Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(48)

He paused in his caressing of her bottom with the slapper. She glanced sideways at him anxiously.

He muttered a blistering curse. She watched in mounting arousal as he began to unfasten his pants hastily. Instead of drawing them down his thighs, he left them around his hips, merely reaching inside the open fly to draw out his rigid erection with what appeared to be considerable effort. He let the heavy weight of it fall once it was free, the bunched boxer briefs and fabric from his pants keeping it suspended at a horizontal angle from his body.

She stared at his cock in amazement. She’d never seen it this close before. He’d never really let her. It stunned her how beautiful it was. How did he walk around with something so obvious, so large, between his legs all the time? Granted, he usually wasn’t this hard . . . but still. It seemed incomprehensible to her, the sheer flagrancy of his sex. She stared, spellbound, at the thick, lengthy staff with several swollen veins running along it, feeding his arousal; the tapered, succulent head that made her mouth water; the shaved, full testicles.

“I should have blindfolded you,” he muttered dryly. “Look down at the floor, lovely.” She did so, having trouble catching her breath. He rubbed the crop against her bottom. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she squeaked. Was she?

He popped her ass with the slapper, and she squealed. Perhaps he was learning to differentiate her sounds of excitement versus her sounds of pain, because he continued to smack her, landing the popper on different patches of skin each time, heating her entire ass. Once he’d spanked both buttocks entirely, he began again. The slapping of her already spanked skin did sting. She gritted her teeth, the unbearable sizzle of her clit helping her endure the slight burn of discomfort. Why did the slapper seem to be stimulating her nipples at such a distance? And why in the world did even the soles of her feet start to burn as he continued to punish her bottom?

“Oooh,” she moaned when he landed a blow that particularly smarted.

“Bend all the way over and put your hands on top of your feet.”

He’d spoken so sharply, she couldn’t help but turn to look at him. She moaned shakily when she saw he fisted his cock in his hand and was stroking himself as he continued to spank her. Even though his gaze remained on his task, he must have noticed that she looked.

“Head down,” he rasped.

She bent farther, stretching her hamstrings, staring blindly at her hands when she laid them flat on top of her feet. Did his low grunt sound pleased? Her thoughts suddenly scattered when he used his large hand to pull back her ass cheeks, exposing her wet outer sex to the cool air.

She cried out sharply when he tapped the slapper over the delicate, aroused tissues. He pressed harder with his hand, peeling back her buttocks and sex lips.

Pop.

Her knees buckled at the concise tap on her swollen clit. She suddenly understood the full value of the crop as a sex toy: small, precise, lethal—at least in Ian’s hand.

He hastily put his hand on her shoulder, steadying her as orgasm slammed into her like a tidal wave. She keened, losing herself for several seconds, lost in the grip of an explosive climax. Distantly, she was aware that Ian held her against him as she quaked, one hip pressed against his body, the other held by his hand, his fingers moving busily between her legs, making her cry out sharply in sustained ecstasy.

Ian was now urging her with his hands, guiding her several feet, as the shudders waned.

“Bend over and put your forearms on the seat of the chair,” he said tautly from behind her. She dazedly leaned down over the wide, plush cushion of the Louis XV chair. She felt Ian moving behind her, his pants brushing her ass, then the tip of his erection. Fresh excitement pierced through her satiated befuddlement.

* * *

He had suspected she was going to kill him, but he hadn’t expected her to do it so precisely . . . so cruelly. He wildly sought and found a condom and rolled it on.

It would please me if you slapped me . . . between my thighs.

He’d almost had a heart attack when she’d said it. He’d been trying to tease her into begging him to slap her gorgeous nipples, which she’d clearly been enjoying as much as he had.

Then she’d opened her pink lips and said that. And he’d said he was punishing her for the sin of impulsivity. Who the f*ck did he think he was kidding?

He put one hand on her hip, steadying her, and took his cock in his hand.

“I’m going to f*ck you now. Hard,” he said, staring down at the erotic contrast of her reddened bottom and her pale back and white thighs. “I won’t wait for you to come, lovely. You’ve done this to me, and you have to accept the consequences.”

He used his hand to peel back an ass cheek and open her vagina, pushing the head of his cock into her tiny slit. He felt himself stretching her. Her heat penetrated the condom. He grasped her hips to steady her as he thrust into her to his balls, but she jolted forward nevertheless. Her hands scrambled to find a hold. He waited until she’d grabbed the wooden sides of the back of the chair, his mouth twisted in a grimace of restraint.

He began to f*ck her, drawing his cock back until only the head was submerged, and then driving back into her until their skin smacked together and a little cry popped out of her throat. His world narrowed down to the vision of her naked, submissive beauty, the sharp, nearly unbearable friction of her squeezing, hot channel taunting him, milking him . . . killing him.