Losing Me, Finding You(56)

She yelps when I spin her around and grab her pants roughly, yanking them down forcefully along with her panties.

“Austin,” she says, but she doesn't try to stop me, just lays there, nice and still, eagerness vibrating through her and into me.

“Tell me you're sorry for being a bad girl and not wearing a Goddamn skirt,” I say, letting the fullness of my cock and the round, shapely white moon of Amy's ass distract me from everything else. See, that's another thing about Amy. When I'm with her, I don't have to worry so much about Kent or Mireya or long dead memories. I can just be here with her. “Tell me you're sorry that I have to go through all this work to f*ck you.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, voice slightly muffled. “I'm a bad girl, and I need to be punished.” She swallows. “Master.”

“Master?” A laugh bursts out of my throat and it is then and there that I decide I don't give a shit if I do fall in love with this girl. She's hot, kinky, and dirty, plus she can drink a shot of tequila straight. They don't come any better than this. “Never had a lady call me that before, but I like it. Say it again.” I pull my hand back and slap her ass hard enough that it cracks. Amy shivers.

“Master, please.” I spank her again, watching as the soft flesh on her ass jiggles enticingly. This isn't a trick I can keep up for too long. I feel like I'm about to burst in my pants at the sight of her bent over like this. I'm not gonna last long. I wish I had some damn handcuffs or whips or some shit, so I could really show her a good time. I think maybe about gettin' some in town tomorrow. As of now, it's just my body and hers. Guess I'll have to see what I can do.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” I whisper. “Explicitly.”

“I … I want you to finger me,” Amy says and then adds, “Master.”

“Are you sure you're a damn virgin?” I ask her as I slap her ass again, making sure to get it hard, so it stings nice and good.

“Not anymore, I'm not,” she whispers. Pauses. “Thanks to you.” Another pause. “Master.”

“Then where are you getting all this nasty talk, little Miss Amy?”

“I read a lot of books,” she whimpers when I smack her tight, little ass again.

“Shit,” I say, sticking two fingers between my lips and getting 'em nice and wet. “I always thought those things were trash. I rescind my judgment.” I plunge my hand inside of Amy's heat, feeling how tight and slippery she is for me. My fingers glide in and out smoothly, slicking up that space between her legs until it's soaked. “Tell me about one.” Amy groans and arches her back, but she can't move, not from the position I've got her in. Poor little Amy Cross is trapped.

“Now?”

“Right f*cking now.” She moans as I pull my fingers out and touch them to her clit, rubbing it in slow, lazy circles while she writhes and slides the length of her body against the bulge in my jeans. “And make it a good one.”

“Glance Serone,” she says, and I don't like the way the name rolls off her tongue, like she's said it before in the throes of passion. He sounds like an old lover in those drippy, Southern syllables. Nice to see that Amy gets her roots back when she's being f*cked, though. Not so easy to cull an accent when your whole body's on fire. “He … makes Sali give him a hand job on his motorcycle.”

“For shit?” I ask, teasing her by plunging my fingers in again and swirling them around until she moans so loud that she can't speak anymore. “And how does that work out for 'im?”

“They crash,” she says and a small chuckle escapes her, trailing off into a moan. Her body clenches tight around my hand, so tight I can hardly even move it anymore. Unable to control myself, I pull out and lift Amy up, tossing her belly down on the bed so that her ass is up in the air for me.

“Beg me for my seed, baby,” I growl at her, wondering if I've ever been this creative with a girl. Nah, I don't think so. Not even with Mireya Sawyer.

“Master, I want it,” Amy cries, wiggling around, trapped by the jeans that are still wrapped around her knees. Maybe next time, she'll remember to wear a skirt

“All over me. Say it.”

“Master, I want … ” She pauses as I whip my cock out and run my hand down it, using Amy's juices as lube. She takes a deep breath and stops wiggling for a moment. I watch as she struggles with something inside of herself – upbringing maybe, good Christian manners, whatever. Eventually, the passionate side of her wins out and makes me grin. “You to come all over me.” I jack myself off with quick, hard strokes, staring at Amy's ass and her dripping *, letting her hear me moaning her name while I watch her lie there, desperate and wanting. Just like I thought, I don't last long. And when I do orgasm, I spill myself all over her pale, white skin, letting it drip down her sides and cover her. Mark her.

I shake my head to get rid of those primal thoughts and zip my pants back up. I'm a good Southern boy at heart, I really am, and good boys always help their lady friends clean up.

When Amy turns to look at me, I smile, expecting her skinny brows to wrinkle with anger, for her to come at me and throw herself into my arms with pounding fists and teasing lips. Instead she just smiles back and says simply, “Thank you, Master.”