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9
Michael
The hair on my forearms rises. All of my senses jangle. I swivel around and catch her around the waist, lift her off of the ground.
"I hate you. I bloody hate you," she snarls, then swings her fists. I duck. I must be losing my touch, for her knuckles graze my jaw, and my dick, which had stood up and saluted her bare bottom the moment she’d bared it, is sure it’s found heaven. My groin tightens and my balls ache. I tighten my grip around her. "Stop."
"How dare you insult me…you…you…pig?"
A chuckle trembles up my throat and I swallow it. "Calm down."
"Let go of me."
"No."
She goes still.
"No?"
"Not until your blood pressure drops back to normal."
"The only person I see having a bloody cardiac is you." She brings up her knee. I twist my body to the side, she catches me in the thigh, and damn it, but my cock instantly lengthens. The fuck is wrong with my reactions, that I can’t control myself around her?
"Back off, Beauty or you’ll regret it."
She makes that noise deep in her throat, that sound of anger and frustration that sends sparks down my spine, engages all of my nerve endings so that all my brain cells seem to shut down, then flare all at once.
"Last. Chance."
"Oh, sod off." She strains in my embrace, and her breasts thrust into my chest, her nipples sharp enough to stab me through my jacket and my shirt.
Fuck. I squeeze my arms, haul her even closer. I’m not copping a feel… Okay…so maybe I am, but can you blame me? This tiny soaked-with-bath-water-and-desire female…is…simply the most delectable piece of femininity that I have ever come across and..
My breath leaves me.
"You didn’t just do that," I growl.
"What, you mean this?" She slips her palm between us and squeezes my balls… Again… Fuck. A growl tears from my lips. My thighs spasm and sweat breaks out on my brow. "You’re going to regret that, Beauty."
She bares her teeth. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Spank me."
Hmm.
Her gaze widens, her breath hitches, her pupils dilate and...fuck this shit! I am only a man. There’s only so much I can take.
I bend my knees, peer into her eyes. "How many?"
"What?"
"How many slaps?"
"Bugger off."
"You choose or I will, and I promise you, the number will not be one you like."
"Bet you won’t like this either." She clears her throat and spits. A gob of warm saliva slashes across my lips.
She freezes.
