Page 74 of Vicious Arrangement
Sex unleashed and purely Noah.
And I want it too.
Kinky, filthy, all the things he’s done, the hints at restraint and orders of being his to obey his bidding.
I’m not some doormat, even though that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling outside the bedroom. But inside it, I think I might like being manhandled and controlled to a point, I think I might like him setting the scene, taking how much and what he wants.
Like last night in the kitchen, and in the shower, and in bed.
He’s done it before, and it electrifies.
Noah moves to my throat, making his way down it with lips and teeth and tongue, pausing to bite, and kiss, and suck until I’m quivering.
What is that point? How much is the right amount to let him take? Some of me? All?
I want… hell, he comes back up to kiss and lick my ear, and it’s bursts of orgasmic, momentary pleasure so intense I start to buckle. Only his hold keeps me standing.
I want him.
Noah takes my mouth again.
The kiss is one of pure control, and I follow him, the passion spiraling through me. When he breaks the kiss but not his hold, I look up at him. “I’m yours to do with what you want, Noah. You don’t even have to ask. My door’s wide open.”
The smile blooms into pure sexual darkness at scrapes and teases my senses, and nothing’s going to satiate me apart from him.
“Noah…”
“On your knees, princess.”
I know what he wants because I want it too.
But he’s playing, not giving, using the sex as a shield even as he takes that open door and steps into the space. By playing a master to me, a taker not a giver—because isn’t that what it is?—he isn’t letting me in, in return.
I want to say no, that I can’t be with someone who refuses to give back and open up the possibility of giving me everything as I give everything to them. But I can’t.
My knees give out as he locks eyes on me, that gleam of his finding its place is hot. It sears me, and I go down.
He lets me slide through that touch on my arm like I’m liquid.
Noah suddenly sits on the edge of the nearest sofa and pats his lap twice. A come here move that’s both titillating and tantalizing. I shuffle over, not sure what he wants.
“Up.”
Humiliation burns my cheeks as I do as asked, and I have to rest one hand on the floor to balance myself. He flips up my dress, lowers my panties, and then without warning, his hand comes down in a light, stinging bloom.
I squeal, more from shock than anything else. There’s a sting, but it doesn’t hurt.
“These are for flirting with my fucking friend,” he says. And he proceeds to pepper my delicate flesh with slaps.
Something interesting happens. It all grows in unbearable intensity, even though the force used remains light and doesn’t change.
Tears burn my eyes as my clit throbs.
He lists my sins. Angus, flirting, talking to the mailman, touching him… half of them are made up, and when he says ‘having a fucking job’ I’m aware on a level he’s weaving a scenario and he doesn’t mean it but there’s a part that clings to it and whispers just how bad I’ve been and I deserve the spanking.
I’m moaning, and I’m both so inside myself I’m only aware of what he’s doing and somewhere else, lost in the world he’s created, all the emotions and sensations that swirling and morphing into dark delight.
Then he pushes three fingers in me, and fucks me, and I come hard, screaming out until he cuts it short by pulling out and ordering me back on my knees.
