Page 16 of Little Death
“Wh-what?” I sputter. “I thought you said orgasms were my punishment! I’m not doing?—”
In the next second, his hand is around my throat, choking off my protestations. The flare of heat sitting low in my belly ignites into a small blaze. “Six. Are you greedy for that many orgasms, sweet girl? Is that why you keep fighting? Think I won’t deliver? I told you that you didn’t need to be a brat. I’ll give you exactly what you need. I’m not like the boys you toy with. I’m a man who keeps his promises. Now lay your sweet arse over my lap. You won’t like what happens if I have to tell you again.” His head tilts. “Or maybe you will. Either way, I’m getting what I want. So go ahead. Test me. I. Dare. You.”
Scarlet heat licks up my body from my chest to my hairline. He’s going to make me do this, no matter what I say, no matter what I do. The fact shouldn’t make me so desperately, insanely wet, but it does. If I sprawl over his lap, my short dress will no doubt rise to give him a full view. The evidence would be undeniable. I’m afraid he’ll be able to see it, slicking the inside of my thighs. It might even soak his dress pants by the time he’s done with me.
Despite my shame, the siren song of his masterful hands is too alluring to deny. One taste of him hadn’t been enough. The desire he brought to life is a raging inferno inside me, and no amount of embarrassment seems to be enough to keep me from pushing to my feet. I nearly stumble, but I right myself before I fall on him and lower myself awkwardly onto his lap. With sure economical movements, his calloused hands arrange me to his liking.
I press my scalded cheek into the bedspread. The material is cool against the rawness of my skin. It’s so dark, I can barely see a few feet in front of me, which heightens all my senses. His masculine scent. The sound of my rapid breathing. His body surrounds me, enveloping me. A trill of fear skates down my spine. He places a big hand on my back to still my squirming, and I stop breathing altogether.
He’s got me so on edge that when his palm travels down to the back of my thigh, I jerk against him like I’ve been electrocuted. “Easy, pet. We’re just getting started,” he murmurs.
With one hand resting comfortably on my back, the other glides over my ass, ghosts down the backs of my thighs, then reaches my ankles. He shifts, allowing him to reach my feet. One at a time, he pulls them up for inspection andtsksat the sight of their abuse. Slowly, torturously, he cleans them of debris, brushing them in confident, methodical strokes. They’re tender and covered in scrapes, so each touch sends arcs of sensation shooting upward along my nerves. Too much? Too sensitive? Not enough. I can’t fucking tell anymore.
When he’s done with both, he arranges me back on my knees, bent over his lap, and the hand on my back moves to a warning brace across my shoulders to keep me in place. My heart stumbles as his touch nears the apex of my thighs. Like he’s reading my mind, the hand bracing me increases pressure as though he knows I’m thinking about bolting. He’s not wrong. The urge tightens all my muscles into knots.
“Easy,” he says.
Yeah, right.
As if by magic, a light flicks on. A remote? Then, so quick it leaves me breathless, his wandering hand flips the skirt of my dress up and over my ass, baring my tiny excuse for a thong to him. Because it’s little more than a scrap of lace, and white lace at that, I have no doubt he can see the significant evidence of my arousal painted over the fabric and my thighs despite the lack of light. The white material is probably translucent at this point. I can’t see his expression, but the room is so silent, it doesn’t mask the way his chest bobs and breath rushes over his teeth. Even though I can’t see him, I can feel his scrutiny as it roves over my exposed flesh.
“You’re so feckin’ beautiful like this,” Aiden whispers, the words raw like they’ve been ripped from his throat without permission.
I turn my face fully into the duvet, hoping it’ll smother me before he forces me to face his punishment. The anticipation is almost worse than whatever he has in store.
“Why? Because I’m helpless and you’re going to hurt me?”
“That’d be easy, wouldn’t it? But no, that’s not why.” His fingers trail up the back of one thigh, and I quiver with the effort it takes to keep still. Another huffed breath. “I’m going to enjoy watching you figure it out.”
“Psychopath. Just get it over with already. I know you want to, so stop playing?—”
Smack.
The crack of his palm against my bare ass scatters my concentration, and tears sting the back of my throat, threatening to spill over my lashes. I breathe deeply to stem their flow, but my ass fucking stings. If I thought he would spare me any quarter, I’m sorely mistaken.
“Fuck,” I whimper.
“Think you can take ten of these?” His palm soothes the sting, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.
“Is that all?” I pant, but I’m lying my fucking ass off. “I can take whatever you’ve got to give.”
“Feckin’ beautiful,” he says under his breath. “You count them out for me, pet. Let me hear you.”
I nod against the duvet, feeling a little disconnected from my body. He’s mastered something inside me against my will. Reprogrammed something deep inside me to suit his needs.
Without warning, his hand comes down again on the opposite cheek, driving a sweet searing pain into me. I groan, my hips arching back, my clit needy and pulsing with an ache that demands satisfaction. I don’t realize I’m grinding into his thighs, searching for friction until he wedges something solid, smooth, and warm with the heat of his body between his thigh and my pussy. “Count for me.”
“T-two,” I warble, then I clear my throat of the knot lodged there and say more solidly, “What is that? What did you do?”
“I said you’d get those six orgasms, but I didn’t say when. You’ll come when I let you. For now, you’re going to take your punishment, and your sweet little clit will have to wait.”
He punctuates this statement with another hard smack on my ass. My brain is so scrambled by the suddenness and the multiplication of the sting that it takes a minute for me to process what I’m feeling pressed between my body and the sweet friction of his muscular thigh.
Is that his…
It’s his mask.
Aiden took off his fucking mask and arranged it sideways to cup my cunt like some demented chastity belt to limit sensation to my clit. Because an experimental twitch of my hips reveals I feel next to nothing grinding against its unforgiving surface. I don’t know whether to be amused, offended, or pissed off, but he doesn’t spare me a second to figure it out.
