His hand came up to cup her cheek, the same one that had so recently roasted her bottom. Impulsively, Elodie turned and kissed his palm, letting the tip of her tongue touch the very center of it. She felt him shudder, and her eyes widened. It was new and interesting to realize what kind of effect she had on him. She could feel the usual ever-present railroad spike of him pressing into her hip, and she deliberately shifted against it, peeping up at him from under her lashes to see if he noticed.
Oh, he noticed all right. She could hear his breath hiss out slowly through his teeth, as if he was sinking into a tub full of hot water. That big hand reached behind her head, cupping it, bringing her up to him as his mouth slashed across hers, his tongue delving past her lips, dipping into the sweetness of her mouth and claiming it for his own.
Elodie arched against him—her body had a mind of its own, and she wanted more of him, much, much more. That big hand began to gently trail down her neck, over her collarbone to lie over her left breast.
*****
Clay could feel the hard peak of her nipple pressing against his palm, not unlike her tongue had been minutes ago. He stayed purposely still, waiting patiently, until her eyes made their way, cautiously, to his. He wanted her to watch his eyes while he touched her breasts for the first time. Her irises were a stark, liquid green, like a newly budded leaf, damp with dew from her spanking and slightly apprehensive, but not quite afraid. That was good—he didn't want her to be afraid of him. She was so tentative around him in general, although that had gotten a lot better lately; he didn't want her to be backing away from him all the time.
Especially not from this.
He would have sworn he could feel it at least as sharply as she did—if not more so. He let his fingers contract gently, trapping that tip between all of them and squeezing very, very carefully. Clay watched as her head fell back just a little, then all the way, and a long, guttural breath left her lips.
On impulse, he bent down and covered that enticing peak with his lips, breathing, damp, hot air onto her t-shirt, ensuring that, when he drew back, it would cling to her as lovingly as he intended to be doing shortly. Clay let his hands reach down to the hem of her shirt, sliding it up slowly in unison until her holey, dingy bra was revealed.
Elodie was suddenly jerked out of her reverie and made one desperate attempt to drag her shirt out of his hands, but there was no hope for it. He'd already seen the decrepit conditions of her underwear. To have him see them in their inglorious condition made her cheeks blush brighter than his lips over her nipple had.
Clay caught her eyes again—looking up from where their hands were at a stalemate in the middle of her tummy, which he was allowing for the time being. "Move your hands, Elodie honey."
She bit her lip in indecision, but her hands remained where they were.
Clay didn't want to give her the look, this was too intimate a situation to be heavy-handed and besides, overuse would diminish its power. "Elodie," he kept his voice very low, almost hypnotic, but firm and strong, "I want you to put your hands at your sides, sweetie. Do as I say."
More bitten lip, and more fear in her eyes than he wanted to see.
But Clay didn't back down. Instead, he kept his voice at the same level as before and said, "If you don't put your hands at your sides by the time I count to five, I'm going to put you over my lap again. Do you really want another spanking?"
For emphasis, he reached under her and gently squeezed one of her still warm cheeks.
He paused before saying, "One."
Another pause.
"Two."
"Three."
His eyebrow went up as he watched her closely. Clay was surprised at how stubborn she was being, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. He didn't want to spank her again, but he would.
"Four."
Chapter 11
Elodie was about to chew her lip off, and he had arrived at "four" in a startlingly quick time. She could still feel the burning in her bottom, which he was so kindly reminding her about, and she did not want another spanking from him.
She was trying to weigh up whether or not he was likely to cut her a break and do the "four and a quarter, four and a half, four and three quarters" thing, or just go right to the spanking.
Seconds after that question—and its inevitable answer—popped into her head, she just went ahead and did it; she let go of the shirt and slowly lowered her arms to her sides, her eyes looking anywhere but into his.
"I know how hard that was for you to do. Thank you," he whispered, nibbling at her poor worried lip, teasing her, tempting her with his taste, distracting her while his hands finished what they had started.