“Y-yes,” I stutter, taking short, gasping breaths.
He’s now standing flush against me, and I feel something long and hard press against my back.
His hand explores the bare skin under my shirt with more intent. Then he returns to my breast, palming it possessively, sending a spark of pain through me, making me melt in his hold.
“I don’t give you my permission to want it,” he grunts. “You don’t get to ask. Only to take what I choose to give you. I own you. Got that?”
His words echo dimly as his fingers crush my nipple.
“Got it?” he insists.
“Y-yes,” I moan, darkness edging in as he squeezes my neck harder.
I’ve turned into liquid heat. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, what the strange pressure in my lower stomach means. All I know is I need it so much.
His other hand leaves my neck, and I inhale sharply, my vision clearing, as he flips me around and presses his lips to mine.
I nearly fall from the shock of it, but he holds me up, his mouth still against mine. Effortlessly, he hooks an arm under my legs andcarries me over to one of the couches. There, he shoves me onto his lap, still kissing me, his tongue forcefully exploring my mouth.
I don’t want him to leave again. I’m suddenly convinced once more that it was my passive reaction to his kiss that made him go. So I try to press back against his lips, lift a timid hand up to stroke his chest.
At once, he pins my hands behind my back.
“Don’t move,” he warns.
I shiver at the tone, but he doesn’t seem angry anymore.
His other hand once more lifts my shirt, hungrily exploring my stomach, my arms, my breasts. He pauses there, cupping them, twisting my nipples, keeping me in a head-spinning mix of pleasure and pain.
I want to melt into him. I wonder if it’s the same for him. It’s like he can’t get enough, one hand anxiously exploring every inch of my skin, the other fisting my hair before crushing me to him so hard I can’t catch my breath.
He slides a hand into my panties then and I gasp in surprise, even as I arch up to meet his fingers.
“Needy girl,” he chuckles, sliding a finger over my slit.
Then he flips me over on my stomach and drags his hand up between my buttcheeks. I gasp when his thumb finds the ring of muscle there and presses against it.
“You’re good at getting out of punishments, aren’t you, pet?” he rumbles, rubbing it hard enough to make me writhe, part shame, part arousal. “I was furious when I came down. Now all I want to do is…” He interrupts himself, but his thumb’s insistent rubbing leaves no doubt as to his meaning.
I lie over his lap, trapped under his arms, my heart beating wildly. No one’s ever touched me there. I didn’t even know it waspossibleto get touched there.
Then his phone vibrates.
He removes his hand from my ass and picks it up. He reads a message then mutters, “Gotta go deal with this bullshit.”
But his arm stays pinned over my back for another moment. He puts the phone away, then brings his hand down hard on my bottom.
Then again, equally hard on the other cheek.
I jump, yelping in startled pain, and he chortles. “Just a little taste of what’s to come, if you’re naughty again.”
Lifting me off his lap, he sets me down on the couch. He walks toward the door, leaving me disheveled, my body aching with the sudden loss of him.
Then, with his hand on the doorknob, he turns back to me.
“Are you afraid of me, pet?” he asks, his voice husky.
I hesitate for a second, but I can tell he expects me to be honest. And he’ll know if I lie.
