Page 36 of Mr. Match

“No,” Oliver says, reading my mind. “If you run up there I’ll drag you back down by your hair. I’m gonna fuck you down here on this slab of stone. You don’t get a nice soft bed.”

Jesus. My feet are moving before I can think about it.

He comes after me. His boots thundering on the floor, getting closer and closer. I won’t make it to the stairs. He’s right behind me, but I’m not gonna blow my chances by making my move too soon. I dash for the buckeye tree, getting that between us.

Oliver plays along and we circle it, looking at each other through the young tree’s foliage. He breaks off a branch, stripping the leaves off with one swipe down the length. “I can just picture the red welts on your ass cheeks now, young lady.”

“Oh.” I sigh. “A spanking? Do you promise? I might give up right now if you promise.”

“Whore,” he says. “You dirty little whore.”

“Pervert,” I say back. “You filthy fucking pervert. Chasing young girls. Threatening to swat their bottoms red for—”

He lunges, I run, but he catches hold of my hair and yanks me back to him. Strong arms encircle me and the switch smacks against my outer thigh like a threat as he holds my hands to my chest.

“You’re bad tonight, Kat. But I'm gonna give you one more chance to be good. Now…” he says. “Let me ask you the questions again. Would you like to choke on my balls as I fuck your throat? Or would you like me to bend you over and ram my cock into your ass?”

I want to play. I want to say both. I want to beg him to just get started already. But he likes the game and the pretense of a fight. I relax my body, which makes him relax his. And then I squirm a little until I have enough room to turn around and look him in the eyes.

He’s not smiling when I spit in his face.

And I don’t have a chance to appreciate his surprise. Because he’s dragging me over to the couch by my hair.

He bends me over and then the sting of the branch across my ass makes me howl in pain.

That mark will definitely haunt me when I try to sit down tomorrow.

“In the ass it is,” he says, spitting back at me. Only his spit runs down the crack of my ass and his fingers rub it in.

Then there’s a pause. The sound of him opening his zipper. A moan as he flicks his cock up and down, from my pussy to my ass. Rubbing his lube in deeper and dragging my wet juices into the mix.

I brace for the pain.

But he leans over me again. The way he was just a few minutes ago before I ran. And he says, “Next week I’ll be rough and hard. Next week I’ll make you scream. But tonight”— he kisses the spot of skin he owns just below my left ear—“tonight is just practice for what’s to come.”

He stands up, both hands on my hips as his cock presses into my ass.

It still hurts. It’s been way too long for it not to hurt. But he goes slow. And he’s gentle. He is patient, and good, and careful.

It makes me cry, he feels so good. The tears actually run down my face when he’s fully inside me. Hips rocking just enough to keep me wanting more. Not enough to make me come.

But then his fingers find their way between my legs and he begins to rub my clit as he pumps harder and harder with each forward thrust. He still has the branch in his other hand and he drags it up and down my back, pausing to snap it against the skin with just the right amount of force to excite me further.

The stroking becomes faster, more urgent. His hips begin to pound, our skin slapping together. A sound that carries up into the high ceilings and echoes in my head as the reality of where I am, who I’m with, and what I’m doing finally takes over. Finally wipes away the past ten years and sets me free.

I come on his fingers just as he pulls out and shoots his warm semen all over my back.

He stands behind me breathing hard and I let myself collapse into the seat back of the couch.

He steps away, returns, and then he wipes my back with his shirt. I stand up and turn to face him.

I can feel his relief like it’s my own.

His hard body glistens with sweat. Outlining the cut of his muscles like he’s a work of art. I want nothing more than to take his picture right now. But I don't have my camera and my phone is somewhere in a pile of clothes across the room.

So I memorize him instead. I bring my bound hands up and drape them behind his head, fingertips desperate to hold on. To keep him forever.

He is my god.