He sucked harder, thrusting his fingers into her. She was shivering, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. His cock was pressing so hard against the front of his jeans he couldn’t take the friction.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he flipped her over onto her stomach, pulling her over his knees. He started to spank her gorgeous ass right away, and when she struggled, her legs kicking, he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled tight, pulled until her back was arched, her throat elongated. He had never seen anything more beautiful.
Not helping.
In frustration he picked her up as he got to his feet, tossed her roughly onto the big white suede couch, knocking the piles of brightly colored throw pillows onto the floor.
“Stay,” he ordered, keeping his gaze on her lovely little body as he told himself he wasn’t going to fuck her even as he started to pull his zipper down.
She pulled in a sharp breath. Was she excited? Was she afraid? He was good either way, and hoped for both.
He looked around the room, decorated in Bohemian style, all brilliantly colored silks and brass lanterns, candles on an old steamer trunk, the windows draped in red velvet and ivory lace. And a tall vase in a corner filled with slender bamboo poles.
“Stay,” he ordered again, getting up and taking a handful of bamboo from the vase.
“Duff, I . . .” She stopped, biting her lip.
“Thought better of it, did you, my lovely? This is not the time to question me. But I’m sure you know exactly what this is.” He snapped one of the canes against his thigh. It stung even through the heavy denim, but the pain helped to center him.
Her hands were working nervously, her fingers in a tight grip on the blanket draped over the sofa cushions. He paused, breathed her in, the scents of her perfume and her desire blending like some intoxicating cocktail.
“Spread for me, Layla.” When she hesitated, he added harshly, “Now.”
When she didn’t move quickly enough for him, he reached down and did it for her, until he could see her luscious pink flesh once more. She tried to draw her thighs back together, but he used one booted heel to hold her down. Her body calmed, and he was aware that him taking total physical command of her body was what seemed to help her.
He raised the bamboo cane, pausing for several moments, allowing her body, her mind, to fill with anticipation. Then he struck.
“Fuck!”
Smiling to himself, he leaned down to run his fingertips over the red welt rising on her inner thigh. “Not yet, lovely. We haven’t allowed ourselves that yet.”
But even as he said it he knew it was probably a lie. He didn’t know how he could prevent himself.
Just hurt her. Bring her pain. Bring yourself back to that place of control.
An impossible task, perhaps. But he could do what he needed to for her, at any rate. And he knew she liked the pain. Oh yeah, that he could deliver.
He struck the top of her thigh, waited a half-second while she breathed through the pain, then did it again. He struck the other thigh, then made a regular, steady strike zone of her inner thighs until her cries were a strangled sob in her throat. He stopped and dropped the cane, ran a hand between her gorgeously welted thighs, found her soaking wet.
“Ah, you do like it, lovely girl. The harder I hit you, the wetter you become. It’s a beautiful thing.” He pushed his thumb inside her, and she was so slippery inside, her hips arching. His dick throbbed, hot and needy. “Yeah, a beautiful thing,” he murmured. “Time to reward you, and m’self, too. I can’t fuck you, but I can have this. And I want you to watch.”
? ? ?
HE STRIPPED THE blindfold off her, and Layla blinked as Duff paused to pull his hard cock from his jeans, gripping himself in his hand. God, he was huge. Huge and beautifully formed, the shaft so thick, the head so dark and swollen it made her sex ache with the need to have him inside her. Her mouth was actually watering. She licked her lips, and spread her thighs wider.
He chuckled. “Oh, you tempt me. Bad, bad girl, Layla. But tonight bad girls get rewarded.”
When he stroked the seam of her damp pussy lips with his fingertips, her whole body filled with pleasure—even more when he squeezed his cock in his fist, the head going darker. She’d always loved to watch a man handle himself. And now, when her brain was in that light, floaty space, she loved it even more. Loved it all even more—being spread out for him, wanton, wanting. Loved his touch, which was making her crazy, making her need to come. Loved the wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.
“Oh, yeah. If I can’t fuck you, princess, I will fuck you with my hand. And I’ll stroke my hard cock—hard for you—and imagine it’s your sweet, tight pussy.” He pressed his fingers inside her, spread them, opening her up. “But I’ll bet it’s even better to be inside you. So, so much better.”
He gave a few hard thrusts, making her gasp.
“Oh!”
“You like it, do you? Tell me.”
“I . . . I like it. Oh . . .”
He gave his stiff cock one slow stroke, his big fingers feathering over the head. “I can see that you do, but I love to hear you say it. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you want.”
She licked her lips once more, and for several moments she was frozen, struggling against his command, some part of her feeling that Duff ordering her to say these things was too submissive an act for a woman like her. But she’d never had a problem talking to her lovers. Why should this be any different? And she liked to say the words, liked to talk a little dirty.