Page 21 of Yield to Me

As he moved away from me, I stumbled; the dreamy haze catching me off guard as he let me go. I quickly composed myself, listening to the sounds of his feet as he circled me.

“Count to four,” he said.

Whoosh! The cane sliced through the air like a blade, and its mark on my ass stung, searing my skin, both cheeks at once, ten times harder than his hand had been. And somehow, I hadn’t screamed, even though every fiber in my body was aching to jump and cry out.

I can do this, I thought. I breathed in, gathering myself.

“Miss Glass?” he asked. I smiled, waiting in silence. “Oh. You think you’re being smart,” he said. “You have my permission.”

“One,” I said. Whoosh! The cane came down immediately; my knees shook this time. “Two,” I whispered. Whoosh! Another strike against my ass, and this time, I cringed, and a small groan forced itself out of me. I tried to make it sound like the word, “Three.” He chuckled.

“Now which do you like more?”

“Your hand,” I said.

And suddenly his hand was in my hair, yanking me back and pulling me closer to him. He whipped off the blindfold and it fell to the floor. I blinked; my eyes glistened as they adjusted to the light. The darkness was inviting, gentle on my eyes.

“We can go back to my hand, but I will hurt you as much as I want. I won’t limit myself to one more strike,” he said slowly.

Maybe I’m crazy, but all I wanted at that moment was his hands on me, even if it meant a stingy, red ass and being unable to sit for days. I nodded.

He whipped me out of the arm restraints so quickly that I wondered if they had even done anything in the first place. And just as quickly, I was lying against his lap on the sofa, and he was spanking me like I had been a bad girl. The need between my legs was hot and heavy and sopping wet, and as I writhed against him, I relished in it, relished in knowing that he wanted me spread out like this, panting and heavy with need. The sting of his hand was forceful, and I felt all of Owen’s force like he was guiding me, showing me what I could do. It surprised me that I didn’t want him to stop, that the energy fluttering inside of me pushed me forward, despite my brain telling me to run. I cared less and less about controlling myself and I wanted to give in, to surrender to the pain. So I moaned. I moaned with all of the need I could feel building up in me, waiting for his touch.

His hand reached around me, scooping my hips closer so that I was sitting on him, straddling him. I was panting, and with one swift movement, he bit my neck, the pain surging through my tendons, a pain I had never felt before. I cried out and his cock twitched against me.

“Careful,” he whispered. His cock twitched again, instantly making me wetter. “You’re in dangerous territory.” His eyes were focused on my open mouth, his mind clearly imagining my lips on his body. I licked them, rubbing them together, and he groaned, that involuntary twitch telling me that my trick had worked exactly as planned. A burning sensation crawled through my legs, settling deep in my stomach. The way he looked at me reminded me that I was prey, and he had me tangled in his trap. But I wanted him to devour me, to show me exactly what I was made of, because it felt right. I felt like I belonged exactly in this moment, like Owen had tapped into some deep need inside of me, that I needed this. I needed him. The tension was thick, surrounding us in its heat.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. His voice was calm, quiet, searching for an answer. What does it mean to be with someone like this? I wondered. To let a man hurt you and touch you, to give yourself to him because you want to take you there? His eyes searched mine, and I knew my answer.

“I do,” I said. Because I knew he would show me what I was capable of, and I knew he would never take me past my breaking point. There was a tenderness to him that I could feel even then, even at this dark moment. The way his green eyes sparkled down at me in the shadows, the way he caressed my hips with a light touch. He sucked in his breath, as if those two words gave him the energy he needed desperately.

The more he touched my hips, the weaker my knees got, shaking, off balance. I wanted to feel his body, to have that physical reassurance that he was there for me, that we both wanted this, that he wanted to see me struggle, the distress in my eyes making him harder with each breath. My head hung low, waiting for his words.

“Ask me for it,” he said. Every inch of my skin was hot, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Owen held my eyes with his, like nothing else in the world mattered. It felt like I could fall deep inside of those emeralds and forget everything, even the fact that I hated doing what people wanted me to do. After all, I wanted this too.

“Please hit me,” I said.

A final loud whoosh through the air, landing on my skin in a crack, stinging me in a violent handprint. The pain was so intense I thought I might black out, the pain electrifying every nerve ending in my body. Owen scooped up my body in one motion, carried me to the sofa, and laid me down gently. It was a good thing; I felt like I might collapse. His touch was soothing, feeling him completely against me. He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it hang open at his sides. Neatly groomed chest hair shined in the dim light, and I wanted to run my hands over it, feeling its softness, but I was too weak. Instead, I admired him. He tenderly lifted my dress, and I moved my hips barely, letting him undress me. A loose white lace bra lay on my breasts. I unbuckled it and Owen pulled it off, folding the items and putting them on the floor. He flung his own shirt on the floor, and kissed my toes, tickling my ankle with his tongue. It surprised me; wasn’t it subservient to touch someone’s feet like that? But I closed my eyes, the flood of hunger in Owen’s lips caressing me into a deep, overwhelming pleasure. He worked his way up my legs, kissing the inside of my thighs. Moisture dripped down. Embarrassed by it, I tried closing my legs, but Owen pried them open and licked it up eagerly, tasting my need. I didn’t fight it after that. I let go and moaned, but then I shuddered, remembering his rule.

“Listen to me, Riley. I want you. I want all of you. I want to make you cry, make you bleed, make you want it even more, make you yearn for my touch.” He licked my clit, his tongue warm, encircling my bud, making me throb. He pleasured me with wild abandon; I couldn’t tell if saliva or my own moisture was dripping down my legs and making the stubble on his chin wet. Pressure built between my thighs, cascading through me in waves. With one motion, he slid his finger inside of me, curving it towards my center, and licked me again, flicking my most sensitive area ever so slightly. I grinded on his face, forgetting any of my embarrassment, only wanting to feel what he was giving me more and more—and I felt his hands on mine, pulling my fists apart. “Ask me to come,” he said. And I looked down, watching Owen lick me, his finger sliding back in, coaxing my orgasm from my core. The sight alone, his frenzied passion for me, was enough to bring me to the edge. “I want you to need me, all of me, Riley.”

“Oh, god, Owen!” I cried. The heat rolled through my face, my cheeks reddening. “Please, please, please! I beg you!”

“Beg me what?” he said between lapping me up.

“Please let me come! I can’t take this!”

“Then come for me,” he growled. The command, wanting me desperately to show him that I needed his pleasure, would’ve made me come even if he had commanded me to stay still. Knowing that he wanted to control all of me was enough. The orgasm crashed through me, making me shake like I had never felt before, pleasure flowing into every vein, every nerve ending, filling me with hot bliss, making me sweat. As I convulsed beneath him, Owen’s moans increased, and his nails dug into my back, pulling my hips closer to him, not letting me go even as I tried to back away.

I had never come so hard or so quickly before.

As the aftershocks dissipated, exhaustion overcame me, making me feel like I would instantly fall asleep if I dared to close my eyes. Forcing them to stay open, I locked eyes with Owen and smiled. I noticed his erection throbbed against his pants; I wondered why he hadn’t taken them off.

“You’re beautiful, Riley,” he said softly. I didn’t feel beautiful; I knew I looked like a complete mess: no makeup, sweaty skin, disheveled hair, red and purple bites, handprints, maybe even welts across my body. And yet at my most vulnerable, my most unprepared, he still wanted me. His eyes glimmered, holding thoughts that I wanted to know. I wanted to unravel his secrets and figure out exactly what made him tick, what made him want to hurt and pleasure, to confuse and control my body until I was a sopping, sticky mess. He made me nervous, but he also made me heavy with lust. He kissed me and I moaned, feeling our tongues caress one another. As he pulled back, he stroked my cheek with his fingertip.

“You need this,” he said, “as much as I do.” The words sent shivers down my spine. The arrogant assumption that he knew I would come back to him, take him up on his offer, compounded by the fact that I knew I wanted to, disconcerted me. How did he know me and what I wanted, what I needed, so well? I wanted to know these sensations I had never felt before, the desire that coursed through our veins, that I knew he put there. But there were so many things that were wrong with being with Owen Lowell, not even counting the fact that he had some serious control issues, and I knew it.

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