I hesitate, my eyes closed. “God, yes.”
He doesn’t reply, but rewards me with another spank, but as this one lands, he thrusts his fingers in deeper. I gasp at the unexpected sensation and at the hard and fast way my cunt tightens, clenching around his fingers as if in a silent demand to be fucked—and fucked hard.
He does it again and again and again, and I am so wet that I am dripping, so desperate to be fucked I am almost crying. The pain from the spanking has transformed completely. It is pleasure and need and demand, and when Jackson takes my hips and yanks me toward him so that I slide along the bed, it is all I can do not to burst into tears of joy.
Behind me, I hear Jackson strip. He is out of his clothes in a heartbeat, and inside me just as fast. Soon he is thrusting hard, and with each slap of his pelvis against my red and sensitive ass, another wave of pain-like pleasure crashes over me. It is all so much, and I feel like I am spinning from the cacophony of sensations that are assaulting me. I need an anchor, and as always Jackson knows what I need, and even as he pistons hard against me, he slides his hand around my body until his fingers find my clit.
He strokes and teases me, building me up higher and higher until I can’t take it any longer and all this pleasure and pain and wild writhing ribbons of electricity come together in an explosion so violent and wild that I am certain I will not survive.
My body convulses, my muscles tightening around his cock, my back arching up as I try to contain the pleasure. I am still on my knees, my wrists still bound, but I fist my hands in the sheets, then cry out again as Jackson thrusts once more into me, then groans from his own wild release, his body shaking as he bends over me, hot and hard and satisfied.
“Oh my god,” I finally say. “That was—”
“Amazing.”
I make a soft noise of agreement, but say nothing else. I am so wiped that even those few words exhausted me. We stay like that for a bit, but soon Jackson moves to my side. He helps me turn onto my back, then reaches for the belt that binds my wrists.
I tug them away. “Not yet. Jackson, I want—”
“More?”
I lick my lips, not certain I should say this thought that has come unbidden into my mind. It’s too wild, probably too stupid, and if it all went wrong I would be mortified. But it is also a symbol that I’ve not only survived Reed, but thrived. That I’m strong now. And that it is Jackson—not Reed—to whom I have surrendered.
He watches my debate play out on my face. Now he says, “Tell me what you need.”
“I want you to take my picture.” I speak quickly, the words spilling out before I can change my mind. “Like this. Bound. Only for you,” I add quickly. “But I need—”
“To know that it exists,” he finishes, and my relief that he understands is a palpable thing. “To know that you’re mine and that you’ve given this to me.”
“Yes.” I lick my lips. “Will you?”
“I only have my phone.”
I nod.
“And I want to capture you when you come.”
“I—oh.”
His smile is a little wicked. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it right.” He walks to me and takes the necklace from around my neck. He turns it on, then puts it in my hand. “Spread your legs, baby, and tease your clit.”
I think I should protest, but I am already wet again from the thought that Jackson will watch me. Will photograph me.
I do not know what it means, but I know that it excites me.