“There you go, baby,” he whispered.
And this time I turned my face toward him, closed my eyes, and relaxed.The butterflies in my belly quieted, and the feeling of his hands alternately stinging and soothing me, of his legs propping me up with ease, even the rhythm of his steady, quiet breathing against my side was utterly fascinating.
The localized spikes of pain melted into something new when they hit the desperate friction against my nips and the desperate fullness in my balls.A cloak of sensation dripped over me, and for a while I just reveled in it, content with wanting.But after a while—I had no idea how long, except that my ass was good and hot and Taran was rubbing my back again—I noticed the wet spot forming under my dickhead.I rocked to rub myself into it and against his warm, hard thigh, and a moan vibrated through my entire fucking body.
“Fuck, Diego…” he said with a little sigh.“I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.”
“Mmm, no,” I said, eyes fluttering open.Mostly, I could see the couch and his side.I continued to dry hump his leg and the couch as I insisted, “I’m not.”
He pulled his hand back again.Then paused.
I looked back to see what the hell was keeping him, and his arm was just hovering in the air.I rocked into his thigh and whined impatiently.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“I’m not,” I whined, half thrilled that he was playing the game so well now, half dying for him to keep going.
He settled his hand on the back of my thigh.
“Taran!”
“Not until you say it.”
I blinked, craning to look up at him to see if he was seriously asking me if I was okay, or if this was part of the improv.
He had that smug smile on his face, his glasses halfway down his nose like a fucking stockbroker hard at work.
I laughed.“I want it.”
“You want what?”
“I want… to pay for what I said.”
“Is that why you said it?”he asked.
“Taran!”I wriggled so I could get more of his leg against my dick.
“Why did you say it?”
“Because I want you to beat my ass!”I laughed, absolutely loving this new turn of events, now I realized what was happening.Bringing the part of the edging he was especially fucking good at—knowing when to make me wait for more, when to make me beg—into the spanking moment.
Who says business dorks can’t be creative, huh?
“Why?”he asked, voice still low, quiet.
I couldn’t help sounding delighted, though.“Because I’m a filthy little slut who’s desperate for attention.”
He swatted my half-numb ass sharply.“That feel good to say?”
“Mm-hmm…” I buried my face in the couch and rocked into him.
“Then I guess I can—” he hesitated—maybe to laugh, maybe because he forgot what he wanted to say, who knows—but then finished with, “I can let you ruin my jeans while I finish beating your ass.”
“I fucking love you,” I said to the couch cushion.
“I know.”He readjusted so his legs were together, my hips hinged over them.His gorgeous, hard cock pressed into my lower belly through his jeans; I rubbed mine against his other thigh with every new burst of electric pain, moaning into the couch.The sensation sank deeper and deeper into me, past my skin and into my muscles, until it felt like all my energy, all his energy, was too big for our bodies.Or maybe just mine.
A few more controlled swats, agonizingly slow, and I started rocking faster.Desperately humping his thigh while he doled out two, then three more swats to each cheek.I moaned and growled, begging wordlessly, shameless in his lap.When my begging reached a fever pitch, he whacked me again, lighter now but sending a starburst of static electric pleasure all through me.His jeans felt wet against my pulsing prick—and as I had the realization, I shuddered hard, fucking his thigh.His hand came down again and my balls emptied again, even more forcefully, and I moaned at the top of my fucking lungs with another overwhelming, full body wave of orgasmic pleasure.
