Page 120 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Yes! Yes, please,” I pant, my arms trembling as I hold myself up. Earlier, I wasn’t sure if I wanted pain, and I’m still not sure it will hurt—that anything even could when I’m this turned on.

But I am sure I want it.

I’m desperate for it.

And Beckett delivers.

He starts off slowly, letting me adjust and warming me up, but he doesn’t linger. He doesn’t give me the chance to doubt or second guess, or for reality to intrude. All that exists is the sharp sting of each swat. The heat that blooms every time his hand connects with my ass. The pain that steals all my attention, making every nerve ending sing until I can’t tell where pleasure starts and pain begins.

“Sir,” I gasp. “Please…”

Beckett chuckles darkly and rubs my throbbing ass. “You look so good in red. Did you need something, little menace?”

I moan, my head hanging low. I’m trembling. I’m not sure I can talk.

“It looks like she needs a good fucking,” Ryder murmurs, sending a shudder through me.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“You can do better than that,” Beckett says firmly. “What do you want?”

“You. Your cock. Please.”

“And where do you want it, my dirty little slut? Back in your mouth?”

I’m shaking, my clit pulsing with the need to come. But I want to be good for him, so if that’s what he wants…

“Okay,” I whisper.

Beckett spanks me again, quick and sharp, and I yelp, another shudder of pleasure going through me.

“What. Do. You. Want?” he demands.

“Fuck, look how wet she is,” Tristan mutters. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Yes. If she wants to be fucked, she needs to say so.”

“Yes!” I finally blurt. “I do. I want it. Please, sir.”

“You want my cock inside you?”

“Yes!”

“In your hot little pussy?”

“Oh god. Yes. Please, Beckett. Please, sir,” I beg shamelessly, desperate for him. “Fuck me. Use me. I need it. I need your cock. I want to be a good slut for you. I want… I want you to get me filthy and leave me dripping with your cum. Tell me how to earn it. Please, please, I’ll do anything. Please, just give me your cock.”

“Holy shit,” Ryder groans.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tristan rasps.

Beckett lets out a low curse, then presses the head of his pierced cock against my soaked entrance, rubbing it back and forth and making me practically sob with need.

“You want my cum inside you, dirty girl?” he growls, leaning over my back and fondling my breast as he tortures me. “You don’t want me to suit up, just go in raw and fuck you bare? You want to know how that feels? How filthy I can make those sweet thighs of yours once my cum is spilling out of you and sliding down them, after I’m done with you?”

I cry out, the words ratcheting my arousal even higher.

“Is that a yes?”

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