“How are you feeling?” he asks me, low and soft. Not angry anymore. Neither am I.
“Hurts,” I whimper. “But good. Feels good.”
“Was it what you needed?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I whisper. “Maybe it was.”
“And what is it going to remind you of?” he presses, laying one big hand over my ass and keeping it there, trapping heat under his palm through my jeans, straight-up roasting my ass and making my eyes sting.
“That–that you want me to stay. That you want me the most.” And shit, saying that out loud is enough to make me feel like I’m blushing and dying and excited and ill all at once.
“Mm-hm, and what else?” He leaves his hand there and I choke back a groan. My dick is hard, there’s no way he missed that pressed against his legs, but it’s slowly softening now. Getting horny wasn’t the point of this, just an embarrassing side effect.
“To listen to you, and not my own fucked up thoughts.”Smack!I whimper, but then let out a short, quiet laugh, because I wanted that. “Shit, I’m so fucked up.”
Another spank, then two more, until I’m groaning and writhing against his hold.
“You need more time here?” he demands. “More time on my lap, getting spanked?”
I moan, long and loud. I shake my head, but don’t answer, because I can’t tell if I want more or not. It hurts. A lot. But I love this. Love the way he’s making me feel it. The way he’s correcting me like I’m worth the effort.
“Are you turned on because it hurts, or because I’m paying attention to you?”
“Both,” I admit, face aflame, glad I can’t see him. “I-I–”
“Tell me.”
“I like that you, that you sent guys to–” I swallow hard. “It’s fucked up, especially for me, but I like that you sent people to grab me off the fucking street, to drag me back here. That youwant me bad enough to take me. Like it’s real. Shit, that’s so fucked up for me to say.”
“It’s okay to like it,” he murmurs, petting my exposed back again, giving my ass a break. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You don’t understand,” I sigh. But I don’t want to explain. My head is finally empty, the conflicting feelings and voices all quiet. The only thing I can think about, the only thing I can feel, is the echo of the spanking on my asscheeks. I’m gonna be sore for hours. Maybe even tomorrow, too.
I can’t wait.
Sick freak,I mentally tell myself, but it holds no ugliness.
I sigh and roll over, and he helps me, so I’m on my back and looking up at him, still laying on his thighs. And goddamn, but even the slight pressure of laying down is making the pain feelloud.
He runs his fingers across my forehead and I close my eyes with a sigh. The gentle touch is so unlike the hot ache radiating from my ass, a much-needed distraction that makes it all bearable.
“Are you tired?”
“Yeah,” I croak. “Fucking exhausted.”
“You’re going to shower, and then you’re coming to bed. You need a nap.”
“Okay,” I agree meekly, happily.
“And you’re washing that fucking phone number off your hand.”
I can’t hide my smirk, and I grin up at him smugly. “You jealous?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I admit quietly. “He’ll never be you.”
“As long as we’re both on the same page,” he says, helping me up. My whole body feels lethargic and weak all of a sudden,like I just worked out for hours and I’m shaking from exertion. I shiver, feeling oddly cold, as he gently guides me down the hall.
