After Hours (InterMix)(57)

Another smack on my hip scared the pleasure away for a breath.

“Eyes on my cock,” he repeated, and I obeyed.

Those big hands kneaded my thighs as his hips sped. Hotter than the friction and impact and view were his sounds. Breaths coming faster, tiny grunts on the odd thrust. He released one of my legs, his palm spreading tingling heat over my skin as he stroked my hip, my side beneath the drape of my skirt, my belly. It settled on my mound, and with a sensation like whip striking, his thumb found my clit.

I half sat up, sucking in a silent gasp. Kelly smirked, that elusive smile filling me with a different pleasure, one that tumbled around warmly between my ribs. Another stroke, and the affection was gone like smoke. He drew his length out, dipping two fingers inside me and slicking the wetness over my clit. My legs jerked and I groaned.

“Hush.” He rubbed me, slow and unmistakably patronizing. His erection beat hot against my inner thigh. “You miss my cock?”

“Yeah.”

He clasped himself, angled his dick and drew it along my lips, over my clit. I bucked, grasping his other wrist. Another sinister smile and a couple of swipes of his hard flesh, then he sank back inside.

“Now don’t you mistake yourself.” His slippery fingers pinched my clit.

“Oh.”

“Shhh.” He circled the spot. “This isn’t permission. You don’t come ’til I tell you to. And I’m not telling you yet.”

But it was impossible. I might as well will my heart to stop beating. The entire world became his cock claiming my cunt, his fingers teasing my pleading clit, the atmosphere built from his smell and voice and the sound of his skin on mine. This was a force of nature, a physical law. I was just as he wanted me—powerless. And he looked calm now, so calm.

The need mounted, a desperate ache growing harder, tauter, angrier—pounding, white-hot heat. With every glance of his fingertips, every plunge of his flesh into mine, another push toward the ledge.

No. No no no no no. But my body was begging, shrieking for relief. It had to show on my face.

“Don’t you do it,” Kelly warned, cock drilling, cruel fingers stroking light as a whisper, hot as a bonfire. Daring me or forcing me. And it was his voice that did it. Five little words and I was gone. “Don’t you f*cking do it.”

The world shrank to a pinpoint, made of nothing but the friction between us, and Kelly’s weight, his smell, the sound of his harsh breaths and the brutal length of his cock. The pleasure burst against his fingers, spilling out warmth and pure sensation, a wave of relief dragged back and chased by pleasure-pain. Too much, but he didn’t stop, even as I grasped his wrist, begging. I shut my eyes, ground my head into the carpet. Stop. Please.

But he kept stroking with his cock and his fingers, stroked me until the pain was shed, more pleasure hiding beneath. Scary pleasure, mean and violent. My hold on his wrist faltered, trembling as he forced me toward a second orgasm, a screaming, furious thing.

“Oh God.”

“Shut that mouth,” Kelly said, and it was the last thing I was aware of. I came like a bolt, fast and blinding.

His fingers showed mercy this time. He left me shaking against the carpet, wrung out and twitchy. I could hear myself. Wheezing breaths, primal groans. I sounded frightened. And maybe I ought to be.

As my muscles unclenched, Kelly went dead-still. Gray eyes stared down from impossible heights and he closed his hands around my hip bones.

“You defy my orders, you pay the price.”

His cock was gone. It was punishment in itself, leaving me deprived.

“Turn over. On your elbows.”

I fumbled back to all fours and lowered to my forearms, the steep position feeling unnerving and degrading. I couldn’t turn and see him, and my butt was just . . . there. My skirt slipped farther up my waist. Every point of contact I’d had with Kelly was taken away, and whatever he had planned, I couldn’t see it or feel it.

The slightest huff of an inhalation, then—

SMACK.

I gasped, cheek burning as though he’d pressed an iron to my ass. I couldn’t get a breath in. Nothing like before, during the sex—

SMACK.

The other side, just as sharp. My shoulders and arms shook and tears pooled in my eyes.

Spatula. I could say it. I should say it. I couldn’t take another—

SMACK. Same as the first side, a searing sting like the f*cking Devil had branded me. The other cheek tingled, pain fading.

Say it. Say the stupid safe word. But I didn’t.