“Commando,” I whisper, rubbing my palm against the head.
“Great minds think alike.”
Before he’s finished speaking, I find myself twirled and bent over the island. The marble is cool under my palms, Whit’s hands hot on the cheeks of my ass, sliding the loose sweatpants down before his hands drag liquid fire up the back of my legs.
“This arse.” He spreads his fingers wide as though to maximize the contact. “This arse was made to be fucked by me.” I guess I must squeak as he adds, “Yes, fucked, Amelia. I’ll worship this arse when you give it to me.”
It feels entirely natural to stretch out beneath him as I elongate my spine like a housecat. “That wasn’t what I meant by fun.” And that sounded way sultrier than I was aiming for. It earns me a dark chuckle and a foot between mine that slides my feet farther apart.
“Have you ever been taken like that, Amelia?” His words sound like they were dragged over gravel.
“That’s not something I’ve evergiven,” I retort. My breath halts as I feel him lift the hem of his T-shirt with both hands, folding it delicately to my lower back. I’m impressed how unaffected I sound as he slides his fingertips along the crease of my right butt cheek.
“It’s not something you can rush.” My whole body is jarred as his hand slips between my legs. “Even if you are wet just thinking about it.”
“And you’re hard at the thought of it. Which of us is the bigger deviant?”
“Do we have to be deviants? So judge-y, judge-y,judge-y!”
I swear I feel thewhooshof air before his palm lands on my right cheek. I make a noise that’s not exactly a complaint, the lowunghmuch nearer to an encouragement.
“All right?” His palm slides over the sharp sting, the path agonizingly deliberate.
I nod, too…somethingto speak. Puzzled, is what I am. Embarrassed? Turned on? It didn’t hurt, but I am standing in his kitchen, naked from the waist down. Not to mention bent over with my ass in the air. That’s not sexy, is it? I lie—I lie,andI moan as he pushes two fingers slickly inside me.
“Oh! I hear the evidence of my enjoyment, feel it in the slippery twist of his wrist. Hear it in my mewls and sighs as he thrust them inside me this way and that, working me into a wet frenzy. “Whit. Oh God, that feels—”
“Just think, we could’ve been doing this last night if you’d been honest.” His fingers curl and stroke, reaching that point inside me that turns my mind to mush and makes my thighs twitch. “You understand that now, don’t you?” he says darkly, his fingers beckoning me on.
I make a noise in response. I hope it sounds like a yes.God, yes.
“Use your mouth for something other than back talk, Amelia. Tell me you understand that if you want me to fuck you, you just have to ask.”
I make an inarticulate protest as his fingers slide wetly away, my body twisting to turn when he presses his palm low on my back.
“What’s more fun than a spanking?” His words are almost pondering as he touches my ass like it belongs to him.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Is it more fun pretending you won’t be into it.” His hand comes down again. Flesh meets flesh a little more thuddy this time. Less of a sting.I cry out all the same, but the noise is somehow different. “Forcing my hand?” he almost crows. Thenthwack!Again. And again.
It’s not pain I feel, not exactly—he isn’t hurting me, it’s more like a delivery of sensation. Solid thwacks interspersed with light strokes. Teasing taps. A squeeze of my flesh followed by a dirty compliment.
“Look how wet this makes you.” A brush. A promise. The sight of his fingers, silky with my arousal.
“Stop talking.”
“I don’t think I will. In fact, I have an idea.” His hand strokes as though painting art on a canvas. “I’ll send you out on your little dates with my cum dripping between your legs, and I’ll—”
It’s almost as though I hear the sound of his hand moving through the air the second before it impacts.
“Oh!”
“Spank you for deserting me you get home.”
Another thud. Another sharp sting. The experience feels like a release because, with each strike, I feel somehow unburdened. Lighter, maybe? My mind is certainly free of noise and chatter. Free to just feel. There’s no rhyme, no reason, no agenda. Just Whit and me and, sweet, sweet relief.
“Such a lovely pink color,” he says with an admiring stroke over each curve.
