I squirmed against him.
“I make no apologies for loving your ass so much,” he continued, kneading my cheeks and pushing more blood to my face where it stained my other cheeks bright red.
“Reece, I . . .”
He licked me. Licked me. I didn’t know what to do. I seized up, trapped on the table, though I wasn’t tied down. I could move. I could scurry across the tabletop to the other side. Then run out the back door and never return.
“Bailey?” I heard from behind.
I couldn’t answer. I had no words. What does a person say to that? How does a person react to that?
“Let’s talk about it,” Reece said.
“No!”
“Bailey, let’s talk about how I just licked your ass.”
“No!”
“Do you think I’m a sexual deviant?” he asked.
I remained silent. He did it again.
“Reece!”
“Hmm?”
“I . . . what the hell . . . why do you . . .”
“Like licking your ass?” he finished.
I said nothing.
“Because I do. And something tells me you do, too,” he said.
I shook my head furiously, but my body told another story. He slipped his finger in me and grunted his satisfaction.
“I thought you liked it,” he said, pumping me gently. He leaned over and whispered, “You’re wet.”
“Shush!” I cried, and lifted myself up on my knees.
“Hey, where’re you going?” he asked.
“I’m getting off this table. I’ve had enough,” I replied curtly.
Reece grinned like the devil. “You get off that table and I’ll paddle your ass all night.”
“This isn’t fair! Why don’t I get to punish you for stuff?!”
“Fine. What do you wanna punish me for?”
He waited, arms folded over his chest while I considered his question.
“Well, I dunno,” I mumbled.
“Exactly. Now assume the position,” he ordered.
“My knees hurt,” I whined.
“God, Bailey. You make the worst sub,” he replied.
I laughed. “We’re in that kind of relationship?”
“No, but if we were, it’d be terrible.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “Now just trust me. Get up on that table and let me make you feel good.”
I did what he asked and waited to feel his tongue on my ass again. But it went to my * instead. He teased me open and explored me with the tip before running his tongue up my crack to my ass. And then back down again. And up again. And down again until I had a difficult time remembering why I was being punished. Or rewarded. Or both.
The whole experience was invasive and embarrassing, and I didn’t want him to stop. I suppose this was Reece’s way of owning all of me. I’d never been wholly wanted, not even by Brian. My OCD was always an issue, always a reason he stayed just the slightest bit distant. But Reece wasn’t like that at all. He wanted in on everything about me, all my secrets—the secrets in my head, the secrets in my heart, the secret places on my body I’d never shared with another man.
I cried out when he slipped the tip of his finger in my ass.
“Hold still,” he said. “Relax.”
I felt my muscles spasm around his finger and tried to relax. But I didn’t know how.
“How?!”
“Calm down,” he said gently. “Just calm down.”
If I screamed at him to remove his finger, I knew he would. Reece played games with me, but only if I wanted him to. The real issue I had to confront was the dawning realization that I didn’t want him to move his finger. At least not out. I wanted him to push it farther into my body.
I couldn’t ask him. I would never live it down. And a part of me wished he’d tie me to the table and violate me however he wanted. Not ask for permission. Not worry about my feelings. At least then I could pretend to be offended while secretly reveling in his touch.
“Rock back,” he said.
I heard that rumble deep in his throat as I pushed my ass back, encouraging his finger to slide farther in. It burned. I loved it.
“That’s it,” he cooed.
His other hand went to my *, and he worked my clit to the rhythm of his thrusting finger—careful, slow. I moaned and writhed against his hands, no longer feeling the sting of humiliation on my face. It still burned, but now it burned with a dangerous sexual desire. I wanted to get off. But I was afraid of what I didn’t know.
My knees dug into the hard table, pinching and shooting painful sparks up my thighs. Rocking my body against Reece’s hands didn’t help, so I tried not moving. That proved to be excruciating—the intensity of his ministrations immediately doubled. I whimpered and rocked again. It set my knees on fire but lessened the pleasure-pain exploding between my legs. God, my knees hurt! I froze again, and they stopped screaming, but the pressure in my ass built to an unmanageable degree, and I was forced to rock back again.
This was reward/punishment, I learned. Screaming knees or screaming ass and *. I was trapped in a gilded cage—the bird who could have flown away. He always gave me the choice. But I was tempted every time by the beauty of those golden bars. And I always chose this.
“Sweet Bailey,” he said softly. “Stop fighting it.”
He knew I was. He could feel my muscles contracting around his finger, signaling the need for release. And I was fighting, trying to distract the building orgasm by holding still. Then moving. Then holding still again. I didn’t trust myself. I sure as hell didn’t trust my body. How would I come? What would it feel like? Would it be humiliating—his finger deep in my ass?
His hand left my * and pushed against my upper back, forcing my face and shoulders flat on the table. The position naturally pushed my ass higher in the air and gave me little freedom to rock my hips.
“If you move, I’ll tan your ass,” he cautioned. “And I mean it. I don’t wanna see you move an inch when you come for me.”
My eyes went wide. I couldn’t do that! It was impossible.
“Reece!” I begged.
“Close your mouth, Bailey,” he ordered.
He resumed his work, tickling my * with the tips of his fingers before settling on my clit once more.