What She Needs by Lacey Alexander Page A

possible. She’d had no idea she liked things a little rough.
    She wanted to protest when he released her breast and stepped back, disconnecting their bodies completely, but she held her tongue when he reached under her tiny scrap of a skirt to pull the lace thong down and off, over her sexy shoes.
    Once it was gone, he moved back between her legs and flipped the skirt up again to look at her—there. She tingled madly, pulsated almost violently. But then—oh no—he looked furious. What on earth was wrong?
    She didn’t have to wonder long. “You disobeyed me again, Jenna! I instructed you to shave your pussy completely, yet you didn’t.”
    She simply blinked, surprised—and still crazily aroused, as well as a little freaked out because he seemed so upset again. “Yes, I did. Mostly,” she insisted, realizing he was referring to the small thatch of hair she’d left, despite its being located well above the area that mattered. “I mean, I just thought . . .”
    “You just thought you’d do what you wanted to do,” he boomed at her. “How many times do I need to make this clear? When I tell you to do something, you do it—or you suffer the consequences. Do you understand that?”
    Quietly, she nodded. She didn’t know how else to reply.
    “I don’t think you do,” he groused. “And I think I need to teach you a lesson the hard way!”
    Lying half dressed yet fully revealed before him, she shuddered. “How?”
    “I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
    Oh. My. That didn’t sound much like punishment.
    But then she got it . . . sort of. He was pretending sex was punishment. He was doing what she’d asked him to do last night—take the choices away from her, and at the same time give her what they both knew she wanted.
    Why did that make it so much easier?
    And yet, for her, it did. It felt so much more instinctive to act dismayed at the words than show her delight. She even managed a gasp and drew her knees up, closing her legs tight.
    Their eyes met and she realized he understood—all of it. That it was her natural, normal reaction, even when she desired sex. That all her life, it had felt easier to make a guy part her legs than to do it willingly. And that’s what felt better now, too—as he placed his hands firmly on her knees to briskly pry them open.
    She let out a breath of excitement, surging with still more moisture when his gaze dropped again to where she’d shaved for him.
    His palms skimmed swiftly up her inner thighs, coming to rest where they met, framing the part of her that glistened wet and open there. It was another way in which she’d never quite seen herself, but like him, she was looking. His expression made her feel obscenely beautiful. And she almost wanted to beg. Please, please touch me. But she didn’t. Because she couldn’t. Because it was just like everything else—so much easier if the guy just did it, if she never had to worry about letting him know her desires.
    That’s when Brent stroked two fingers down through her moist folds—thank God—making her whimper and quake. He smoothly pushed the same fingers into her drenched opening and a low sob left her.
    Rather than move his fingers in and out then, he instead began to turn them in a slow and more circular motion, as if reaching around inside her, exploring her inner walls. The odd sensation gave her chills, despite the room being comfortable, and she breathed unevenly, audibly. With his free hand, he reached to undo his pants, his zipper, and she bit her lip when his erection burst free.
    Oh—oh God. She’d not seen it last night, only felt it. Long and straight and undeniably hard, the straining veins along its length made it look like a powerful, dangerous tool. Even having taken it into her already, the sight made her nervous now—because he looked bigger than any other guy she’d been with.
    “Get ready to take your punishment, Jenna,” he said, his voice low and threatening.
    In response, she lay