Page 65 of Just Say (Hell) No
“Not this time,” he said. “Turn over and get on your knees. Head down on the mattress. Arms over your head.”
He didn’t look gentle now. He looked hard. Tough. Nearly ferocious.
Whoa.She shouldsonot do this.
She did it anyway. That look of his? It was getting her there all by itself. And just moving into that position, feeling his palm come out to rub her bottom, then dive between her legs, was making her tingle and shift and moan. He took his hand away, and she heard the rustle of foil packaging. Part of her thought,Wait. No. I need to come first. I need to come NOW,while the other part thought,Oh, yeh. Take me by surprise.The helplessness of it… she was squirming already.
“If you don’t want something I do to you,” he said, “say so.” And she thought,What?But then he slid inside her, she felt his entry all the way up her body, and she may have moaned. And when he switched the tiny vibrator on, touched it to her, and started to move it in big, lazy circles that made her bones melt? She felt it more than that. He gave her one slow, hard thrust, then another, and she was almost there already.
He dropped the vibrator, and she cried out in protest.
Slap.It had come without warning, a stinging strike on the flesh of her hip that surprised more than it hurt, and she cried out again.
Slap.
Oh, my God. He was spanking her. And she was going to come.
He was rubbing her skin, taking the sting away, moving in her so slowly, then touching her with the vibrator again, picking up the pace. She started moving with him, but the second she started to call out, he took the vibrator away and stopped the deep, hard thrusts. The ones that had been filling her better than she’d ever been filled in herlife.Didn’t he know she needed that?
He spanked her again. Three swats this time. They were getting harder, and she was jumping.
“Be quiet,” he said, his voice thrillingly rough, “and you won’t get spanked.”
He started everything up again, and she had to moan. Which meant that all that wonderful friction stopped, and that he was going to spank her again. She tensed for it, and he did it. The sequence, over and over, and she was going up faster every time, knowing he wouldn’t let her get all the way there and not knowing exactly what was coming next. One swat, or two, or three. Keeping her on edge.
She was tingling. She was burning. She was on fire in the very best way, and pretty soon, she was sobbing out her frustration and her need.
Little by little. Higher and higher. Impossible pleasure, and the sweetest almost-pain, just this side of the line. She knew in some corner of her mind that he was being careful, keeping it good for her, driving her up slow and high, then interrupting the climb, all to make her release that much stronger, but she couldn’t think about that. Not now. She could only feel.
She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t stand it. She wanted him to stop. She couldn’t bear for him to stop.
She was begging now. Her cheek pressed to the mattress, her arms stretched out along it, her hands clutching at the velvet spread, and his hands all over her. Touching her between her breasts with the vibrator, then moving it on down. On her inner thighs, making her want to spread them farther apart for him. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it a second more, he set it to her, not quite touching the best spot, but making everything else light up, the concentric circles of desire start to narrow. Then he began to move faster inside her, like he’d finally got serious. Or like he needed to let her know that he was in charge of this, and that she was his.
He drove her into the mattress, her forearms sliding back and forth against the velvet, the friction delicious against her skin, inside her, on her. Everywhere. One palm planted by her head where she could see the size of it, and the tendons of his arm standing out like ropes.
He drove her mad. He made her wild. And when she was incoherent, when she was calling out, because nothing mattered except the orgasm she had to have… he stopped again, and she almost screamed.
“Do you want this?” he asked her.
She should have had some smart response. She just moaned.
“Do you need it?” he asked. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Please.”It was a moan.“Yes.I’m… yours. I’m yours. Please.Marko.”
She knew he was smiling. She knew he’d won, and she didn’t care. He plunged deep, then he kept going, and he kept up that buzzing pressure, too. Still just beneath that magic spot, like she was going to have to tighten up and work for it.
Nothing to do but hang on. Nothing to feel but this.
Too fierce. Too hard. Too much. Too far.
Wild.
She heard something. Somebody was trying to say words. It was her, and she couldn’t get them out. The waves were taking her over, pulling her down. Pulling her under, one after another, so she couldn’t get her breath. And over the music, over the throbbing guitar and the soaring violin… the sound of Marko swearing, long and low. Not in English, and not in Maori. An alien tongue she’d never heard in her life, full of consonants. Sounding as fierce and as rough as he felt driving into her, and she was gone.
Her forehead banged against the mattress, and then it did it again. And again. Over and over. She moaned. She called out.
And, finally, she screamed.
