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Unable to stand it any longer, he shudders. “That’s enough.”
With one hand, he presses me into the quilt, putting just the right amount of pressure at the base of my neck to pair a tendril of discomfort with every slamming wave of euphoria.
“You wear my hand around your throat so well.” He pinches one of my nipples, rolling it before doing the same to the other, and my center swells around him considerably. “Let’s see what that ass looks like wearing my handprint.”
I’m given one more blistering hot kiss before he pulls out and flips me onto my stomach.
“Christ, Heather,” he murmurs. My skin heats with agonizing ferocity when he gradually slides back home, placing an iron grip on both cheeks. “Are you ready?”
I’ve never been spanked before, but Marcus takes a moment to rub his palm over the curve.
“Yes,” I say with my heart beating against the ground.
He delivers one quick smack, rippling my ass cheek with the force of the blow, and then gives two more to follow. My entire lower half visibly shudders.
“Oh!” I shout loud enough to rattle the earth. My moans are warbled and smashed into the soft material beneath my cheekbone, and I grow frantic with my need for release, meeting him thrust for thrust. “More.”
“So needy after you’ve already come.” Popping the other cheek, harder this time, he grunts, “But you’re already right there, aren’t you? Taking my cock so well. You’re tightening around me, and—ah, it’s perfection.”
His balls tap against my clit in a cadence quick enough to blur my vision. He doesn’t relent as he works me over, slipping through the fresh liquid the spankings have procured.
“Squeeze harder, Heather. I refuse to fall without you.”
A broken whine tumbles out of me as I clench around him, and finally,thankfully, thousands of electrified nerves flare with an orgasm that damn near rips my soul from my body.
Marcus curves over my back with one hand secured around my waist, moaning as he fills me with hot, twitching jerks. “No. Yes.Fuck, I don’t want it to end.”
Utterly spent, I collapse beneath him, little-spoon style as a breeze flitters through my hair, kissing every curve of my spent body. “Marcus, that was incredible.”
A chuckle reverberates against my neck before he presses a tender kiss to the top of my shoulder.
“I have a confession.” My sensitive skin jumps under his touch, spiking my pulse substantially. “I don’t want to be Marcus Matthews when I’m with you. The actor, the player, or whatever else the world says I am.”
Brows tight, I shift to glance back at him. “Who do you want to be, then?”
Marcus’s eyes burn with a longing.
There’s something he isn’t telling me. I can feel it in the pit of my gut, even though I know he’s being sincere.
“Who I want to be doesn’t pair well withcasual.”
When he moves for my lips, the kiss is the gentle, languid kind that heats my body from the inside-out all over again.
A conflicted combination of elation and pain clash when he pulls me closer, but I shut my eyes, savoring his exploring fingers, and allow myself a moment to enjoy the afterglow.
For now.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Heather
If casual sex means twice a day for the next two days, then Marcus and I deserve a gold medal. He encourages me to communicate what my body craves with filthy words and pinches of pain, followed by intense bouts of pleasure that I can’t get enough of.
It’s pathetic how a simple brush of our arms or a smoldering stare over his shoulder has me constantly sneaking off with him. Anywhere we can manage, Marcus has his hands on me—the stables, the riverside, where he continues to help me navigate swimming, and the bed of his uncle’s old truck.
I rub my achy kneecaps through my jeans with a wince. Still have the bruises from that one, and this morning’s quickie only made them worse.
But even though I’m more than satisfied, he hasn’t used a form of restriction on me, like the blindfold around my wrists, since our night in the treehouse, and it’s something I’m eager to experience again.
