“Oh fuck,” she cried loudly as a loud rap echoed around the room. With her arousal multiplying and intensifying as her outer thigh that was wrapped around Jim’s middle began to sting, Tasha suddenly realised that the noise she’d heard before the sting was a smack. He had spanked her and she’d liked it. What was it with this man, how could he turn her into this crazy, wanton woman lying beneath him, literally begging for more?
She looked up at him. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I told you this is for me.”
His hands that were now on her hips began to dig in as his pace quickened. She grabbed them, placed them on her breasts and tried to encourage them to play. He looked down at her and smiled before removing his hands and replacing them with her own.
“This is all for me, honey,” he repeated and suddenly she realised why he kept saying that.
This was a punishment for her. For crossing the line he’d drawn. He was using her as an object, a vessel, and she was loving it. She’d never been one to get drawn into serious conversations about being objectified and used as a purely sexualised image, not that she didn’t disapprove of both things, but right now, here, with James, she had no objections whatsoever.
She called out again as his pace reached fever pitch with the familiar build up ready to implode or explode. She wasn’t sure which.
He was almost at that point too when he spoke, gruffly, “This is me fucking you, for me, just me.”
That was enough to take her completely over the edge, screaming out again, “Yes, James, yes.”
Her body was responding to itself and him then suddenly he was momentarily frozen before lying across her, still from the waist down.
“I think you need more practise,” he whispered.
“Practise?” Her confusion at his words mixed together with what had happened and just how much she’d enjoyed it.
“I told you it was for me, not you. You weren’t supposed to come,” said Jim, or James, whoever. He looked down at her. “Hence, more practise.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.” She was even more confused now by her own apology as much as James’ revelation, and he was definitely still James.
“I thought I made it perfectly clear. It was for me. I even spanked you, although I regret not being able to get to your ass.”
Her confusion was soaring with that information; the fact that he had spanked her. That she’d liked it. That it had excited her. With a variety of expletives and curses running through her head Tasha figured she’d managed to avoid running her mouth since her ass remained sting free, although she was quite disappointed about that. Briefly she wondered who the hell this person was who’d taken over her body?
“So, more practise in restraint I think,” he said with a flat edge. “Later though.”
“Thank fuc—I mean thank you,” she replied, questioning exactly what the rules to this game they were playing actually were.
“I love your quick wit when we talk properly and your frankness, but that mouth.” He half-smiled.
“Sorry,” she repeated. She hadn’t had so much pleasure or made so many apologies in her life.
“Let’s shower.” Jim removed the condom with not an ounce of self-consciousness. “We can get each other clean,” he said in a way that made her think he’d just made the most lewd suggestion she’d ever been subjected to. “And then get dressed for our movie night and dinner. No sneakers and no jeans. I like skirts and dresses, a traditionalist.” The final word was accompanied by a wink.
She nodded as he helped her to her feet and held her steady.
“You would be a phenomenal number seven, Tasha. You’d really make it my lucky number.”
She smiled and found herself saying, “Can we talk about this later?”
Hearing those words had her screaming to herself. There was nothing to talk about. She might be a phenomenal number seven for him, but he would be an awful number one for her. Imagine her parent’s and grandparent’s faces if she arrived home with Jim as her Vegas husband in tow. Gerry’s face. No, no. This was just sex, no more. It couldn’t ever be more. It was absolutely amazing, mind blowing sex, but sex nevertheless.
He smiled at her now, maybe one of the Jims was back.
“Shower, now!”
Or maybe James was still in situ.
As they sat eating dinner at the same dining table where a few hours earlier he’d so dominantly taken her, Tasha suddenly panicked, her cutlery clattering against her plate, “Shit! I need to phone home.”
Jim looked across at her and frowned. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Rarely,” she muttered in a low whisper, “Sorry. I have seven messages that I collected from my hotel and I meant to call her when I got back here, but I got distracted.” She smiled coyly.
