“Yes,” I hiss. “Yes!”
Logan doesn’t just play the kink—he makes it real. I believe he’s mad in a way that I’ve never felt with a partner who’s “punished” me before. Each strike against my ass is firm and sharp and, though I’m sure he’s holding back, that he could hit me harder if he wanted to, it also feels like he’s not. Like he’s letting everything he has spill out into each stinging smack.
It arouses me to levels I’ve never been to before.
I’m soaked by the time he breaks from striking to rub the burn out of my cheeks. So soaked I’m dripping and embarrassed because, of course, he knows.
“Christ, Devi,” he groans when he slips his hand between my legs. Then he digs his fingers into my thighs and lifts the back half of my body so that my knees are on the bed. “I have to taste you.”
A bolt of anticipation strikes through me as I wait for his tongue to find the source of my wetness, for it to ease the ache in my center. I moan when he finally does, and my entire body trembles from the feel of him as he licks around the edge of my hole.
But I want him deeper, want to feel the full length of his strong tongue inside me, and he doesn’t give me that.
Instead, he swipes upward, following the line from my cunt to the hole behind it—the one I know he wants to fuck someday, the one I’m desperate for him to inhabit, and nervous too because I know he’ll be good there. So good. Too good—it will completely undo any control I have left where he’s concerned, and I’m not quite ready for that.
But I’m ready to play there. And so is he.
With no hesitation, with a need that’s as greedy as mine, he circles my rim with his tongue then plunges inside.
I’m immediately squirming, immediately on the verge of climax, immediately ready to shout I love you’s at the top of my lungs, and I have to bury my face into the sheets to stifle my cries.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, pausing his assault to chide me. “You like that and you want to come, but if you fucking come before I tell you, then I’m going to have to start all of this again. Because after I fuck you with my tongue and my fingers, I’m going to fuck you with my cock, and I want you tight and pulsing when I go in there—not recovering from an orgasm. You got that?”
“Then take me now,” I plead, certain I can’t hold out. “Just fuck me now.”
He smacks my ass—hard. “I decide when I fuck you. Ask again, I’ll make you wait longer.”
He dips a finger inside my * and drags my wetness up to that back hole, probing even deeper than he did with his tongue. His other hand strokes up to play with my clit, and then his mouth is on me again, this time at my cunt, stroking inside, igniting the sensitive spot within, and I know that he’s set me up because it’s impossible not to come, impossible not to be swept into this supernova of pleasure. And now I’m even maybe convinced of the existence of white holes because what I’m experiencing is completely that—an eruption of energy that is impossible to escape, or get inside or hold on to, and it’s amazing and bright and everything, everything, everything.
And while I’m spinning in ecstasy, I’m also drenched in agony. He’ll be mad, I know. Because I came. Without his permission. He’ll start from the beginning, and there’s no way I can bear this euphoria again. It’s too much, and any more will kill me. I know this, even as I burn in this bliss.
But to my surprise, Logan twists me to my back and spreads my legs. My ass screams as he drags me across the sheets the couple of inches to the edge of the bed and poises himself at my entrance.
My speech is broken and raspy, my breathing still uneven. “I thought you were going to start over again.” I have no idea why I’m provoking him. As glorious as his punishment was, I don’t want him to repeat it. I want the punishment he’s promising now, the one where he pounds me and assaults me another way instead—inside me.
“I changed my mind when I realized you couldn’t take it.” He’s cocky as he says it. Cocky as he slaps a smarting thwack across my inner thigh. Cocky as he impales me with grunt and a sharp thrust of his cock inside my cunt.
God, his confidence is a massive turn-on. How right he is about me. How well he can read my body’s cues. He has a gift to be able to do this as well as he does. I know this. I mean, I truly, truly know it in my head and every part of my rational being, and yet…
And yet.
In my bones, in my skin, in the particles of energy that make up my “soul,” I feel like this connection has nothing to do with his skills and everything to do with Him and Me and no one else. As though I were special. As though we were bound by a gravitational pull. As though I were the Earth and he, the moon, and with his orbit he commanded the tidal waves of emotions and arousal within me.
It’s not reasonable to feel this way, or even realistic. He’s a professional pornographic performer. And yet, I’m a girl who believes she might be something more.