Page 34 of Forever Not Yours

He was breathing too fast. Good. A pink blush formed on his buttock; I smoothed it down with my gloved hand. My palm inside felt as hot as his skin would. I didn’t do this often, and I’d forgotten how much the first one affected me. How it felt. The way my skin tingled.

“Number?”

“One,” he spat out. “Fuck, that hurt!”

“So it should. And you can take it. Every single one. How are you feeling?”

“Fuck feeling, green. Fucking green.”

I landed the second one a little harder. He howled.

“Number, Bastien. Count them out.”

“Two.” Still defiant. Still not anywhere near concern, and I was just getting started.

The third one hit home, as he wailed, “Fucking hell!!”

“Number, Bastien.” I was not letting him get away with this. Not yet.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “Bastard,” then, “Three. Another.”

Such a small word, but yes. I’d been right, and the pride warming my chest spurred me on.

“How are you feeling?” I asked softly, gently massaging his reddened skin. Warmth. Shivers. I traced a finger down his leg, teasing his balls on the way back up. I wished I was naked. That I could give my dick a few good strokes. But this was not about me.

“Green. Fucking give it to me.”

I did. Of course I did, landing one firmly on his other side. A red blush blossomed to match his other arse cheek. The sounds out of his mouth a sharp tone, accompanied by rasping breaths.

I hadn’t lied when I’d said this turned me on. It did, oh, so much. Holding him down like this, with no complaints, the soft rocking of his hips, his dick against my leg.

I ran my gloved hands over his skin, teasing him, so he wouldn’t know when or where the next one would hit, and he wanted it, oh yes, he did. He was trying to hump my lap, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I tensed my thighs against his length, giving him what he craved. Friction. Movement. Touch.

I raised my hand and let another slap hit his skin, and he howled, swear words and sounds that once again made my dick swell.

This was what I did. What I loved. My grip on his wrists pushed his elbows further up, and his skin was red and prickled with goosebumps as I stroked my fingers over it. It stung, I could tell from the way he shivered and how his toes were digging into the floor, walking in frustration as I pulled him closer, wedged those arms in.

“Colour.”

“Green.” His voice was little more than a huff.

I’d forgotten about the counting. Forgotten all the reasons why. I was just there in the moment, the way these things went when they were good.

“Do it,” he urged me on.

I did, and this one hit the mark. He screamed, and my heart went into overdrive.

I didn’t even have to ask before he whispered, “Green,” in a voice that sounded broken, cracked open the way I needed him.

Shushing him, gently massaging his skin, I urged him on in words I wasn’t sure he was taking in. I was enjoying this moment far too much—the way his body felt, the breaths out of his mouth, the delicious anticipation in him when I kept him waiting. Longing. Wanting.

The next one, he said nothing, just shivered violently as I stroked his tender skin, his hips slowly rocking, hand clenched in a fist.

“Colour?”

“Green.” It was the smallest whisper but a beautiful one. The way his body reacted, relaxed despite the shivers, the humps against my lap, his head bowed down over the edge of the sofa, the soft, raspingbreaths, I knew this was what he’d needed, and what I’d needed too.

The hits became muddled in my head, one after the other. His body was so responsive, becoming more relaxed between every swing of my hand. I could feel the impact through the glove. It was protection but also gave a sweeter sting to every spank, every little touch.

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