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He grasped me by the back of the neck and marched me over to the bed, bending me over the side of it. His hand came down hard on my ass and thighs in a quick, vicious volley of smacks. I cried out, unable to hold back the reaction, but holding still nonetheless, refusing to show any weakness.
“You’re so brave now, is that it? You think a few times with me and you can handle whatever I dish out?” He spanked me again, right on top of a fresh mark. I bit the inside of my cheek. “You have no idea what I’m capable of right now, have no idea.”
“I love you,” I said softly.
“Goddammit, Cela. Stop saying that,” he said, his voice strangled.
“No, sir.”
He stalked off and I heard the closet door opening. I braced myself, knowing that I’d pushed him even further. I was playing with fire near a propane tank, and we both knew it. The air shifted behind me, a cool breeze coasting over my burning skin as he moved back in place. Then whatever he’d grabbed was coming down on my back—biting, wicked lashes. Something he hadn’t used on me before, a belt of some sort maybe. One! Two! Three! I lost count after that, my thoughts blurring at the edges as adrenaline pumped hard through my veins.
I pressed my cheek into the sheets, my eyes starting to water. I couldn’t tell if they were tears or not. I didn’t care. I could feel the emotion behind every swing, the desperation channeling through him. Everything trapped inside him was pouring out into the blows.
Wham, wham, wham!
Finally, after what seemed like forever, I sensed the strength behind the hits draining. My skin was a raging fire—half-burning, half-numb. But everything else in me was soaring, endorphins flooding my system. I’d done this to push him to a certain place, but he was sending me to another edge of my own.
“Christ, Cela,” he said, the belt dropping to the floor. His breath was labored. I could feel his stare heavy against me. He ran his hands over my abused back, first simply touching, then kissing. One spot in particular made me flinch more than the others. “Tell me you’re still with me. That you’re okay.”
I reached back for him blindly, grabbing hold of his hand. Even that movement took all my effort. I felt . . . drunk. And so freaking turned on. “Very, very with you.”
He moved his hand between my thighs, finding me warm and wet, and groaned. “So goddamned sexy. All this pain, and you’re turned on. Spread your legs.”
I made the effort, but he had to help me most of the way. I was still bent over the bed in the prone position and really had no energy to move anywhere else. There was the shifting of fabric as he apparently shucked the rest of his clothes, then his palms were spanning my hips. Without preamble, he pushed into me.
I groaned at the feel of him filling me, of my body clenching around him. He buried deep, a tremble going through his hands where he held me—like he was drowning in the sensation as much as I was. The last of my will slipped away. I was truly his in that moment, whatever he wanted to do with me, I was in.
He eased back and thrust into me again, hard, his thighs hitting the backs of mine, reactivating the burn there, but also rocking my clit against the edge of the mattress—a killer combination. I whimpered into the sheets. “I know it stings and that I should be softer with you right now. But I need to fuck you, angel. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You told me I owned you tonight, and I’m going to take you at your word,” he said, strain in his voice as he rocked into me with a steady, rough rhythm. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, release thundering toward me, the stimulation to my clit and the rushing endorphins almost too much to take. “All yours.”
“That’s right,” he said, his words labored. “Give me your pleasure. Show me how much you like me using you.”
My nails curled into my palms, every molecule in my body starting to quake, but I was trying to hold out as long as possible. “Foster . . .”
He caught hold of my wrists and pulled my arms behind my back, holding them at my tailbone, as he continued his punishing rhythm. I could do nothing but receive him and every bit of pleasure he was wringing from me. Sweat dripped down my temple, and with nothing to hold on to, I fell apart.
Wretched cries tore from my throat as every part of my body seemed to become laced with lightning—the sensitized skin on my back, my clit against the pressure of the bed, and the delicious fullness of being utterly, brutally taken by Foster. Tears leaked out my eyes mingling with the salt and sweat, and everything went hazy.
Foster let out a slew of filthy, dirty epitaphs and then let loose a grinding, primal groan as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside me, his hold on my wrists tightening until my fingers started to tingle.
When we were both gasping for breath, drifting down from our orgasm, he released my hands and draped himself over my back. All of my muscles seemed to give out and merge with the bed. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get them to function again.
Foster kissed my temple, my hair, his body blanketing me with heat that was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I couldn’t seem to stop shivering, but curse because now that the orgasm was fading, the pain from the belt was setting in.
After a few long seconds, Foster pushed up on his forearms. “Sorry, angel. I’m probably smothering you.”
“Mmm,” I mumbled, too spent to form actual words. My mind still seemed to be sparking in fits and starts—aftershocks.
Foster lifted himself from the bed and pulled out. A rush of liquid heat came with him, sliding down my thighs. I knew I should probably get up and get a towel or something—vaguely, in the back of my mind I registered that these were new sheets. But something about having the evidence of what had just happened marking me seemed sexy and dirty in the best way.
“Motherfucker,” Foster said, the harsh word cutting through my afterglow.
“What’s wrong?”
