  "I know—I was just teasing. Although you have to admit he was a pushover for you, and that he did spoil you."

  "Well—"

  "Gemma."

  I pouted a little, then admitted, "A bit, perhaps."

  Breakfast was as leisurely as making love with him had been last night, although there wasn't a repeat of it this morning, and just as I was getting up to take a shower, we heard the doorbell ring.

  I threw on a robe and headed for the door, only to find my arm caught, stopping me mid-stride.

  "What? I have to answer the door."

  "Are you expecting someone?" he asked.

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Then stay right there. Don't move." He pointed his finger at me for good measure—and I stuck my tongue out at him—but all the same, I didn't move as he went to the door in a hastily donned pair of jeans.

  Well, I already knew he liked to go commando.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Somebody ordered an Uber?"

  Oh.

  Fuck.

  I had taken yesterday completely off, but had scheduled both a haircut and to pick up the Porsche from the garage for today, figuring that would get me out of the house and I could go eat at my favorite places while getting some things done that needed done.

  He wasn't supposed to be home this early.

  And, of course, I knew that I wasn't supposed to be using Uber by myself.

  But I had figured what he didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

  I hated it when a plan didn't come together.

  Meanwhile, Deck had thrown the door open and was standing there, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at me pointedly. "You were going to Uber your way to where?"

  I sighed, rolling my eyes at myself for being so stupid. "Hairdresser."

  He frowned at me. "You own two cars—neither of them is working?"

  "I loaned the Corolla out to a friend who's having a rough time and needed a car to go to interviews."

  "That was nice of you. And your baby?"

  Damn.

  "She's in the shop."

  "So, is that two Ubers? One to the hairdresser and one to get your car?" I nodded reluctantly. "When you were just told not to use them again?"

  I couldn't believe that he'd said it in front of the Uber driver!

  I just about died of embarrassment.

  Then, as if he'd finally remembered that the guy was standing there, watching me be humiliated, he executed an about face, wallet in hand, and gave the guy twenty dollars, saying, "I'm sorry, but your services are no longer required. Thank you, though."

  Then he shut the door.

  And I severely wished he hadn't.

  So severely.

  I cannot say how severely I wished he hadn't.

  As he tucked his hands behind him and leaned back against the door, he asked almost nonchalantly, "So, how many other Ubers have you used while I was gone?"

  "What? No—why would I do that? The Corolla's been gone since last weekend, but I've been driving the Porsche, instead, since someone advised me to drive it more. I put it into the shop yesterday morning and walked to work from there—it's just around the corner."

  "Heaven help you, if I ever found out you're lying to me about any others, Gemma," he warned, beginning to advance towards me. "Or anything at all."

  I didn't like the look on his face at all. It was disappointed, but resolved.

  It looked like a spanking face if I'd ever seen one. The face of someone who knew what he was going to have to do, and why he was doing it, but he would have preferred to have been doing something else.

  The stray thought then hit me that he had been rock hard beneath me when he'd spanked me last night—which was definitely not a punishment spanking—making me wonder if he would be hard while administering this spanking.

  Or, Heaven forbid, had I earned two of them right off the bat?

  My mind was grasping at straws, at reasons that might make him give up the idea of spanking me as he began to walk towards me, his expression set.

  "Wait!"

  He stopped immediately.

  "I still have that hair appointment, and it's not easy to get in to see my hairdresser. I'd like to keep the appointment."

  "When?"

  I glanced at the grandfather clock behind him. "Forty-five minutes from now."

  "How far?"

  "Half an hour."

  I saw the muscle in his jaw jump. "Then we have more than enough time."

  And he began to stalk towards me again.

  I put my hand out in front of me in the universal sign for 'don't come near me if you're going to spank me' and began to back up.

  Unfortunately for me, I wasn't thinking clearly in the face of said spanking, and the room directly behind me was my own bedroom, where I ended up after only a few steps, because he kept advancing and I kept retreating, until I woke up and realized where I was.

  Double damn! I stomped my foot just for good measure, scowling at the small smile I caught before he schooled his features to be much less happy.

  He entered the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't make any other moves towards me, but I knew I was far from safe.

  "Just so I'm sure I'm understanding what happened here. You were told not to use Uber anymore when you were doing so alone, because I'm concerned about your personal safety—and there are, you will admit—many alternatives available to you, even out here in the boonies. We have a train station, there are cabs, you have friends, etc., etc., etc. Right?"

  I grumbled a non answer, which was probably not the smartest thing I've ever done, especially since it resulted in him coming to stand much closer to me.


  "Right?"

  "Yes," I said impatiently.

  "I suggest you lose that tone of voice, Gemma. You're already in enough hot water without earning another spanking for being disrespectful."

  I gasped, not only at the idea that he would threaten me with that, but at the tone of voice he was using, which I couldn't remember hearing him use with me before, but then wisely closed my mouth without saying anything else that would get me even further into trouble.

  "And yet you ordered not one, but two Ubers to get you around town today while I was gone?"

  Oh dear. This was awful.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd been scolded like this, but it must've been my parents doing the castigating, and I must've been relatively young.

  It sounded entirely different coming from a man who was the same age as I am, and who had not only practically fucked me into the mattress, but who had also spanked me last night. It put his little lecture—into a completely different light in my mind.

  And my dirty little mind was directly connected to my very dirty little sex.

  I was growing wetter by the minute, just from the way he was treating me, which was partially a result of what he'd done to me last night. Only I had the sneaking feeling that this spanking wasn't going to be anywhere near as enjoyable as my first one.

  Then I noticed that he was waiting for me to reply, which was probably not a good thing, considering the circumstances. I sighed, but it wasn't exasperatedly—at least, not at him, but definitely at myself. "Yes, I did," I admitted, hanging my head.

  No sooner had I said it than I found myself being held on his lap and hugged very tightly and rocked slightly back and forth. "Honey, I know this is new to you, but I don't feel I can just let this slide, even if it had been only one. Consistency is what I will strive for, and if you had done this months from now, I wouldn't even be considering letting you off easy."

  I hadn't known that was a possibility or I would have lobbied for it!

  "Do you understand why you're going to be spanked?"

  I nodded. "Because I used Uber when I shouldn't have."

  "Yes, but it's more than that. Do you understand the underlying reason why I'm spanking you?"