“Look at you.”
Smack.
“Squirming, getting turned on just from a spanking.”
Smack.
“Begging with your body even while your mouth talks back.”
Smack.
“Look how pretty your ass turns red for me. Like it was made for this.”
I’m a mess.
Wrists pinned, face down, ass burning, soaked between my thighs. Every slap he lands draws a whimper from my throat, but it’s not just pain, it’s need. It’s craving. My body is trembling, overwhelmed and desperate, and he knows it. He fucking revels in it.
He slides two fingers down between my legs, and I gasp.I’m soaked, embarrassingly so, slick coating his knuckles as he toys with me.
“Fuck. You’re dripping,” he says, like it offends him. “All that mouth, and you’re this wet just from getting put in your place?”
I can’t answer, I’m too far gone, panting, back arching into his hand as he teases me. He pulls his fingers away, and I cry out, a needy, pathetic sound that makes him laugh.
“Oh, you thought you earned it?” he taunts, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. “Brats don’t get to come.”
He lets go, shoves my face into the mattress again, and I hear the sound of clothes rustling like he just removed his shirt, then I hear the sound of his zipper dragging down. My whole body locks up in anticipation.
“Fuck,” he says. “Look how you come alive just from the sound of my zipper. If you wanted the dick that bad, all you had to do was beg for it.”
He drags the head of his cock through my soaked folds, teasing, taunting. He doesn’t push in. Just lets me feel how close he is. How close I am to either heaven or hell, depending on what I say next.
My brain screams,Don’t say it, Blair. Don’t fucking say it.
But my mouth has other plans.
I let out a snort, cocking a brow over my shoulder like I’m not trembling inside. “I’ve had better.”
It’s official: I’ve completely lost my ever-loving mind. And I know it instantly. The look in his eyes is not just dark. It’s deadly.
“Calvin,” I choke out, panicked, backpedaling.
Too late.
He slams into me with one savage thrust. Although I know it’s impossible that he’s buried to the hilt—he’d have to work meup to that—it sure as hell feels like it. I scream. The air leaves my lungs. My eyes roll back as he holds me there, impaled on his dick, unmoving for a second that feels like a lifetime.
“Had better?” he snarls.
He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, harder.
I cry out, legs shaking, toes curling.
“You wanna keep talking shit?” Another brutal thrust, and I can’t breathe. “How about I fuck you until you forget every other person you thought was good?”
He pounds into me, relentless now, hands gripping my hips so tight I’ll wear bruises for days. My body bends to his will, helpless, overwhelmed, trembling.
“Who owns this pussy?” he demands between thrusts. “Say it.”
“Y-you,” I gasp, tears brimming as pleasure and pain blur together.
