Page 22 of Marking Micah

“No.”

He ran a finger over her bottom lip as if he were smoothing the flesh out, but it only made her want him to kiss her.

“Those lips are mine now, Micah. You save them for me. Do you understand? Tell me.”

It took her a moment to breathe through the pain, to catch her breath. “Yes. Yes, all for you, Arrow, Sir.”

He smiled as he leaned in to brush her mouth with his, and her body, her mind, was a confusing mass of sensation: his hard finger digging into her flesh, his lips soft on hers. And she didn’t know why she did it, but she darted her tongue out to taste him.

He paused, and she held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t pull back, wondering if she was in trouble. But he just let out a sigh and kissed her again, harder this time, pausing to nip at her lips,then he smoothed his tongue over them, and she let out a soft moan of pleasure.

She needed him to kiss her. More. Harder. Deeper. When he pulled back, she almost wanted to cry.

He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “We’re far from done here, Micah.”

He let the pressure point go and stroked his hand over her body, coming to settle where her shoulder met her neck and, finding the pressure point there, he dug in.

“Oh!”

“I know, sunshine. This one hurts. But you can take it. Breathe into it. Stay with me, Micah.”

She tried. She pulled in a big breath, blew it out, and as she did, he dug a little deeper.

“Unh!”

“Yeah, I know. But you can do this. Focus on me, Micah.”

He dug in harder, and it hurt so much she couldn’t even cry out. Instead, tears sprang to her eyes and leaked down her cheeks.

He immediately let go and bent to trace the hurting spot with his lips, kissing the pain away.

She was dizzy with the pain. Dizzy with the sensation of his lips on her flesh. With the reality that she had no idea what else he might do, and that she had no control over any of it.

No control.

Yes.

Why didn’t that scare her? Instead, she was so turned on she could barely stand it. The insistent ache in her hard clit, in her nipples, was maybe worse than the pain.

His hands slid lower on her body, and she parted her thighs—she couldn’t help it. When he slipped a hand up her inner thigh, she went soaking wet in an instant. But he reached anotherpressure point at the inner juncture of her thigh and pressed hard.

She arched off the table. “Oh, fuck!”

He released the pressure, let her breathe for several moments, then he did it again. Once more she cried out, her body rising off the table, and again he stopped, letting her breathe, allowing her to process the pain. Over and over, until her brain really started to fill up with the lovely endorphins she hadn’t had in longer than she could remember.

He did it again, harder this time, and she yelped so loud it echoed in her own ears.

“Ah, my good girl. Let’s give you some feel-good. You’ve earned it,” he said before sliding that wicked finger up and stroking her mound through her wet panties.

“Ohhh… please, Sir.”

Something in the back of her mind was screaming at her that this wasArrow, that it washimtouching her. That she had never needed anything more in her life. She arched against his hand, but as soon as she did, he pulled back, leaving her whimpering.

“Time to flip you over,” he told her, grabbing her and gently turning her onto her stomach, then pulling her up onto her knees so that her head rested on her extended arms and her ass was high in the air. “Christ, but your ass is perfection,” he murmured.

She moved against his hand as he stroked the flesh there, moaning quietly. Then he landed a sharp smack on her ass, and she groaned as the sting of it rippled through her. He did it again on the other cheek, and her whole body surged against his hand, against the pain that was pleasure.

He spanked her over and over, each blow a bit harder than the last, until her ass was burning, her skin on fire. And she sank into it. Into the sensation. Into being in his hands.

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