Page 33 of Snow Bound

The hum turned to a chuckle, and he levered himself up to once again kneel between her thighs. “I know. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Pain tolerance.”

He grabbed her nipple again. “Tell me when you hit yellow.”

His fingers tightened, slowly, carefully, and she let out a breath. She’d expected something quick and sharp, not this slow, almost gentle increase in pressure, and the combination of relief and pleasure was dizzying. But he kept going, pinching harder until the pleasure yielded to pressure, then pressure to pain that throbbed and pulsed and burned.

“Yellow,” she croaked and immediately the pressure eased, cruel fingers shifting to stroke, to soothe.

He didn’t say anything, and after a moment she opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—to stare up at him.

Approval was stamped on his features, pleasure gleaming in his eyes. “I’d say ‘good girl’, but we’ve already established you have no interest in being good.”

She started to laugh, but it caught in her throat when he slid his hand across her sternum to grip her other nipple.

“Deep breath,” he ordered and squeezed.

She knew what to expect now, but it was no less intense, no less shocking. When she called yellow this time, he rewarded her with a lick to her throbbing nipple.

“How do you feel right now?” he asked.

“Well.” She struggled to think. “My nipples hurt.”

His mouth twitched. “And your pussy? How does that feel?”

“Empty,” was the only word she could think of.

“And mentally? Emotionally?” he asked, not rising to the bait. “Are you anxious? Distressed? Upset?”

She frowned, trying to sort through her emotions. “I’m a little pissed at you. Does that count as distressed?”

His mouth twitched harder. “No.”

“Then I guess not. Why?”

“No reason,” he said genially. “You ready to beg yet?”

She snorted. “What do you think?”

“I think this is going to be fun,” he replied, and before she could open her mouth to retort he gripped his dick in one hand, aimed, and began to push inside her.

The broad, blunt head felt huge against her swollen and sensitized pussy. She caught her breath at the pressure and tried to wiggle to ease the way.

“Be still,” he ordered and slapped her clit.

She sucked in air at the sudden, shocking pain, and her cunt tightened around his invading dick. He grunted in reaction, but he didn’t stop, and his eyes were gleaming.

“Hurt?” he growled softly.

Unable to speak, she nodded. She hadn’t had time to worry about his size last night, but he was taking his time now, making sure she felt every thick, hard inch in her swollen, tender pussy.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Like it?”

She refused to answer that question, instead asking one of her own. “Can I move?”

“No,” he said and slid forward another aching inch. “Good girls get to move. Bad girls have to lie there and take it.”

Shit, shit, shit. She felt like a worm on a hook, skewered and helpless. She fought to stay still, not wanting another slap on her clit no matter how wet it made her, but it was like trying to ignore an itch. The urge to move grew and grew until it was almost overwhelming, and no matter how much she told herself not to, eventually her body took over and she was wiggling again.

His hand came down in rapid strikes, one, two, three, right on top of her clit. Her scream bounced off the walls, the echo lingering as the pain in her clit and the pressure in her cunt bloomed like a dark, sinister flower.

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