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Alix cries a protest, exactly the way I knew she would. She’s ready for me. Drenched. Balanced on her toes to tempt me with that incredible ass.
The lines left by the crop stand out, scarlet against her smooth white flesh. I purposely didn’t choose the cane. I didn’t want to break her skin, but I wanted to give her what she asked for. I want her to know she can always come to me. Comeforme. I’ll always give her what she needs, even when she doesn’t know it herself.
Now, I trace the length of her spine with the crop’s leather tab. She arches like a cat, even though the curve must stretch her arms to the point of pain. When she’s strung as tight as a bow, I balance the crop across her lower back, placing it precisely on the matched dimples on either side of her spine.
“Hold it there, Princess. If it falls, I stop.”
I don’t give her a chance to question my command. Instead, I drop to my knees behind her. I bury my face in the sweet cleft of her ass, pointing my tongue straight at the tight pucker of muscle.
“Red!” she calls, before I’ve taken my first taste. Her thighs turn to stone around my shoulders. She’s frozen, not daring to take a breath.
My poor princess. The first night I had her in this bed, the Beast commanded me to close her up with a butt plug. She panicked then, safeworded before I could ease her past the pain.
The same fear has her shut down now. Her fingers curl into claws. Her toes are locked in place. She’s holding her breath, every muscle tensed as she waits to see if I’ll honor her safeword.
I want to break the rules. I want to rim her now. To shock her. To show her pleasure her body’s never known before. I can already imagine her rippling orgasm, rolling from her well-fingered clit to her pussy to the dark channel pulsing hard around my tongue.
That’s something the fucking Beast has never let me do before, with any woman. Something special. Something I’ll only share with Alix.
But rules are rules. The safeword is an absolute.
I rock back on my heels.
She hasn’t flexed her back. She hasn’t dropped the riding crop.
And that deserves some sort of reward.
I dive into her pussy like a starving man. I suck her folds into my lips, drawing hard enough to make her gasp. I release her slowly, stiffening my tongue, exploring deep inside. I feel her moan with my entire face.
She’s honey and salt, a fruit I’ve only eaten in my dreams. One taste primes my throat, and I swallow like I can never drink enough. I need to slow down, need to take my time, need to tease her because that’s what a good man does, but it’s all I can manage not to rip my clothes off and bury my throbbing hard-on in her tantalizing heat.
I tap her clit with my tongue, then lick her front to back. She groans my name, pleading, begging. I stroke her again, slower this time. Her thighs tremble. Her calves stretch.
One. More. Time.
She teeters. Reaches. Cries out on a single endless note—a question, an answer, a desperate, mindless prayer.
I purse my lips and breathe across her sweet, drenched snatch before I give her the command: “Come.”
And she breaks.
Diving in for the finish, my face is washed in her heat. She’s seizing above me, around me. I work my tongue past her fluttering pussy lips, and I’m rewarded with a wash of fresh, sweet nectar. She’s coming and she’s coming and she’s coming and I can’t drink enough, can’t breathe enough, can’t dive deep enough to ride her forever.
Finally, she slows. She shudders. She sighs.
I shift back to kiss the inside of her thigh. I sit back on my heels. I look up at the magnificent arch of her ass, at the flushed orchid between her thighs that ripples in a sudden shiver of aftermath.
And I see the stretch of her back. The tight violin curves above her hips. The riding crop, turned askew, but never dropped. Never fallen.
“Good girl,” I breathe.
And I think she won’t respond, because it takes her a few deep breaths to protest. “No,” she says. “I’m a very bad girl.”
Even now, she wants more. Needs more. Needs me to give it to her.
I rescue the crop and finger the tab. I trace the leather flap along her flanks, watching them tremble in anticipation. I follow the knobs of her spine, marveling at how she can still arch when her legs shake with exhaustion.
