He stops moving his fingers, leaving me half-empty. “Louder, sweetheart.”
Only when I manage to obey, whining his name, does he press them back in, along with a third, stroking my inner walls. Whenever I clam up, he stops. My nipples are two throbbing points of heat, matched by the bud between my legs, stiff and aching for his touch.
The rough texture of his clothes against my bare skin is driving me to the point of distraction. If anyone walked in on us, they’d see buttoned up, pristine Jack, effortlessly dismantling half-naked me. The thought should strike terror into my heart, but it just ratchets my desire up even higher.
His blunt fingertips dig into the soft skin of my backside. He’s rocking against me now, slow and languid. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach for the cup of utensils on the table. He draws out a wooden spoon.
“I’ve been imagining this for ages,” he says conversationally. The edge of the spoon drags down my spine, then lower. “What would keep you right here, with me? What would get you out of your head?”
My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears. I tense, anticipating a swat, but for the moment, apparently, he’s content to tease. I’ve never been handled quite like this. His touch is so sure. His deep voice is oddly soothing. I want the pain he’s promising, and the praise that I know will follow.
The flat part of the spoon smacks against my backside. I startle at the sting, then moan.
“You know what I want to hear,” he murmurs. “Give it to me.”
Another whack, harder this time. Desperate heat blooms throughout my body. My mind narrows to the here and now, discarding idle thoughts about if I’m too eager, if this is too dirty, how the cries tumbling from my lips sound to him, whether I’m attractive enough in this position. It’s freeing. Intoxicating, the way he grounds me. He murmurs praise in between each spank, rubs my clit to distract from the sting. It isn’t long before each touch feels like exquisite torture, the pleasure and pain so entwined I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins.
I’m going to come like this, and we both know it, and I don’t want to hold back when it hits.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice is hoarse. He tugs my braid; gives my bottom another firm smack. His hand, this time, not the spoon. My core clenches at the intimacy of it; the way his fingers dig into my tender flesh. “Fucking gorgeous. I’m dying to get inside you.”
“Please,” I breathe. I want him to spear me open, inch by delicious inch. I want him everywhere. “Jack, please, I need it.”
“If you’re good and come first.” He gives the braid a harder pull. “Don’t you dare hold back.”
My scream echoes in the gleaming steel of the kitchen as my climax crashes through me. It’s ferocious, pulling from some primal place I can’t quite name. I’d be embarrassed with anyone else, in any other situation; but I’m with Jack, and he’s spinning me around, and we’re tumbling to the floor together in a chaotic cloud of flour and breathless kissing. Sex has never felt like this.I’venever felt like this. So utterly myself, with no concessions.
I scrape my nails through the curly ends of hair at his nape. “Please tell me you have a condom.”
“I do.” He teases my red, stinging bottom with his rough fingertips. “Tell me what you need so I can give it to you.”
I whisper it into his ear, that heart-pounding, all-consuming desire to be taken, invaded, filled. It’s clear he would prefer me to shout it. I don’t know what to make of a man like him. I’ve never encountered his kind, in or out of the bedroom.
“We’ll work on it.” His voice is rich with promise.
The next moments are a blur. We tear off the aprons, our clothes.I help him with the condom, enjoying the way he hisses, as if he’s in pain and getting inside me is the only thing that will help. He pins me against the wall, then pushes inside slowly, one thick inch after another.
“Fuck,” he groans, eyes sliding shut. He uses his weight to keep me pinned, dragging me up and down on his length. I lift my leg; he helps me wrap it around his waist. “You feel so fucking good... Poppy...”
He hits the perfect angle, and all the thoughts leap right out of my head. Moans spill from my lips, earning me longer, surer thrusts. He’s confident, bordering on arrogant, using me like he would a favorite knife. My body is on edge, quivering, ready to fall apart again.
“Tell me what you need.” He cradles the side of my head, urging me to look at him. He’s half-wild, eyes alight. “Don’t you dare go quiet on me.”
“Harder.” I gasp as he complies immediately. “H-harder and faster, Jack, please, I’m close—”
His fingers seek out my swollen clit, teasing lightly in contrast to the rough thrusts. His lips brush the delicate skin of my breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, panting through the wave of sensation. He bites me lightly, accompanied by a sharp pinch of my clit. That’s all it takes for the last of my self-control to shatter. I shout against his neck, and at my voice, he comes, shuddering as he spills into the condom.
Afterward, we stay on the floor together, lounging in a patch of sun like a pair of cats. He holds me to his chest, fingertips skimming over my bare skin. I like the cage his body makes, comfortable and secure. The smattering of dark hair on his chest and legs, which contrasts with my smooth skin. I rub one flat nipple, then kiss it. I turn his free arm from side to side, admiring the bold tattoos inked into the sun-warmed skin. I even nip his bicep, smiling at his huff of amusement.
“What’s this one for?” I’m running my nail over a blue-black inked moth.
“Just thought it looked cool.”
“Really?”
“That’s the secret us tattooed freaks don’t want the rest of you to know.” His breath ruffles my hair. I shiver pleasantly. “Sometimes it’s just because we wanted the ink.”
“I think you wanted the pain.” I slant my eyes upward. I know I’m right, judging by his eyes. “What about my favorite one?”
