"I—" A stutter as my tongue toyed with the slit at his tip. "Jesus, Emma. I can't fucking talk."
A smile curved my lips. "And who said I wanted you to talk?"
He stilled.
A giggle slipped free before I could stop it—and turned into a cry as he grabbed me, flipping me onto my stomach with sure arms.
His mouth found my ear. "I believe you've forgotten yourself, Ms. Sinclair."
"Oh," I breathed, wiggling against him.
"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth, jerking back.
I laughed.
"Oh, it's funny, is it?"
Then—
Crack.
A cry fell from my lips as his palm landed, the sting blooming bright and immediate.
He leaned back down. "Still think it's funny?"
I paused.
A moment to catalog the damage. The pleasant sting spreading across my skin.
And with absolute certainty, I decided—yes, it was funny.
Or at least I'd pretend it was.
Another laugh, followed by another slap.
A cry tore from me, body writhing beneath him, fighting playfully for release, finding no such luck.
His hand splayed across the back of my head, pressing my face into the covers, black clouding my vision as another crack split the air.
My core heated, back arching—not away but toward. Seeking the spurts of bright pain.
"Don't fuck with me, love," he growled, trailing a finger up my spine. "I'll do this all fucking night if you let me."
Another jolt of impact, this time harder, sending sparks dancing in the blackness. A groan slipped free as my body relaxed, growing languid beneath him.
Crack.
His cock twitched against me, hands tightening in my curls once again.
Crack.
Another twitch. A hitched breath.
Crack.
The sound loud and vibrant in the darkness behind my eyes. Pain splintering into hundreds of pinpoints of need, each one vibrating under my skin, hungry for the next blow.
Crack.
