Porn Star(81)

I meet his eyes and think he understands me when I say, “I’m not taunting. I’m being very serious.”

Then he’s decided, and he’s climbing off of me, pulling my torso up by my wrists. “You were taunting. You’ve been taunting me all f*cking morning. You’ve been f*cking taunting me since we met, and you definitely need to be punished.” He’s rowdy and rough as he drags me to the edge of the bed. Shifting to hold my hands with one of his, he bends to open the bottom drawer of his nightstand with the other. There, he retrieves a red silk scarf, which he uses to tie my wrists together—securely, but not so securely that it will cut off blood flow.

I love the way the red looks against my olive skin.

I love that my boyfriend is the type of guy who has sex paraphernalia in his nightstand.

Most of all, I love that Logan is my boyfriend.

After I’m bound, he flips me over and pulls me to the side so I’m bent over the bed and my hands are tied underneath me. It’s a position meant to make me feel vulnerable, and I do. I feel him behind me, standing, scanning my naked backside, and though I could easily turn and peek at him, I don’t. Imagining what he’s doing makes the tension thicker, and I like that. I like that a lot.

Since I don’t look, and since he doesn’t give any preamble, the first smack comes as a surprise. As does the second, following so quickly after the first that I barely have time to yelp. “How. Does. It. Feel?” he asks, spanking one cheek then the other in between each word. “To. Be. Taunted. Cass? Do you like that? Do you want more?”

My ass is fire. My eyes are burning, tears forming at the corners. “Yes,” I squeak, and it’s barely even a word.

He doesn’t accept it as an answer. “Say it again.”

“Yes,” I hiss. “Yes!”

Logan doesn’t just play the kink—he makes it real. I believe he’s mad in a way that I’ve never felt with a partner who’s “punished” me before. Each strike against my ass is firm and sharp and, though I’m sure he’s holding back, that he could hit me harder if he wanted to, it also feels like he’s not. Like he’s letting everything he has spill out into each stinging smack.

It arouses me to levels I’ve never been to before.

I’m soaked by the time he breaks from striking to rub the burn out of my cheeks. So soaked I’m dripping and embarrassed because, of course, he knows.

“Christ, Devi,” he groans when he slips his hand between my legs. Then he digs his fingers into my thighs and lifts the back half of my body so that my knees are on the bed. “I have to taste you.”

A bolt of anticipation strikes through me as I wait for his tongue to find the source of my wetness, for it to ease the ache in my center. I moan when he finally does, and my entire body trembles from the feel of him as he licks around the edge of my hole.

But I want him deeper, want to feel the full length of his strong tongue inside me, and he doesn’t give me that.

Instead, he swipes upward, following the line from my cunt to the hole behind it—the one I know he wants to f*ck someday, the one I’m desperate for him to inhabit, and nervous too because I know he’ll be good there. So good. Too good—it will completely undo any control I have left where he’s concerned, and I’m not quite ready for that.

But I’m ready to play there. And so is he.

With no hesitation, with a need that’s as greedy as mine, he circles my rim with his tongue then plunges inside.

I’m immediately squirming, immediately on the verge of climax, immediately ready to shout I love you’s at the top of my lungs, and I have to bury my face into the sheets to stifle my cries.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, pausing his assault to chide me. “You like that and you want to come, but if you f*cking come before I tell you, then I’m going to have to start all of this again. Because after I f*ck you with my tongue and my fingers, I’m going to f*ck you with my cock, and I want you tight and pulsing when I go in there—not recovering from an orgasm. You got that?”

“Then take me now,” I plead, certain I can’t hold out. “Just f*ck me now.”

He smacks my ass—hard. “I decide when I f*ck you. Ask again, I’ll make you wait longer.”

He dips a finger inside my * and drags my wetness up to that back hole, probing even deeper than he did with his tongue. His other hand strokes up to play with my clit, and then his mouth is on me again, this time at my cunt, stroking inside, igniting the sensitive spot within, and I know that he’s set me up because it’s impossible not to come, impossible not to be swept into this supernova of pleasure. And now I’m even maybe convinced of the existence of white holes because what I’m experiencing is completely that—an eruption of energy that is impossible to escape, or get inside or hold on to, and it’s amazing and bright and everything, everything, everything.

And while I’m spinning in ecstasy, I’m also drenched in agony. He’ll be mad, I know. Because I came. Without his permission. He’ll start from the beginning, and there’s no way I can bear this euphoria again. It’s too much, and any more will kill me. I know this, even as I burn in this bliss.

But to my surprise, Logan twists me to my back and spreads my legs. My ass screams as he drags me across the sheets the couple of inches to the edge of the bed and poises himself at my entrance.