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“A girl who likes pain—”
“I never—”
“You never told me because you figured I’d be gone soon,” he whispered. One time, for just a heartbeat, he rapped the narrow side of the stirrer to my clitoris and I cried out. I was so far gone that one hard tap had put me in an odd head space. Nearly desperate, definitely humbled.
I bit my lip.
“But I could tell,” he said, pulling the stirrer free and stroking my thigh with it. “I watched your eyes when things got a bit rough. And the way you sighed when I’d lay those little love bites on you.”
I blushed. I was a whore for those little bites. The ones that left small purple marks on my breasts and my shoulders and my collarbone.
“And I’m not a fool, Starr. When a woman comes that hard after a too-sharp nibble at her skin, well...I can put two and two together. Plus...”
He smiled and there—ah, there—were those adorable dimples and the cartoon-character brown eyes and the small chuckle and god, he was such a nice guy until...well, until, apparently he wasn’t.
“Plus what?” I dared to ask.
John stepped up close to me so that we were eye to eye, nose to nose, naked tits to broad sheathed chest.
“I can smell it on you.”
That broke me, those words, and I whimpered, my eyed darting away from his intense stare.
“So you still say five?”
“Eight,” I said.
“Your lucky number,” John said. “And oddly enough my lucky number doubled.” He winked and sat on the painting step stool. “Come on then.”
I didn’t have to ask. I staggered forward on numb feet and draped myself over his lap. His cock was hard against my chest, his breath warm on my nape. The first blow brought my head up. The feel of impersonal thick wood connecting with my living flesh. Pain flared brightly, fading to pressure before unfurling into a warm slinky pleasure. The second blow crisscrossed the first and I gasped. The X I imagined on my bare ass a blazing red tattoo in my mind.
The third blow hit the opposite cheek and right before delivering four, he slid the smooth wooden instrument along my spine, rucking my shirt up as he went.
I sank into that lulling drag of wood against skin and when I relaxed just a hair, he brought it down for number four.
“My lucky number four,” John said. “Let’s check our progress.”
His fingers slipped between my legs, the very tips parting my nether lips. He made a point not to touch my thrumming clit in any way, but just having his fingers so close was blissfully unbearable. When two fingers dipped into my slippery opening, I arched up to meet him. I didn’t care how shameless it was.
“I’d say this is a raging success.”
The next four blows were cake. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. And even though they sparked like tiny livewires along my tortured, flushed skin, I gritted my teeth and bared them all. When I was done, his hand dove into my long red hair and he twisted a clump into his hand.
“I’m impressed.”
So was I but I said nothing. A few stray tears had leaked out of me and I trembled there, from the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, still draped over his legs.
“Come on up here.”
On the way, I brushed my face against his lap, my flushed cheek riding the rigid erection he had tucked away inside his faded jeans.
“You can do that later,” he said, turning me.
John brushed his thumb along my lower lip and whispered, “Trust me. I have big plans for this perfect mouth.”
My tongue darted out to taste the salt on his skin and I stared at him. This new John.
“But?”
