Page 96 of Rematch
She looked up at his handsome face and tried to remember why she’d ever thought this was a bad idea. Especially when he cupped her cheek, looking at her as if she was the most special person in the world.
His tender look didn’t match his dark tone when he took a single step away and said, “Strip.”
Chelsea wanted to demand he do the same, but the wholly dominant look in his eyes sent a shiver through her body, leaving her helpless to do anything but obey.
She tugged her T-shirt over her head. She’d thrown on comfy clothes before starting dinner, and she hadn’t bothered with a bra.
Chelsea loved Preston’s sharp intake of breath as his gaze drifted lower, taking in what she’d just bared. He never failed to make her feel beautiful.
She closed her eyes as his fingers stroked her stretchmarks tenderly before cupping her breasts in his large, calloused hands. Her breath stuttered when he pinched her nipples, lowering his head to take one in his mouth. Chelsea’s back arched when he increased the suction, the pleasure of his touch just barely crossing over into painful. Not in a bad way.
Chelsea got the sense he was trying to maintain control, but she didn’t want that. Didn’t want him holding back. Because she couldn’t.
“Harder,” she demanded.
Preston’s eyes lifted, then narrowed. She laid her desires bare, letting him see exactly what she needed.
“It’s been a long time,” he reminded her.
“I don’t care. I don’t want sweet or soft.”
Preston released one of her breasts, his fist closing around her ponytail, tugging it until he forced her head back, her face lifted to his. “Be careful what you wish for…”
She gave him a sultry smile. “Give me what I want.”
“I don’t take commands in the bedroom.”
“Do it now,” she taunted.
“Bad girl,” he murmured, his teeth nipping at her throat, his grip on her ponytail tight enough that her scalp stung.
Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers digging into his waist so that she could pull his body against hers. She parted her legs, riding one of his thick, muscular thighs, seeking some much-needed stimulation.
Before she realized his intent, Preston used her ponytail to twist her away from him. “Very bad girl,” he growled in her ear.
Holy. Fuck.
So sexy.
Holding her in place with that one hand in her hair, he used the other to roughly shove her lounge pants down. When they dropped to the floor, he said, “Kick them off.”
She hadn’t bothered with panties either, determined that tonight would end up right here.
Preston ran his fingers through her slit—she was embarrassingly wet—before shoving her forward, facedown over his bed.
Chelsea cried out—more in surprise than pain—when he smacked her ass hard. His hand tightened around her ponytail, holding her upper body to the mattress as he peppered her rear end with his sexy spanking.
Chelsea only resisted through the first half dozen strikes before the heat he produced permeated the skin and drove her arousal to dangerous new heights. “More,” she demanded.
“Still trying to tell me what to do.” Preston’s next spank was harder and lower, hitting her upper thigh rather than the fleshy part of her ass.
It hurt, but she couldn’t make herself ask him to stop. Hell, she couldn’t stop herself from raising her ass to meet every blow.
By the time he released her ponytail, she was a sweaty, panting mess on the bed. And he hadn’t even undressed yet.
Chelsea remained facedown as Preston ran his hands on her ass, the tender skin sensitive to his soft touch.
She glanced over her shoulder as he draped himself over her body, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
