Page 29 of Marking Micah

The woman had no idea what it did to him to hear her call him that. It made his gut tighten, his blood pound in his veins, and his cock a little hard. It was those words, that voice, that played through his head when he let himself fantasize about her. About touching her. Making her his.

And now it was really happening, and a small part of him was as giddy as a teenager with his first tit in his hand.

Calm. The fuck. Down.

Following his own advice, he took another deep breath. Thank God he’d been a Dominant long enough that he could call on that experience to center himself.

He ran his hands over her back, and her skin was like satin under his palms. Had any other woman ever felt so gorgeously soft?

“Time to do some breathing,” he told her, and they began the process. Long, slow inhale, long slow exhale.

He bent a little closer, needing that connection with her, knowing she needed it, too. He fell into that rhythm they created together, that made her skin under his hands feel almost electric to him.

Oh, yeah.

He straightened and considered the toys he’d set out on the table, but decided to just use his hands for now. He couldn’t bear to break that connection.

He ran his hands up to her shoulders, and he massaged them for a few moments, feeling her go soft and loose. Then he dragged a fingertip down her spine, and she shivered deliciously under his touch. He ran his fingers back up, trailing his nails over her flesh as goosebumps rose, and when he drew his nails back down, he let them scrape the surface just a little. When she let out a soft sigh, he smiled, and went hard as a rock.

Lord, to have her respond to him like this… it was everything he’d ever longed for. But he was far from done.

He raked his nails down her back, digging in a bit, and he knew it hurt, but the pain only elicited another contented sigh from her. He dragged them further, down over her gorgeously rounded ass cheeks that peeked from the high cut of her panties, leaving a trail of reddened flesh, and he loved seeing his marks on her, however temporary.

Need to change that.

He smacked her ass, first one side, then the other, then again, but harder, then harder still. And she was surging into his hands, into the sting of the spanking, urging him on.

He smacked her harder, faster, until it was a rain of blows on her heated skin, the rising color and the faint welts making him want to bring her more pain, to really mark her up, to make her his in a way she wouldn’t forget. And the cadence was meditative, letting him sink into that sense of connection, as though nothing existed but the two of them: his hands, her flesh, two minds meeting on that same dark plane.

He kept at it until she was panting, and maybe he was a little, too. When she started to let out small, mewling yelps with each sharp smack, he paused, smoothed his palms over her skin, and once more she surged into his touch with the prettiest sigh he’d ever heard.

Oh, yeah…

Then he dug his nails into the hurting flesh and dragged them down to the back of her pretty thighs, leaving long, red welts as her breath hissed. So damn beautiful, seeing his marks on her pretty flesh.

He paused and bent over her, his mouth right next to her ear, and asked quietly, “Color, Micah? Are we still green?”

“Oh, yes. Green, Sir. So green. More, please.”

He started in again with his nails, scratching his way up her back, then down her sides, which he knew would be more sensitive. She hissed out a breath again, and his cock twitched, loving the sound, knowing it hurt. Loving the fact that he was marking her, marking Micah for the first time. He was too in the moment to even question his need to bring her pain as he sometimes did. He simply knew it was what she needed. What they both needed. And he had to leave his marks on her just as badly.

She squirmed as he started to grab handfuls of the flesh at her sides and twist, pinching her skin between his thumb and fingers. He kept at it until she was panting hard, mewling, yelping when he hit a particularly tender spot. And when he bent close to check in, her cheek was wet with tears.

“What color are we, Micah?” he demanded.

“Green,” she insisted breathlessly.

He moved around her and, grabbing her long brown hair, lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. They were a deep, mossy green, glittering like shadowed emeralds in the dim lighting. And she was absolutely in subspace.

Ah, yes.

So damn beautiful he could hardly stand it, her cherry red lips full, as though she’d bitten them.

He wanted to bite them. Had to.

With his fist still in her hair, he leaned in and kissed her, hard, his tongue delving, exploring her sweet mouth. And she moaned, softly at first, then with a gasping determination, her kiss wild and full of need as he nibbled on those lush lips, diving in and out of her mouth that was like wet velvet inside.

This woman was going to be his undoing. But he couldn’t stop himself. Fucking impossible. He gripped her hair harder, and his other hand went to her cheek as he kissed her as if his life depended on it.

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