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He was magnetic, captivating, and it was moments like this that I couldn’t believe he was mine.
“Come here.”
I walked unsteadily towards him immediately, stopping hesitantly in front of him.
“On my lap.”
Oh, that sounded fun.
But as I went to straddle him, he instead pulled me forward until my chest was on his legs and I was bent over him.
Lincoln rubbed my bare ass and I finally understood what he’d meant by “red”….
“I think you need a little reminder about whose jersey you wear, dream girl,” he said in a thick voice that told me just how much this was affecting him. His dick told the rest of the story, hard and thick against my chest. “Now count.”
There was sharp pain as his hand suddenly slapped down on my bare cheek and I squeaked in surprise, thrashing against his legs. His arm braced over me, halting my movements. “What number was that?”
“One,” I whispered, a flood of heat dripping from my core.
He soothed the sore spot. “That’s my sweet girl.”
Lincoln’s hand came down again.
“Two!”
Slap. Slap. Slap.
His hand cracked down on my ass again and again and I did my best to count.
But my insides clenched with every sharp sting of his hand, and confusing pleasure was building in my core.
Lincoln’s fingers traced through my folds and he swore viciously. “This is turning you on. You like it,” he murmured delightedly.
All I could do was moan against his lap.
“You’re not allowed to come, Monroe,” he ordered sternly, and I whimpered in response.
“Three more. I think a perfectthirteenshould do it. Don’t you think?” he asked wickedly.
Of course he would pick that number.
Another spank. “Are you ever going to wear another man’s jersey again?” he taunted.
Crack.
“No,” I whispered as need surged inside me.
Two more spanks and I was coming, my cries filling the room as an orgasm burst through me, my vision going in and out from the extreme pleasure.
I laid there on his lap as I came down, my breath coming out in gasps.
“Red is such a perfect color,” he murmured as he caressed my skin. “But you’re a naughty girl, coming when you weren’t supposed to.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“I think you need to make it up to me, Monroe.”
“And how am I going to do that?”
