My hips were pinned to his thigh, the hard muscle of his leg pressing directly against my clit. Every tiny, involuntary movement, every shift of my body as he opened me up, sent a bolt of electric pleasure straight to my clit.
I couldn’t help but react.
My hips began to rock in a slow, grinding rhythm against his leg. I was chasing it, that high, that sweet, sharp edge of release. The friction against my clit and the full, foreign pressure in my ass, it was a maddeningly perfect combination.
His other hand, the one not inside my ass, came down again.He spanked me right on the most sensitive part of my cheek at the upper part of my thigh. The sound echoed in the cabin, but it was quickly swallowed up by the hum of the engines.
My body bucked as I yelped in surprise. My hips ground down hard against his thigh.
Another spank, this one on the other side. The heat flared anew, bright and stinging. My grinding rhythm became more desperate, more erratic.
“Look at you,” he observed. “Getting off on my knee like a little cat in heat. You’re so fucking wet I can feel it through my pants.”
His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. The shame was still there, but it was tangled with a dark, thrilling pride. I was doing this. I was taking this.
His fingers inside my bottom hole scissored, stretching me wider. The burn of the spanking, the pressure in my ass, the friction on my clit overwhelmed me. All of it coalesced into a tight, hot knot of pleasure deep in my belly.
I couldn’t stop it. The rhythm of my hips became frantic, my breath coming in short, loud pants.
“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you?” he said softly, a dark, knowing statement rather than a question. “With your asshole stretched around my fingers and your bright red cheeks writhing over my knee.”
His hand came down again, a final, hard spank that landed perfectly over the seam where my thigh met my ass.
That was all it took.
The tension in my core snapped.
I couldn’t stop the orgasm that ripped through me. I cried out, a choked and broken sound, as my entire body convulsed. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, each one more intense than the last. My vision blurred and my ears rang, my mind stuttering as my body seized with the force of it. I collapsed against his leg, trembling and still shamefully aroused. I realized that the fine fabric of his pants beneath me was wet with the evidence of my climax and I felt myself flush bright red with embarrassment.
For a long moment, the only sounds were my ragged breaths and the steady hum of the jet’s engines.
Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from my body.
The feeling was sudden and left me strangely hollow. I felt the loss of him, a small, empty ache where I’d been so deliciously, shockingly full.
Then his hands were on me again, gentler this time. Strong arms slid around my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the bed. He turned me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. My back settled against the soft, cool sheets. He hovered over me, one knee on the bed, the other foot still on the floor. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were burning. He looked at me like he was committing this moment to memory.
He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from my sweaty forehead, his touch impossibly tender after the rough possession of moments before.
“You look wrecked,” he whispered, a hint of pride in his rough voice.
I blinked up at him, the world slowly coming back into focus. I feltvulnerable, exposed, and utterly spent.
But I wanted more.
My gaze drifted down, past the hard line of his jaw, over the broad expanse of his chest. He was still fully dressed, the dark fabric of his trousers stretched taut over the powerful muscles of his thighs. My eyes caught on the prominent, rigid shape straining against the zipper of his pants.
He was huge. And hard. For me.
A new wave of heat, less frantic but deeper, more potent, spread through my veins.
His gaze followed mine. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
“Now you see the problem,” he murmured.
Then he reached for the silk ties on the pillow.
He took my right wrist, circling the cool, smooth silk around it like he knew what he was doing. The fabric was a soft pressure against my skin as he tied the knot. It wasn’t cruelly tight, but it was firm enough. Unyielding. He secured the other end of the tie to the intricately carved wooden headboard. I didn’t fight him.
