whether it takes me a few seconds or an hour, I’m going to fuck that sweet pussy until I blow my load, and I really don’t think that you want to chance Jax and Zeke coming down those stairs any time before that happens.”
Shit! He’s right. I certainly don’t want that happening, and apparently, this is going down. He’s going to spank me and fuck me, just as he said. He’s not letting me get out of this. I press my lips together. It’s time for me to step up to the plate. I told myself that I’d go through with this if Slate made it, and he has. So, as he mentioned, it’s his turn. I square my shoulders and walk over to the sofa. Not bothering to look at him, I shimmy out of my boxers and stand up.
“Take it all off,” he says.
Again, I don’t turn to look at him. Instead, I yank my shirt off, toss it on the floor, and stare straight ahead.
“Now, lean over the sofa,” I hear him say, his voice getting closer with each word. I set my hands on the arm cushion. “No.” I feel his warm palm settle on my back. “All the way, so your stomach is on it,” he says, gently pushing me downward. My upper body lowers onto the sofa as my legs spread and my feet skid on the floor to hold me up.
Slate crouches down beside me, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes slither along the length of my awkwardly positioned body. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. It’s no wonder that I couldn’t stop myself from blowing my load so quickly when I had this sexy, beautiful body for the taking. And, today, after I beat your ass red for being a bad girl, I’m going to fuck you hard, and we’ll see,” he places a finger under my chin, “if you can be a good girl, too.”
“Slate,” I breathe out his name.
“What?” His thumb strokes my chin as he gazes at me. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” He slightly tilts his head back with a sexy little smile. “Ah, yes,” he nods once, “you do. Say it.”
I lick my lips. Oh, God. “Yes,” I whimper the absolute truth. “Yes, I do,” I say, surrendering to him. I submit to the control of his touch, the sensual slur in his voice, and the seductive gleam in his eyes. I want to be his good girl, and I think deep down that I want to be his bad girl, too. I want to be his any and everything. At this moment, all I want is to be his.
“Here,” he says; not taking his eyes from mine, he hands me a condom. “Open it, hold it in your hand, and when I ask for it, give it to me.”
I take the condom. With nimble fingers, I unwrap it and clench it in my hand.
Setting his palms on his thighs, he pushes back up into a standing position. He makes his way behind me. I can’t see him, but I feel his fingers on the low of my back. My skin becomes alive as his light touch slowly slopes down the curve of my ass. The charge it sends through my wilting body weakens my limbs. His fingers slip between my open thighs, gliding softly over my wetness to my pulsating clit. He rolls his fingertip over my sensitive nub a few times. My knees give, and I begin to fall.
“Oh, no, no,” he says. Catching my hips with his hands, he yanks me back up. “All right, we’ll wait for that, then.” His grip tightens. “Now,” he says, one hand releasing from my hip. “Do you remember that time we went to Gary Odell’s house,” his other hand drops from me, “and you decided to go for a ride on Jimmy Reardon’s dirt bike without a helmet?”
“Yes,” I say, and just as the word slips from my mouth, Slate slaps me on the ass, hard. “Oh, my God!” I flip my head around, and feeling the sting still resonating upon my skin, I shoot him a nasty look.
“What about the time you climbed up that tree,” his hand hits my ass again, harder than the last, “and we had to call the fire department to get you down?”
“Slate,” I hiss. “I was twelve!”
He smacks me again and like his stern tone, the sound of skin hitting skin travels quickly to my ears. “Do you remember?”
Shit! He’s right. I certainly don’t want that happening, and apparently, this is going down. He’s going to spank me and fuck me, just as he said. He’s not letting me get out of this. I press my lips together. It’s time for me to step up to the plate. I told myself that I’d go through with this if Slate made it, and he has. So, as he mentioned, it’s his turn. I square my shoulders and walk over to the sofa. Not bothering to look at him, I shimmy out of my boxers and stand up.
“Take it all off,” he says.
Again, I don’t turn to look at him. Instead, I yank my shirt off, toss it on the floor, and stare straight ahead.
“Now, lean over the sofa,” I hear him say, his voice getting closer with each word. I set my hands on the arm cushion. “No.” I feel his warm palm settle on my back. “All the way, so your stomach is on it,” he says, gently pushing me downward. My upper body lowers onto the sofa as my legs spread and my feet skid on the floor to hold me up.
Slate crouches down beside me, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes slither along the length of my awkwardly positioned body. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. It’s no wonder that I couldn’t stop myself from blowing my load so quickly when I had this sexy, beautiful body for the taking. And, today, after I beat your ass red for being a bad girl, I’m going to fuck you hard, and we’ll see,” he places a finger under my chin, “if you can be a good girl, too.”
“Slate,” I breathe out his name.
“What?” His thumb strokes my chin as he gazes at me. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” He slightly tilts his head back with a sexy little smile. “Ah, yes,” he nods once, “you do. Say it.”
I lick my lips. Oh, God. “Yes,” I whimper the absolute truth. “Yes, I do,” I say, surrendering to him. I submit to the control of his touch, the sensual slur in his voice, and the seductive gleam in his eyes. I want to be his good girl, and I think deep down that I want to be his bad girl, too. I want to be his any and everything. At this moment, all I want is to be his.
“Here,” he says; not taking his eyes from mine, he hands me a condom. “Open it, hold it in your hand, and when I ask for it, give it to me.”
I take the condom. With nimble fingers, I unwrap it and clench it in my hand.
Setting his palms on his thighs, he pushes back up into a standing position. He makes his way behind me. I can’t see him, but I feel his fingers on the low of my back. My skin becomes alive as his light touch slowly slopes down the curve of my ass. The charge it sends through my wilting body weakens my limbs. His fingers slip between my open thighs, gliding softly over my wetness to my pulsating clit. He rolls his fingertip over my sensitive nub a few times. My knees give, and I begin to fall.
“Oh, no, no,” he says. Catching my hips with his hands, he yanks me back up. “All right, we’ll wait for that, then.” His grip tightens. “Now,” he says, one hand releasing from my hip. “Do you remember that time we went to Gary Odell’s house,” his other hand drops from me, “and you decided to go for a ride on Jimmy Reardon’s dirt bike without a helmet?”
“Yes,” I say, and just as the word slips from my mouth, Slate slaps me on the ass, hard. “Oh, my God!” I flip my head around, and feeling the sting still resonating upon my skin, I shoot him a nasty look.
“What about the time you climbed up that tree,” his hand hits my ass again, harder than the last, “and we had to call the fire department to get you down?”
“Slate,” I hiss. “I was twelve!”
He smacks me again and like his stern tone, the sound of skin hitting skin travels quickly to my ears. “Do you remember?”
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