“My poor darling,” he murmurs, and this time, the term of endearment holds a world of meaning.Darling. He never called me that before. Not even during those months of bliss. But now, I’m his darling.
I know I’m falling right back into his trap, but I find myself not caring.
I close my eyes as his hand begins to stroke my back. He workshis way under my pajamas and continues to stroke me, the pads of his fingers twirling over my bare bottom. They soothe the bruises that I can still feel throbbing lightly. I sigh deeply, sinking into his touch, into him.
I don’t know how long we remain like this, our bodies entwined, his fingers comforting me. They continue to dip deeper, down to my upper thighs, while his other hand rests on my lower stomach, drawing circles on my skin. Little by little, they awaken an urge deep down inside me that I’d believed had disappeared forever.
I must have squirmed a bit because he chuckles softly.
“Not yet, darling. You’re far too fragile.”
The words only frustrate me more. Especially when I feel his hardness pushing into my bottom. It’s all I can do to keep myself from seizing one of his hands and directing it at my panties. I turn pleading eyes toward him.
“You’re incorrigible, do you know that?” he murmurs in my ear, and the tickle of his hot breath against my neck makes me shiver with want.
He hesitates for a moment, his hand still resting on my stomach, his fingers stroking my side lightly, and I wriggle in reaction to the tantalizing feeling.
“Ticklish, are we?” he chortles, his fingers dancing faster on my stomach.
I writhe against him, feeling his length hardening more than ever against my bottom, until he pins my arm to my side, and flips my shirt up over my breasts.
His eyes drink them in, and I shift uncomfortably under his hungry gaze. Then he flicks my nipples with his fingers, and they form stiff peaks that he brings his mouth to. He captures each one in turn, rolling them under his tongue, sucking them. As I moan with need, he slips his other hand in my panties, finding my already soaked folds.
I know he likes me to keep still, but I can’t help but arch in his lap as he drags a finger up and down my folds, toying at my clit until I spasm with want. Then he buries his finger deep inside me. As his mouth continues to gently torment my nipples, his finger finds the spot that drives me crazy. But he only teases it before sliding out and rubbing my clit again. It’s better than I remember. So much better. His tongue on my nipples, his finger pushing in and out of me, another one rubbing my engorged folds. Before long, I’m bucking, the pressure building in me, until my entire body shakes in the clutches of an intense orgasm. It’s all the more potent because I haven’t been touched in eight months. My vision actually goes white for a second, and I lie panting in his lap, sinking into the comfort of his arms.
“Good girl,” he praises me, then licks my arousal off his fingers. It seems to make him hungry for more, because he lifts me up and lets me fall on the bed with a touch of that old ferociousness that always turned me on so much. But the next moment, he touches my cheek gently. “Did I hurt you, my pet?”
I shake my head.
Looking relieved, he opens my thighs and kneels between them, ripping off my panties with one hand before his mouth latches onto the bundle of nerves between my thighs.
His tongue darts across me, teasing me by never quite landing on my clit. I nearly cry out when he finally flicks it, then sucks it in, his teeth grazing it just enough to send an occasional spark of pain to my stomach.
I’m kept on edge between the pleasure and the very light pain. I wish he’d give me more of the pain, the kind that brings me to greater heights than pure pleasure can. But he’s holding back, his hands stroking my body gently, almost reverently, sliding down over my ass to find the wounds that he inflicted, and the memory of that whipping seems to prevent him from going as far now as I’d like.
Instead, he plunges his tongue deep within me, and my body explodes with sensation. But just as I begin to tense, the pressure building to intolerable heights, he withdraws and nips at my thigh gently. I’m left writhing in frustration, and he chuckles.
“My insatiable darling.”
Just that word—darling—sends me soaring, and I practically come without his touch.
“You like that name, huh?” he murmurs, rewarding me with a lick. “My sweet, sweet darling.”
He purrs the name into my folds, then laps at me greedily, but stops again just when I start spasming.
“Please,” I gasp. “Please.”
“You’re a very lucky girl,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue once more against my slit, causing me to shiver with need. “I don’t usually reward begging. But I will, this time.”
He pushes his tongue inside me, swirling it around, but keeping it just shy of my G-spot. “Not yet, though,” he smiles sadistically.
I pant under him as he drags his fingers lightly down my sides, causing me to twitch again, then over my stomach. The light tickling drives me frantic, and he seems to enjoy my reaction, before bringing his hands over my bottom until he finds my back entrance. I moan, more frustrated than ever when one of his fingers dips in my crack and applies pressure to the hole.
He grunts, continuing to lap up the moisture between my legs, which only increases when he pushes his finger past the ring of muscle behind me. I’d forgotten how weirdly uncomfortable and painful that sensation was. I groan as his finger penetrates me deeply, then withdraws slightly before pushing back in further. He works my bottom, his breath tickling my drenched folds, until the ache in my lower stomach has turned into a light, continuous frustration. Then his mouth once more finds my slit,and between the suckling and licking, and the painful fingering in my bottom, my core turns into liquid heat. He takes his time, still teasing me by occasionally pausing the movement of his tongue and stilling his finger inside me. He draws it out as much as possible, so that when at last I reach the peak, my orgasm crashes so intensely over me that I’m left gasping for breath, my entire body quaking, every inch of my skin tingling.
He falls on top of me, kissing me languorously, the taste of my arousal on his tongue, his hands reaching up to pin my arms over my head. I can still feel his bulge, but he makes no movement to satisfy his own need. Instead, he keeps me crushed against him, stroking me, kissing me, breathing me in.
“Let’s buy a house in the countryside,” he murmurs in my ear, and I cringe with pleasure at his hot breath against my sensitive neck. “We’ll raise goats and chickens.”
