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She concentrated on the vague discomfort in her back, trying to ignore the fact that she barely knew this man and had her big ass, girl parts, and back . . . uh . . . hole basically in his face. He was sitting so close that sometimes she imagined she could feel his breath feather across the sensitive skin of her posterior. Or maybe it wasn’t her imagination at all.
Please let him be watching TV. Please let him have seen so many naked girls that this is boring and he’s barely paying attention.
“Do you have any idea how pretty your body is, Kate?” The low rumble of his voice was unexpected against the movie’s low volume.
Kill me now.
“You have, quite possibly, the loveliest legs I’ve ever seen.” A fingertip brushed the back of her thigh and she quivered. “Kate? I complimented one of your many assets. What do you say?”
Ugh. No one said this was going to be a Miss Manners quiz. She should probably just say thank you, but it sounded so conceited. “My legs are a bit too long, I think. My volleyball coach said they weren’t, but I think the high school paid her to be nice to students.”
Banner sighed. “Wrong answer.” He landed a stinging slap on her ass.
She gasped. “Ow!”
The burn spread across her skin as she tensed against a second blow that didn’t come. Wasn’t there some sort of rule saying he had to spread those smacks around? It felt as though he’d swatted her in the same spot as last time. She didn’t like the pain, really, but the sting was a reminder that someone had taken charge of her and he wasn’t messing around.
She opened her mouth to complain, but when she turned her head, she saw the reproach in his eyes and let her mouth shut again. She’d save the colorful expletives for when she
was clothed and standing with her back against a wall. On a different continent.
“Good girl. Remember that back talk will get you punished. Every time. Okay?” The stern expression he wore sent a heavier ache to her clit. Where was the incentive to be good if being bad made him look at her like that?
“Yes, Sir.” The urge to be naughty, just to see what would happen, was strong. Her girly bits were hot and felt slick when she shifted.
“Now, what you should have said when I complimented your legs was, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ That’s all.”
“Thank you for saying I have nice legs, Sir.”
“Better.” His fingertips brushed slowly upward on her thigh.
Her body tensed. Part of her wanted to run away, or use her safeword, but a bigger part wanted to prove to Banner that he was wrong, and that she could do this.
He went quiet. The movie babbled on in the background, and she felt the pads of his fingers awaken every inch of flesh they skimmed over. Was he testing her to see if she’d panic? She tried to ignore him, but ignoring something that felt so damn good was impossible. Softness trailed after his fingers, warm breath. Lips where fingers had been. She wanted to urge him on, but that wasn’t how this worked. Things would happen when he chose for them to happen. She let it go. Accepted.
Or tried to. When he reached her pussy, her muscles locked. She swallowed hard. As she did, the collar moved, reminding her that this was his game, and she was only a toy. The whimper that stuttered in her throat made him chuckle quietly.
“You can be a very good girl when you want something, can’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, Sir.”
“On your questionnaire, you said that sex was something you’d consider. Is that what you want from me right now?”
This consent thing was damn embarrassing. “Yes, Sir.”
“Fuck.” He shifted in his seat. “Whose good girl are you?”
Her heart was thundering so loudly it almost drowned out his words. Whose? But this was supposed to be temporary. She let her mind follow his voice down that dark path. To a place where she offered up everything inside her, and he took it without hesitation, as his right. A small feminist voice in her head told her she was weak and sick. She told that voice to go fuck itself. For now she would do this.
“Yours,” she breathed.
A blow landed on the back of her thigh, just below her ass cheek, and she moaned, more from pleasure than pain.
“You may not have to call me ‘Master,’ girl, but you’ll damn well give me ‘Sir.’”
Sir. They’d agreed on just using his name, but now she had to agree Sir was more fitting.
His fingers slid through her telltale wetness, and he sighed appreciatively. “So ready.” Over and around his fingers slid, teasing, making her burn hotter. He tortured her clit, tapping, rubbing, pinching.
