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erself completely to me like that.
“Yes,” she exhaled, quiet, but I heard her.
“Good,” I praised her, stroking her back. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m going to take care of you. But you need to lie back and let me. You need to trust me. Can you do that?”
She nodded, biting her lip, and then sank down again on the couch. The sight of her lying there, her naked ass completely exposed, pussy already glistening across my lap, it pumped lust through my body. I felt like I could roar with power, grab her and fuck her senseless. But I held back, restrained myself, and stroked her gently.
“Good, that’s so nice, baby.” The feel of her quivering flesh under my palm made my cock throb. “Now I’m going to give you your spanking. I have a feeling you’re going to like it. But I’ll stop if you want. If you don’t like it, you just tell me. OK?”
“OK,” her voice sounded soft, not so much frightened as breathless.
Gently, I raised my hand and gave her round ass a pat. Nothing hard, just making contact. She gasped, her hands pressing against the couch cushions. I stroked and caressed, soothing her until, smack, my hand came down again on her other cheek, this time a little harder.
“Tilt your ass up for me, baby,” I coaxed her, engaging her in her punishment, wanting to see her comply. And I wanted a better angle so I could see more of her pussy, maybe even smack it along with her ass.
With a moan, she did as I told her, arching her back and tilting her ass up for me.
“That’s it.” I gave her a harder smack, stinging her pink ass, and another, my fingertips swiping along her wet pussy.
“Ah!” she cried out, panting. My hand came down on her again, claiming, disciplining and she whimpered in need.
“Yes,” I hissed, spanking her harder. The more she liked it, the more I gave her, pinking up her ass cheeks with the smacks of my palm. I could see her pussy glisten and start to drip as I spanked, then stroked her tender flesh. Intoxicated with her response, I reached in to coat my fingers in her slick arousal.
“You like your spanking.” I groaned with satisfaction. I grabbed onto her hip, pulling her to me, keeping her arched up as I whacked her across her buttocks, hitting her wet pussy with a loud smack.
“Yes,” she groaned from a deep, guttural place.
“That’s it, give yourself to me.” As I spanked her, her breathing picked up, becoming a pant, and she started whining with need. “Now when you think about avoiding me, pulling away, I want you to think about how you feel right now.” I angled my hand so it came right down onto her quivering, slick pussy. She cried out, arching her back, her thighs tensing up.
“You think about who you belong to.” I smacked her again, taking her right to the edge, her fingers gripping the couch as she gasped and nearly sobbed. “You tell me when you come,” I ordered her. “Who do you belong to?”
“You! Oh Chase!” she screamed, her orgasm hitting her full-force as I thrust two fingers up inside of her, pressing against her clit with my thumb.
“Yes!” I thrust in her again, demanding more, more spasms of pleasure, more ecstasy shattering her into sobbing pieces as she collapsed down against my lap, her cheek on the couch. “That’s it,” I soothed her, stroking her back, giving her one more gentle thrust as she shuddered and groaned for me again. It was intense, coming like that. She’d given me a gift with her trust. I wanted to make sure she knew she’d made the right decision.
Warm and pliant, I scooped her up and held her against me. She nestled in close, her cheek to my chest, and I kissed her hair. “That was so good, Emma. So gorgeous.”
“I can’t believe how great that felt.” She spoke quietly, sounding shocked but in a good way.
I kissed her, showing her how deeply I cared for her, how much her pleasure turned me on. I laid her back, gently, holding her in my arms. I only stood up and away from her for a moment as I undressed and put on a condom. Then I was back, wrapping her in my arms. She was so wet, slick and dripping from her spanking, and I thrust right in.
“Oh!” She took me in, all of me, and we moved together in perfect synchronization. Our breathing, our moans, the slick, tight fit of our bodies. We kissed and panted, grasping at each other, wanting more until we climaxed, giving and taking, calling out each other’s names.
“Chase.” Her voice was hushed and full of emotion as she pressed her hand against my chest, feeling the beat of my heart pounding for her. “Chase, I’ve never… I feel so—” She broke off and pressed an ardent kiss to my throat, wrapping her hands around my shoulders.
“Me, too,” I agreed, knowing what she meant without her saying it. It was hard to articulate the kinds of emotions we were both having. But I was starting to realize that all the turbulence inside me was all boiling down to only a few words. I was falling in love with her.
CHAPTER 15
Emma
We were on separate flights to Rio. We didn’t realize it until it was too late to change our tickets. Everyone was flying into Rio in the first couple days of August. There would be no switching.
Megan and I sat together on the flight, and thankfully she slept through most of it. By now everyone had pretty much realized that Chase and I were together. We weren’t broadcasting it, but anyone paying attention could tell. Megan wanted to know all about it, but I felt such a jumble of emotions I wasn’t much fun to talk to.
Yes, I did feel some of the giddy, squealing “whee” you were supposed to feel when falling for someone. Because that was clearly what was happening here. I was falling truly, madly, deeply in love with Chase Carter.
But it wasn’t all cotton candy and clapping hands with glee. First of all, what the man did to me was next level. We weren’t just having sex. We’d gone past making love. It felt like we were inhaling each other, devouring each other whole. I mean, a spanking? Who knew I’d love a spanking? That it would leave me shattered and quivering and feeling all hot and bothered still the next day? And it wasn’t just because I still had a slightly sore bottom—which I liked, by the way. How insane was that? I actually liked the reminder of how he’d marked me, made me his.
Maybe I was losing my mind. His kind of dominant, possessive sex, it flipping turned me on at a crazy deep level. Beyond rational thought.
And I needed some rational thought, because I was still officially on the blogging train and I needed to get off. That was the other factor dampening my joy, I hadn’t talked to Tori yet. Yesterday had been crazy, and when I’d found a moment to call her she hadn’t answered and then when she’d called me back I’d been receiving a sound spanking. I had to fan myself at the memory.
The whole day today would be eaten up by traveling, but hopefully I’d see Tori tonight. We were staying in a condo together in the Olympic Village, so I figured I’d see her, but I wouldn’t arrive until late in the evening. Judging from her posts and phone calls and drunken emoji texting fits over the past week, she might not exactly be in the right frame of mind for a serious heart-to-heart. A threesome, perhaps, or clubbing until dawn, but a conversation about my backing out of a commitment, one on which she’d pinned her hopes and dreams? That might have to wait until tomorrow.
But tomorrow I would definitely talk to her and straighten everything out because I couldn’t have it hanging over my head anymore. I wasn’t going to publish any stories about Chase, no matter how positive, upbeat and PR-friendly they were in tone. The only problem was the seven years Tori and I had put into building a blog together, devoting hours and hours of work into a fledgling endeavor we’d nurtured right to the cusp of big success.
The thing was, when I thought about it, it had always really been Tori’s dream. She was the one who thrived on gossip, who constantly sought a wider audience, who truly craved an escape from her “real” job waitressing so she could blog for a living. Me? I’d gone along for the ride because it had been fun. I hadn’t devoted nearly as much time to it as she had, and parts of her writing style and choice of content had always made me a little uncom
fortable. I didn’t mind the bubbly, silly stuff, but sometimes she could get nasty, commenting on a celebrity’s weight gain or whether photos revealed that someone was cheating.
I’d voiced dissent along the way, but Tori was good at filtering that out. Plus, I could see the numbers as well as she could, and the kinds of posts she wrote drew a lot more attention, activity and blog followers than my mellow, feel-good features. And, if I was honest with myself, a big reason why I hadn’t put my foot down was because I didn’t like conflict. Tori could do conflict. She’d learned from her parents how to throw a knock-down, drag-out fight and I didn’t want any part of that.
But I couldn’t run a feature on Chase. The very idea seemed absurd now, and if it meant walking away from seven years of work on our blog, then so be it. I just hoped it didn’t also mean walking away from the 16 years of friendship Tori and I had as well.
The airport in Rio was a zoo, and the public transport set up to get to the Olympic village was packed to the gills, but at least everything looked to be completed and functioning. I knew the government had been scrambling, teams of workers at it round-the-clock to get everything finished and set up for the millions of visitors pouring in for the games.
Megan and I stuck close through it all, and I was glad for her company. Together, all the chaos and crowds felt more exhilarating than frightening, especially when she started pointing out athletes to me. They weren’t too hard to spot as most wore their team traveling jerseys.
“Gymnast,” she hissed, pointing her finger behind her phone at a group to my right on the tram.
Subtle as I could, I looked over and found Mr. Dreamy, looking all cute in a boy band kind of way with swooshed hair and a dimpled smile. He clearly knew it, too, as he chatted up a few ladies who’d found their way over to him. His team jersey announced his nationality as German, but he either also spoke English or they were all fluent in the international language of love as conversation and laughter flowed freely.
“Water polo.” Megan tilted her head in the other direction, her eyes wide. I swiveled my head—casually of course, pretending to fix my hair—and spotted a Russian behemoth, more bear than man, glowering down at the tram as if we’d all done him wrong. Slowly, I turned back.
