The thought is enough to give me pause, to pull me out of the sensual, sexual stupor Ian has had me in from the moment he first touched me. But then he slams his hips against mine, pounding into me hard enough to have my head spinning and the good kind of stars dancing in front of my eyes. At the same time, he bites down on the sensitive curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
My misgivings get buried in the avalanche of pleasure that cascades through me. It all feels so good—he feels so good—that I can feel yet another climax looming. Ian tenses against me, his whole body burning hot and rigid and I figure this must finally be it. He’s held on so long I swear it’s practically inhuman, but every instinct I have tells me he’s about to go over.
The thought takes me even higher and I turn my head, sink my teeth into the warm, resilient muscle of his biceps even as I stroke a hand down his chest to help ease his final slip into orgasm. He growls, a dark and wicked sound against the quiet backdrop of the room, then pulls out of me in a rush.
I gasp at the unexpectedness of the move, cry out in protest as I reach for him, try to pull him back. “Why did you stop?” I demand as he shoves off the bed, and this time there’s no disguising the plea in my voice. Not that I’m trying to hide it—I’m too empty and confused right now to even attempt to pretend otherwise. “Where are you going? What are—”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he interrupts, his hand stroking down the center of my body from my throat to my sex. He pauses there for a moment, gently rubs my clit. Then he gets a little bit rougher, presses a little bit harder, and I cry out, high and wild. My whole body starts to shake and I don’t know whether to beg him to stop or beg him to continue.
After a few more seconds, he takes the choice away from me as he slides one hand under my hip. He flips me over onto my stomach and for a moment, just a moment, I lament the loss of being able to see his beautiful, beautiful face. But then he touches me, just a single finger to the small of my back, but it’s enough to remind me just how desperate I am to come.
Besides, if this is the way he likes to have sex, with me facing away from him, who am I to blame him? I have too many of my own issues to ever judge someone else’s.
“Come back,” I tell him as I push up to my knees. It’s no easy feat, with the way my arms are still bound and stretched tightly above my head, but I manage it. “I need—” My voice breaks and I stop, unable to say the last word. Unable to make myself that vulnerable.
It’s crazy, especially considering how vulnerable I am at this very moment. It’s not my nakedness, or even the way I’m bound to the bed. Physical vulnerability I can take—I’m an actress, after all. I spend my life that way. But emotional vulnerability? No way am I doing that, especially when I’m already feeling so incredibly messed up inside.
“What?” he demands, even as he runs a gentle hand over the curve of my ass. “What do you need?”
“You know what I’m asking for,” I choke out, turning my head so that my hot cheek presses against the coolness of the sheet.
“Maybe I do.” He continues stroking me—petting me—in a calm, steady rhythm despite the fact that I can hear in his voice just how much that restraint is costing him. “Maybe I need to hear you say it.”
I wiggle my legs a little further apart, then arch into his touch just as his hand reaches the bottom curve of my ass. We both draw in a harsh breath as his fingers slide across my sex.
I arch even further, shuddering as he strokes his thumb down my labia once, twice. But then he’s pulling back again and I’m crying out, desperate for some kind of relief. I strain against the belt, twisting my arms and my wrists back and forth in a desperate attempt to get close to him. In a desperate attempt to answer his question without having to say the words.
But when has Ian ever let me off that easy? Instead of sliding his cock back inside me like I’m practically begging him to do, he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezes hard enough to have me crying out. Then he brings the palm of his other hand down on my ass hard enough to make me scream.
Then he does it again. And unlike last night, in my kitchen, he doesn’t go easy on me. Doesn’t ease me into it. Again and again he smacks me. Over and over he brings his hand down, hard, until every inch of my ass is on fire and my whole body feels like a firecracker seconds before it explodes.
And still he doesn’t stop. Still he keeps it up until I can feel this spanking in my aching sex. In my rock-hard nipples. In the deepest, darkest part of me that I never let anyone touch.
My head thrashes against the sheets and tears pour down my burning cheeks even as I arch my hips in a silent plea for more. More pleasure. More pain. More…everything.