Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy, #1) (93)

“I think I can struggle through.”

“Then we start slow,” I say. “But we go large.”

He takes a step back so that he can see all of me with just a flick of his gaze, from my heels all the way up to my eyes. “What do you have on under my shirt?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes darken with the kind of passionate promise that makes my sex clench in anticipation. He walks around me slowly, and though I don’t move, I can feel his eyes upon me, and every inch of my body tingles with awareness.

He moves to the bed and retrieves the paddle he’d thrown there only moments before. “You have been naughty. But I don’t want this.”

I’m surprised by the wave of disappointment that crashes over me. I’m not sure how I can miss something I haven’t yet experienced, but I cannot deny that I want it. Like a tattoo, I want Jackson to mark me, and I am about to confess that to him when he steps up behind me and bends his mouth to my ear. “When I spank you, sweetheart, it will be my palm on your ass. Not leather. Not a tool. Nothing at all between you and me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you been bad?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I should have trusted you.”

“Do you trust me now?”

I turn, because I need to see him. “Completely.”

My answer seems to spark something in him, because he grabs my shoulders and pulls me close, as if he is going to kiss me. He doesn’t, though, and the anticipation leaves me breathless. When he backs away to sit on the storage bench at the foot of the bed, I am left gasping from the force of my rising desire.

“Here,” he says. “Over my knee.”

I do as he says, positioning myself across his lap so that my rear end is right there for him. And, I realize with interest, I can feel his erection beneath the towel as it presses against me—and right now he is fully aroused, as turned on by this as I am.

Gently, he pushes up the shirt to reveal my ass. He keeps one hand on my back, but with the other, he strokes the curve of my rear, and just that simple motion makes me squirm.

“Still,” he says, and I obey immediately. Or I try to, because his movements have changed. They’re slower. More sensual. And when he slides his finger down to find how wet I am, I can’t help but wiggle with pleasure. “You like this,” he says. “Let’s see if we can’t make you like it more.”

He lifts his hand, then brings his palm down on me. The sting is local at first, then seems to spread, a million tiny sparks that start out hot and then fade to a pleasurable glow. He repeats it, and this time a moan of pure pleasure is wrenched from me.

“That’s it, baby,” he says as he dips his finger lower to explore my drenched and ready sex. “Oh, yes, you definitely like that.”

He lands another spank, then another, then soothes my ass with gentle strokes as fire seems to fill me, making me burn with a wild need.

Once again, he slides his hand down, but this time instead of simply teasing my sex, he thrusts in hard and I rise up on my toes, lifting my ass and giving him better access, because right then all I want is this. This feeling of spiraling off as Jackson pours pleasure through me. Of knowing that I can go as far as he can send me, but that he is my anchor and will bring me back.

He finger-fucks me, moving in and out in a rhythm that makes my pleasure rise, and as his cock twitches beneath me, I imagine that he is over me, pounding inside me, and I moan from the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

“Do you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s me, baby. My cock. My hand. My skin. You brought the vibrator, and that’s fine. I promise I’ll make good use of it with you one day, but not now. Today, nothing gives you pleasure other than me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say as my muscles clench tight around his fingers, wanting to draw him in deeper. I’m close and so wet and my head is spinning and all I want right then is for Jackson to take me over, hard and fast and very thoroughly.

And then, because this is all about punishing me, he withdraws his finger.

I whimper, and he responds with a chuckle. “Patience, sweetheart.” He gives my rear a very light swat, but even that simple contact sends sparks through me. “Bed,” he says, and I know that I’m going to have to wait a bit longer for the sweet pleasure of release.

Then again, I’m on fire from what he’s doing to me, dancing along a precipice, with my body primed and ready to fly. And oh, dear god, I want to know what he will make me feel next.

I get on the bed as ordered, then watch as he stands, negligently letting the towel drop. He is fully erect, his body lean and tight, his face so full of passion that he looks like need personified. More than that, he looks like a god, and I am awestruck by the fact that someone like Jackson—so brilliant, strong, and sexy—can look at me with such undiluted desire. But he does, and I am weak from the force of it.

He holds up the rope, then crooks his finger.

I crawl to him, then pause in front of him. I’m aware of every part of my body. Of every slight wisp of air from the vent above.

“Turn around,” he says, and I comply.

“Now arms behind your back, elbows at ninety degrees. Hands to elbows so you’re making a square.”