Page 56 of Pin-up Girl

“Don’t move,” Clint said.

As he stood and approached me, my heart slammed against my ribs, and when he stepped behind me, I couldn’t hear anything but my screaming pulse. He barely made contact. I felt his heat more than his touch.

His hot breath teased my neck. “Fucking gorgeous.” His growl was as intoxicating as the looks he’d lavished me with.

Clint slipped the sleep mask over my eyes and tightened it enough to secure it. “Still good?” he asked.

“Still good.” Except for the need that roared through my veins. Every night, I went to sleep in this room, and it was dark. But that wasn’t even in the same territory as having my vision stolen, while I was exposed and helpless.

This was terrifying and incredible.

A soft cord brushed my arm, and Clint pulled my arms behind my back, to bind my wrists together. “Still good?”

I nodded, and licked my lips, trying to wet my mouth enough to speak. “Yes.” My answer was breathy. “Still good.”

“Good. Kneel near the edge of the bed.”

I hesitated. Like that, all knowledge of my own room and its layout evaporated.

Clint rested a hand at the small of my back, and the other hand on my arm, and guided me, helping me climb onto the mattress and steady myself. My feet hung off the edge, and vertigo would have taken over if Clint wasn’t making frequent contact.

The sweet consideration at just the right moment made me even hotter.

He let go of me, and I heard the swift thwck of something slicing the air. “Let’s see which of these you like best,” he said.

I braced myself, and heard another sharp whistle through the air, this time ending when something large and flat smacked one of my ass cheeks. I gasped at the abrupt sting. That would be the spatula. It hurt, but it also felt so good.

Clint smacked my ass again and again, alternating cheeks, until I was panting.

When he caressed the tender skin with his palm, a new kind of ache filled me. “You’re taking this like such a good girl.” His voice was rough. “My gorgeous fucking toy.”

I whimpered my appreciation.

“You ready for the spoon?” Clint asked.

Was I? I nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m ready.”

The strike was sharper this time. More localized with more of a sting. He went back and forth a few times, but the intensity built more quickly. “Too much.” I almost didn’t dare say it. What if I ruined the fun?

“Okay.” Clint didn’t sound disappointed at all. His lips brushed the back of my thighs, and I shivered at the contrast of his soft lips and barely-there scruff of beard against my tender skin.

He kissed the welts a few more times, moving up my ass, and to my spine, and finally drawing his mouth along my neck. “You may have to avoid short skirts for a few days.” He sounded smug.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” I gasped out the words.

His tender touches were a sharp contrast to the strikes on my ass, but made my body twinge with need just as much. The inside of my thighs were coated, and my core ached for a more direct touch.

Clint slipped his hand between my legs, and I swallowed a cry at the relief of his penetration. He fucked me with his fingers, in and out, never going too fast, until I was leaning my full body against him, and pushing into his touch.

“Are you close to coming, princess?” He murmured against my shoulder.

“So close.”

Clint pulled out of me. “Not yet.”

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