Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
His hands move to my hips, mouth trailing lower and lower, and suddenly, I don’t want that spanking as much as I want his mouth on the most intimate part of me. But he stops short, pressing his mouth to my belly and lingering there, his tongue flicking, licking, before he looks at me and says, “Not yet, Faith. I want you across my lap, on your elbows, backside up.” There is a command to his voice that I have always resisted from others—resented, even—but for reasons I cannot explain with this man, I’m aroused, vulnerable in just how much he affects me. But most striking is the moment I dare to submit, to spread my body across his, his hands on my belly and lower back. There are nerves tingling and fluttering through me, but no dread, no fear. Things I know as preludes to pain that lead to oblivion—things that perhaps I wanted tonight, because I feel like I deserve them, but just aren’t here now, and I do not know why. I don’t know this man. I can’t trust this man, but my body appears to disagree.
“Ah, Faith,” he murmurs, running a hand up my spine. “How did you manage to go untouched for two years? You are too beautiful to be left untouched.” His voice is low, gravelly.
I was too damaged to be touched, I think. I needed a break. I needed something that I couldn’t have. I needed something that felt as right as this man’s hands on my body. His teeth scrape my hip, his tongue following, and I’m really starting to like that combination. That tongue that I know is wicked magic, but that always denies me the reward of that magic. He caresses a path to my backside, and at the same time, his other hand finds my sex, cupping it. And then he is stroking my bottom at the same time as he is stroking my clit, teasing me, touching me until I am so wet and aroused that the ache in my sex is as fierce as the ache I know will come from his palm.
“Faith,” he breathes out, and I don’t know why, but it feels like a question. Am I ready? Am I okay? Am I sure?
“Yes,” I say. “Yes. And yes.”
His reply is not in words. He begins to pat my backside, just above my sex, while deft fingers slide through the wet heat of my body, an attack on my senses from all directions. And we are never going to get to the spanking because I’m going to come. Or maybe that’s the idea. He wants me to come. He wants the sting to be lost in the pleasure. But I don’t want that. I want the sting. I want— “Nick,” I pant out again, so close I am about to tumble over.
His hands still, and he replies with, “That’s what I wanted, sweetheart,” seeming to understand exactly what I was telling him. “You on the edge but not there yet. I’m going to spank you now, Faith. Seven times. The first two will be the hardest, but they will get softer from there. Count them out. Repeat that.”
“Count,” I say, adrenaline setting my heart into a gallop. “Harder, then softer.”
“And then I’m going to fuck you, Faith. I’m going to turn you around, and you’re going to ride me. Understand?”
“Yes. Please stop talking or my heart is going to explode from my chest.”
“Deep breath, sweetheart. This isn’t new to you, but I am. And I’m not going to hurt you.”
I have no flippant remark this time. His hand is caressing my cheeks, warming them, as it should be, but too often, I have known a hard palm with no preparation. But he doesn’t rush. One second. Two. Three. Four. “Nick,” I plead.
“Now, sweetheart,” he says, and I barely have time to realize the impact of that endearment before his palm is on my backside, a hard sting that arches my back, and oh God. It’s back. “Count,” he orders.
“Two,” I breathe out.
And another. “Three.” I can’t breathe, and fingers are stroking my sex. I forget to count, but he does it for me. “Four,” he says, and then another palm, softer now, just as he promised.
“Five,” I breathe out.
“Six,” he says. That gravelly tone to his voice is back now, the force of his palm on my skin following.
“Seven,” I breathe out again, and it’s done. He smacks my backside, and then, to my shock, his mouth is on it, kissing it, a strange tenderness to that act that I swear has me as breathless as the spanking. And then he is turning me to face him, cradling my body against his, his mouth coming down on mine, and it, too, is tender, a slide of tongue, but I can feel his passion, his need that he controls, as he has me.