Page 66 of Long for Me
I removed my thumb from her mouth and pushed up her flannel, ugly ass pajama top until the globes of her ass, the dimples just above them were exposed to me.
“Fifteen spankings. You’ll count them, and don’t for one-second think you can get off during this. This is your punishment for driving me furious and mad with worry this afternoon.”
I rained down my first spanking harshly, the burn of her flesh meeting my palm singing into my skin.
“Damn!” she shouted. Her fingers curled into the cushions beneath her as she jolted forward. “One, sir. Fuck!”
“Good job, honey.” I soothed her ass with my hand, massaged both of her luscious cheeks, warmed them and prepared her for me. “I’m going to like this. You’re so damn wet, you could come already couldn’t you?”
I didn’t give her time to answer. I spanked her again in the same spot I’d already done and she pressed forward against the arm of the couch. After she counted, I kicked her feet wider. “Don’t even think of grinding yourself off on the couch, Rebecca.”
She barked a noise of dissatisfaction at me and closed her eyes.
That wouldn’t do. When I couldn’t get a hold of her for hours, learned she’d left the meeting and never returned to the office, the rational part of my brain fled and a hundred worst-case scenarios ran through my mind.
Curling one of my hands around her hips, I yanked her off the arm of the couch and held her while I spanked her two more times, hitting each cheek in rapid succession.
“Sir!” She cried, counting again. “Please.”
“I know. You want my dick in you to make it better, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer and I spanked her two more times, quickly, harshly, expecting her to cry out. Instead, she breathed in deeply, counted, and with a gaze so damn soft it melted me, replied, “Yes, sir. I do.”
Tears swam in her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. “Please, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“I know you are.” Fuck. If she was manipulating me into stopping it was working. Before I could let her have the top, I finished the spankings. But damn if I didn’t lighten them enough to drive her insane with desire and not with pain. She counted everyone, used impeccable manners.
I landed the fifteenth spanking, more soothing and teasing than any other, drained of all my need to punish her.
She sighed, a soft hitch to her breath that went straight to my balls. “Fifteen, sir. Thank you, sir.”
My hand on her hip wedged between her front and the couch. My thumb brushed against her clit. “You’ll come, won’t you? You want it so bad.”
“Yes, sir.”
God, she was breathless. Tears dripped down her cheeks, to the column of her throat. Her cheeks were cherry colored to match her lips and she’d never been more beautiful to me.
I leaned over her, kissed away her tears. “Come then, my beautiful, beautiful little sub. Come for me.” I ran my thumb over her clit, swiping it gently over her swollen, hot and wet flesh. It took moments before she cried out.
Her back arched, her mouth opened wide and as she screamed her pleasure, I covered her mouth with mine, swallowing every one of her cries.
“You okay?” I asked, once she’d come down. Her scent invaded me, and I kissed her throat, her cheeks, everywhere I could touch while she collapsed into the couch.
“Yes, thank you.”
I kissed her nose and brushed hair that had escaped from a pile on her head off her cheeks, tucking it behind her ears. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Okay?”
She blinked harshly before sliding her brown eyes to mine. “Okay.”
“Good.” I stood and stepped back, adjusting my dick and bit back a groan. “Go get yourself cleaned up. When you come back, we’ll talk.”
I helped her off the couch, massaging her lower back as I guided her to her feet and then bent and snagged her flannel pants off the floor. I looked around. “What happened to your panties?”
She took the pajama pants out of my hands and winked saucily. “I’m not wearing any.”
She skittered out of my reach before I could toss her back to the couch and sink inside her, hurrying to the bathroom.
With her gone, I had a few minutes to compose myself. Shoving my hands through my hair, I scanned her apartment. There was a plastic container of food on the counter, telling me she ate. A bottle of wine was opened, cork on the counter next to it, and a glass of wine on the kitchen table. The bottle was barely empty so she hadn’t drunk too much.
But it was what was next to the glass of wine on the table that grabbed my attention.
I sauntered to it, picked up the neon orange file folder stamped with Jakobs’s company logo and flipped it open.
And all the anger and insanity that had evaporated once I got my hands on Rebecca’s ass returned tenfold.
What the fuck?
