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I manage to keep my hands on my head for about ten seconds, but when he starts flicking my clit with his tongue, I forget all about the order. My hands drop to tear at his hair, pull his face into my pussy.
To my disappointment, he stands up, tsking.
Smack.
He slaps between my legs, spanking my pussy. “What did I tell you to do with your hands, Sparks?” I scramble to put them back on my head, but he shakes his. “Too late for that. Now you’re getting spanked. I’ll start here.” He slaps between my legs again. It stings and I shift my hips, craving release.
He leans his forehead against mine and slaps me repeatedly between the legs. “You’re going to get spanked hard, little girl.”
“No,” I whimper even though I love every second of it. I’m grateful for this reset—glad he’s here, making me forget our quarrel.
“Turn around.” Not giving me time to obey his order, he completes the action himself, spinning me around and pressing my hands against the wall. He pulls my hips so I’m forced to take a step back with both my feet. “Ass out, arch that back.”
He slaps my ass.
I welcome the sting, the echo of flesh striking flesh that fills my small apartment. It’s all I can do not to moan.
He slaps me again and again, gradually picking up speed and increasing intensity until I’m tucking my tail and dancing my hips away from his hand. “Turn around, Lia.” His voice is rough, lips right beside my ear. I turn and he rolls a condom onto his length. He slides an arm behind my hips and lifts me. “Legs around my waist.”
I love obeying him. In this scenario, anyway.
He lines his cock up with my entrance and eases in. One, two, three thrusts and he appears impatient with his inability to thrust hard. He carries me to the couch and lowers me, pulling out. He turns me around and bends me over the arm of the sofa, spanking me several times again before pushing in.
This time I don’t hold back the moan. He gets so deep, the head of his cock rubbing my G-spot.
“Yes!” I cry out. He grips my hips and plows into me, his loins slapping my ass with each in-stroke, filling the room with the happy sound.
My pussy’s embarrassingly sopping—wetter than I knew was possible. “Please!” I beg, not sure what I’m begging for.
“You need to come, baby?” His ragged voice seems both far away and inside my body.
“Yes! Please!”
He drags my hips back to meet his thrust and uses the moment to reach around the front. One rub of my clit and I come like a nuclear explosion—my consciousness shattering out to nothingness, my body knowing only pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.
Relief.
Joy.
Pleasure.
I forget who I am. Where we are. All the troubles of the day. I justam.
When I return to my body, I realize Blaze is stroking my back, his hips still pressed against my ass, his spent cock starting to slip out.
“I shouldn’t be your boss, angel.” Blaze sounds defeated. I don’t move. He keeps smoothing his palm in long strokes up my back. “It’s not fair to you. I’m going to lose my shit every time I think you’re in danger.”
I still don’t move, don’t speak. He’s finally giving me something—even though it’s just a breadcrumb—about how he feels about me. What I am to him. I notice he didn’t say, “we shouldn’t be doing this,” which would be a more logical conclusion. But he’s admitting he cares about me. And he’s using the future tense—like we’re going to keep being an item.
He pulls out and disposes of the condom, and I pick myself up from my prone position, reaching for my t-shirt.
He grabs it out of my hands as I start to pull it on. “I didn’t say you could get dressed.”
A smile tugs my lips despite the heaviness of the previous conversation. He winds the fabric around my back and uses it to tug me against him, his iron biceps caging me in. “Are you still mad at me?”
I shake my head. “I never was.”
He arches a brow. “Yeah, you always slam the door in my face.”
