sitting, the man was in full-fledged fighting mode.
“Would you like to lie across my lap?”
No, she would not . Then she recalled him asking her about pinching her nipples. When she hadn’t immediately complied, he’d simply kept up a sensual assault until she’d changed her mind. Clearly, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the same stunt again.
She swallowed hard and forced her feet to take two more steps. “Why?”
“Do you want the pleasure I can give you or not?”
She leaned over his knees as he’d requested.
“Scoot forward some more.”
She wriggled, heat rising to her face as she envisioned his view of her up-tilted butt.
“You have a very attractive bottom. Now part your legs for me.”
As soon as she placed herself in the position he required, he “froze” her suit in place again. Immobilized, she hung face down, her legs dangling, thighs parted.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked conversationally.
“Not exactly.”
“Glad to hear it.”
When he touched the back of her knees and skimmed his hands up her legs, the simmering heat that he’d kindled earlier flared with a vengeance. In moments, she no longer cared if he held her right side up or upside down.
She knew better than to urge him to take her. Reduced to waiting, she was shocked when he adjusted the suit so that she once again felt a mouth on each of her breasts. He’d told her he wouldn’t . . . no he hadn’t. He’d asked her what she’d preferred, and she’d assumed she’d convinced him.
She hadn’t. Her breasts ached from constant attention, and as his fingers stroked the sensitive flesh between her parted legs, every cell in her body tensed, tightened, aching for release. Despite her attempt to remain silent, tiny moans whimpered up her throat.
His hands were bliss and her greatest torment. She couldn’t move, couldn’t rush him, could only pray like hell that he would increase the tempo and pressure between her legs. When he did, he felt so good. She was so damn close.
Release was coming, the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt.
When he withdrew his fingers, she cried out in disappointment. But when his hand slapped her bottom, first her right cheek, then her left, up high, down low, then smack dab over the full curve, she cursed. “What in hell are you doing?”
“Making you hot.”
“I’m already . . . oh . . . my . . . ahhh.”
Oh, God . He was spanking her, not to cause pain, but to stoke her desire. Somehow along the way the sting had become heat, and the heat fed the blaze between her thighs.
He couldn’t do this.
But he was. His hand slapped on more heat.
His spanking was bringing a rush of fire to her aching flesh. She didn’t know she could feel this needy. She didn’t know that a hot spanked bottom could increase her desire. She didn’t know that this sweet torture would bring her so close to climax that just one little touch would put her over the top. But he didn’t touch the center of nerve endings where she needed him most.
Damn him.
He’d said he wanted to make her hot. But she’d never thought, never imagined that the sting of his hand on her bared flesh could create such fire. Blood rushed between her thighs and she oh-so-needed his hand back between her legs. The heat on her stinging bottom was nothing compared to the wild fire blazing from her core.
Panting, cursing, she begged and pleaded for him to give her release. He didn’t.
Instead he gave her more heat. He’d built up from those startling and simple slaps to harder smacks, stoking her until the urgency inside gathered, piled up until every muscle tensed. Until her mind fuzzed and melted.
As he held her right on the edge without letting her go over, she swore that she was going to burst. No one could take endless stimulation. She pleaded with him to touch her between her thighs, just once. He paid not the slightest attention, his hand falling on her hot bottom again and again.
Finally, he
“Would you like to lie across my lap?”
No, she would not . Then she recalled him asking her about pinching her nipples. When she hadn’t immediately complied, he’d simply kept up a sensual assault until she’d changed her mind. Clearly, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the same stunt again.
She swallowed hard and forced her feet to take two more steps. “Why?”
“Do you want the pleasure I can give you or not?”
She leaned over his knees as he’d requested.
“Scoot forward some more.”
She wriggled, heat rising to her face as she envisioned his view of her up-tilted butt.
“You have a very attractive bottom. Now part your legs for me.”
As soon as she placed herself in the position he required, he “froze” her suit in place again. Immobilized, she hung face down, her legs dangling, thighs parted.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked conversationally.
“Not exactly.”
“Glad to hear it.”
When he touched the back of her knees and skimmed his hands up her legs, the simmering heat that he’d kindled earlier flared with a vengeance. In moments, she no longer cared if he held her right side up or upside down.
She knew better than to urge him to take her. Reduced to waiting, she was shocked when he adjusted the suit so that she once again felt a mouth on each of her breasts. He’d told her he wouldn’t . . . no he hadn’t. He’d asked her what she’d preferred, and she’d assumed she’d convinced him.
She hadn’t. Her breasts ached from constant attention, and as his fingers stroked the sensitive flesh between her parted legs, every cell in her body tensed, tightened, aching for release. Despite her attempt to remain silent, tiny moans whimpered up her throat.
His hands were bliss and her greatest torment. She couldn’t move, couldn’t rush him, could only pray like hell that he would increase the tempo and pressure between her legs. When he did, he felt so good. She was so damn close.
Release was coming, the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt.
When he withdrew his fingers, she cried out in disappointment. But when his hand slapped her bottom, first her right cheek, then her left, up high, down low, then smack dab over the full curve, she cursed. “What in hell are you doing?”
“Making you hot.”
“I’m already . . . oh . . . my . . . ahhh.”
Oh, God . He was spanking her, not to cause pain, but to stoke her desire. Somehow along the way the sting had become heat, and the heat fed the blaze between her thighs.
He couldn’t do this.
But he was. His hand slapped on more heat.
His spanking was bringing a rush of fire to her aching flesh. She didn’t know she could feel this needy. She didn’t know that a hot spanked bottom could increase her desire. She didn’t know that this sweet torture would bring her so close to climax that just one little touch would put her over the top. But he didn’t touch the center of nerve endings where she needed him most.
Damn him.
He’d said he wanted to make her hot. But she’d never thought, never imagined that the sting of his hand on her bared flesh could create such fire. Blood rushed between her thighs and she oh-so-needed his hand back between her legs. The heat on her stinging bottom was nothing compared to the wild fire blazing from her core.
Panting, cursing, she begged and pleaded for him to give her release. He didn’t.
Instead he gave her more heat. He’d built up from those startling and simple slaps to harder smacks, stoking her until the urgency inside gathered, piled up until every muscle tensed. Until her mind fuzzed and melted.
As he held her right on the edge without letting her go over, she swore that she was going to burst. No one could take endless stimulation. She pleaded with him to touch her between her thighs, just once. He paid not the slightest attention, his hand falling on her hot bottom again and again.
Finally, he
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