Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(52)
He wasn’t in the mood to wait, and pushed into her. She knew how to take his size now, though it was always an adjustment, so he moved with her, urgent and demanding but not cruel. Not about this. When he was seated to the hilt, he nearly came then and there, feeling her pussy doing little spasms against his length. It told him she was already close to the brink, just as he was. Fifteen minutes was going to be more time than they needed, but far less than he wanted.
He bent over her, propping one hand next to hers on the chair, his other still wrapped in the belt, tightening it on her upper body. He braced his knee on the outside of hers, making sure he kept enough counterweight on the front of the chair, so he didn’t flip them with his thrusts. They might end up against the wall regardless, leaving scrapes along the already scarred wooden floor from the chair’s movement. He could live with that.
“With me, brat?” he muttered against her perfect shell-shaped ear. She nodded, and when he thrust deeper she gasped, and corrected herself.
“Yes, sir.”
“If I was going to be a real bastard, I’d come, but leave you hurting for it. You wouldn’t be able to put two sentences together, thinking about how and when I’ll let you release. It’s the right punishment for how disrespectful you’ve been today. Sassing your Master. Telling your friends he’s ticklish. Making him buy bad pasta.”
A tiny sparkle appeared in the brown eyes she turned toward him, though he saw the strain in her face muscles, felt the need vibrating off her body. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. But you will be, when I get you home tonight.” She rippled against him and he growled in answer. He began to pump into her again, savoring her gasps, knowing that taking him like this resulted in a confusing mix of arousal and discomfort. God, how many women had he fucked? Mostly up the ass, even when he was in what could have loosely been called semi-relationships, aka, fucking them more than once, and usually in a club scenario.
But ever since he’d been with Marcie, he found himself enjoying taking her this way, just as much. He reveled in the slick-silk feel of her heated cunt, her pleas, the way she bit down on her lip to try and suppress them as he brought her closer and closer.
He twisted the belt tighter in his grip. In his position, he could see her breasts quivering, flesh flushed red around the strap from the constriction. His pelvis slapped against the marks on her ass, his balls brushing her thighs, kept close together by the hold of her jeans above her knees. It would make the climax more intense, and impossible for her to hold back her response. She was a screamer, his brat.
He'd never embarrass her in front of her family, but her willingness to be embarrassed, in order to serve her Master’s desires, putting those needs above her own dignity, did things to him he couldn’t describe, at least not in a way that most people would understand. He released the strap of the belt, knowing the buckle and prong would hold the tension, that stimulation. Sealing his palm over her mouth, his smallest finger caressing her jaw, he kept thrusting and felt the grip of her sex turn into a full convulsing spasm of release.
“May I…” She spoke in muffled desperation against his hand. “Please, Master…”
He made her keep begging, impressed by the trembling, near-violent effort it took her not to climax. He could push her past that boundary, give him another reason to punish her, but he wouldn’t. Not today.
I love you. “Come for me, Marcella. Come for your Master.”
He didn’t know why he didn’t say the first part aloud. Maybe because these moments were more primal. But he felt those three words, in every pounding heartbeat, in every stroke, in every second of her response, the screams he muffled against his palm. She bit him, hard enough to nearly draw blood, but he held in place, able to take any pain she gave him, almost as well as she took his.
He released right behind her, and he was right. They’d moved the chair a good six feet, so even if those in the store couldn’t hear her screams, they might wonder about that screech-screech-screech sound. Thank God the floor was already marked up; else he really would have been paying a lot more than a C-note to fix the visible marks. When he finally stopped pounding himself inside her willing body, they were inches from the wall. As Marcie dropped her head, her forehead rested against it. He tilted his own against the side of hers, breathing deep.
He knew what she’d meant, when she said she always wanted him inside her. There was nowhere else in the whole damn world he wanted to be nearly as much. Loosening the belt and letting it fall into the chair seat, he caressed one breast, soothing the marks the strap had left. When he teased a still taut nipple, he earned a tightening of her muscles upon him.
“I’m buying you that black teddy Dana liked,” he said. “I want to see your gorgeous tits spilling out of it. And the steampunk style waist cincher. I like the idea of tightening it so much I steal your breath. I’ll attach ropes to the metal links in the front and back and wind them around the spanking bench. Keep you there while I figure out how to mark your gorgeous skin next.”
Then he’d release her, strip it all away and bathe her soft, pliant body in his garden tub. Hold her as she slept in his arms, surrounded by the frothy bubbles that would moisturize and restore her skin from what her cruel Master enjoyed doing to it.
The thought sobered him. He slid from her, moving her so she could curl up in the chair as he hitched up his jeans and rethreaded his belt. His beautiful brat. He could see the pulse in her throat, like a bird’s. When she laid her head on the chair, his gaze followed the movement, the slight flexing of her jaw as she swallowed.