Blouse discarded, I’m stripping out of my skirt when Kit follows me into our bedroom.
‘Get your sweet arse on the bed, honey bee.’
‘I thought you were going to abuse it,’ I taunt. I slide my skirt down my legs, flinging it from my toes in his direction. ‘How will you manage if I’m sitting on it.
‘Someone’s in the mood for . . . ’ His look is calculated and before I can guess at the thoughts behind it, my back is bouncing against the mattress. In a split second, Kit’s looming over me. ‘You’re fixin’ for a skelped arse, aren’t you?’ Hand on my waist, he flips me onto my front. The bed beneath me heaves with the speed and force of the movement and I’m suddenly giggling like a schoolgirl.
‘No! Stop!’ I half gasp, half giggle, trying to climb from under him as his fingers pinch and tickle my waist and stomach, the hard length of his cock pushing against my thighs. ‘How did you get out of your cloths so quickly,’ I pant, attempting to scramble up the bed towards the mountain of pillows.
‘Magic,’ Kit rasps in my ear, his fingers making quick work of the clasp of my bra.
I do manage to crawl away as he leans back. Unfortunately, it’s without my panties, his fingers, wrapped tight around the elastic, pull them from my body as I move.
Behind me, Kit strips from the remains of his shirt, the dark swirls of ink as mesmerising as ever.
‘Assume the position, honey bee.’
‘Or what?’ I taunt.Taunt with my words, flaunt with my posterior, wiggling it his way.
I know what’s coming before the impact—hear the shift of his hand through the air.
‘Oh, God,’ I call out as his palm meets flesh. ‘Yes, that.Again.’
He obliges, smacking my ass cheek as my fingers grasp the headboard to better position myself. My legs tremble with a desperate need as I sense him behind me on his knees, my nipples like hard points, brushing the softness of the pillows.
‘Gonna spank this arse,’ he growls, both hands kneading the flesh. ‘Then maybe I’ll fuck it. Maybe I’ll come on it. Maybe I’ll doallthe things. What’s your preference, darlin’? Ladies choice.’ His hands trail up the side of my body, palming my breasts, his thumbs brushing the hardened tips as his cock nestles between my cleft. Skin to skin, he covers me, and as he rubs the stubble of his jaw against my shoulders, a rush of thoughts and feelings pour from inside. I feel protected all of a sudden. Nurtured. Cherished. Desired, needed, loved—all those things. This man puts me above everything. He’d follow me into a burning building. He’d follow me to hell, if I let him.
It takes me a moment to realise I’m rocking against him, chanting a litany of my love over and over again as tears stream down my face.
‘I know, darlin’, I know,’ he whispers, his words taking on a soothing tone. ‘Come on. Come on now,’ he placates, trying to gather me into his arms.
‘No.’ I tighten my fingers on the headboard, thrusting my ass against him. ‘I need you inside me,’ I say, turning my head over my shoulder. ‘I need younow.’
I need the distraction. I need fucking hard and fast. I need these thoughts fucking out of me.
His eyes are dark and his expression intense as he slides a knee between mine to widen my stance.
Between my legs begins to throb as he asks if I’m sure. If I want it hard. If I want it to hurt.
I nod, desperate. I spend much of my day being controlled and measured, but what I want right now—what I need—is to be untethered.
‘God, yes. Fuck me, Kit, please.’
He slaps me once more and I jump at the unexpected contact.
‘You don’t have to beg, honey. Just keep those legs spread.
I don’t have a chance to answer as he hits me again, this time there—between my legs. My pussy throbs, sparks of residual pleasure rippling like waves through my body. I don’t even cry out. Not in pleasure, not in pain, the feeling so much more than either, though only the start of things.
‘You like that, darlin’?’
My responding whimper can leave him in no doubt.
‘Fuck, yeah,’ he growls in response to the wetness he pulls from between my splayed thighs. The dampness coats my back as he places a hand there, pushing my ass out. ‘This arse,’ he murmurs with reverence. ‘I could write sonnets about this arse.’
I laugh—a short burst of air from my chest which startles us both.
