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She remembered, so clearly, just how much he enjoyed playing with that particular portion of her anatomy.
“The prettiest ass in the state. ” His hand smoothed over the rounded globes revealed by the thong.
His hand, calloused and warm, stroked with subtle destruction, his fingers lifting the small scrap of material that slid between the cheeks before replacing it gen
tly.
“Did I spank you that night, Crista?” He leaned close, his lips at her shoulder as he posed the suggestive question.
“No. ” She was panting for air now.
There hadn’t been so much as a second of foreplay, and already she could feel her juices dampening her panties.
“I fucked this pretty ass and didn’t spank it?” His hand clenched on one curve as his lips began to trail down her spine. “How neglectful of me. I should rectify that, don’t you think?”
She did whimper then. She had cleaned his office; she knew damned good and well that his desk held exactly what he needed to take her in any way he pleased. The new tube of lubrication he had placed there earlier hadn’t gone unnoticed. And she had found the packaged sex toys herself the day before. Toys that he had opened as he grinned wickedly and washed in the attached bathroom.
He was fully prepared for any sex games he may want to play in his office. And she was no more experienced now than she had been eight years ago.
Feminine fear and nerves raced through her mind, her body. She shuddered beneath him as his lips tracked each vertebra of her spine until he reached the narrow band of the thong she wore.
“I noticed how pretty your ass was at a time when I should have been whipped for noticing. ” He drew the band over her thighs, his lips tracking down the side of her buttock as he disposed of the lacy material. “So soft and silky looking, and delightfully curved. ”
Crista fought back her cry as his teeth raked over the flesh.
She felt him move, heard the creak of the leather behind her, and knew he had sat back down in his chair. The scrape of the chair wheels over the wooden floor had her flinching as his knees bracketed her legs.
“Perfect position. ” Both hands gripped her rear then, spreading the cheeks gently as she felt a soft puff of air against the hidden entrance there.
“Don’t do this,” she suddenly begged, her nails scraping against the top of the desk as her nerves got the best of her. “I can’t stand it, Dawg. Don’t tease me. Just do it. ”
She couldn’t bear it. He had already stolen too much of her. Recovering from this episode of her life would take years. What he was doing now she might never recover from.
“You’re the toy, remember?” His voice was harsh with lust now. My toy. Mine to play with, to touch and to taste. ” His voice sounded tortured. “Sweet heaven, Crista, how I’ve dreamed of this. Just like this. ” He parted her farther a second before his teeth gripped the side of the inner flesh and his tongue flickered over it heatedly.
She tried to jerk upright, to escape the lash of sensation that exploded through her body.
“Stay put,” he ordered forcefully, one hand pressing into the small of her back a second before his tongue swiped through the narrow cleft.
Crista lifted to her tiptoes. The sheer eroticism of what he was doing would brand her soul forever. His tongue flickered along the narrow valley, found the tiny, forbidden entrance, and lashed against the nerve-ridden flesh with destructive strokes.
“Damn you, Crista, you make me wild for you,” he snarled behind her as his head lifted.
His head lifted, and his hand landed on one rounded cheek in a forceful caress that sent a bolt of pleasure ripping through her nerve endings.
She jerked, shuddered, and tried again to lift from the top of the desk.
“Don’t move. You owe me this. Eight fucking years of dreams, and you owe me this. ” His hand landed on the opposite side of her rear, sending heat blazing through her in a pleasure-pain that bordered orgasm.
Crista heard her own moan of surrender then. Her rear lifted to him, and a cry escaped her lips as his hand landed again. And again. Sweet God.
“Again. ” She heard herself cry out the word, knew she was bucking, pressing back, begging for more of the sweet pleasure-pain. And he gave her more.
“Do you like that, Crista Ann?” He groaned behind her, his hand smoothing over her rear before another heated caress landed on her flesh. Never the same place often enough to draw her from the sensual haze he was building in her mind. Never hard enough to bring her down from the erotic high whipping through her veins.
“Yes,” she cried out.
And she did. Too much. A distant part of her brain connected the dots. She knew what each touch was doing, what each fiery slap against her ass was creating. It was drawing her deeper into the web he was weaving around her soul. Making certain she belonged to him forever. That her soul always followed him, whether his followed hers or not.
