Page 35 of Deceiver

I’m so damned weak.

Run, Bonnie. Don’t stay here.

“I would make your ass so fuckin’ red you couldn’t sit on it for a week.”

Why does that send thrills up my spine?

The very image of his hand on my ass, slapping me until I scream his name, has my body heating. He must be able to tell, because he takes a step forward, his voice gravelly when he says, “That made your little cunt wet, didn’t it?”

My word.

The filth that comes out of his mouth.

It’s vulgar, and, yet, I’m more turned on than I’d like to admit.

“Does it matter? You and I, we’re through.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take a hand to your ass.”

I bite my bottom lip. “I’m not the kind of girl to kneel down and do as you tell me.”

“We’ll see.”

He takes another step forward, lashing out and grabbing my arm once more, pulling me toward him until my body slams against his. Gasping, my fingers splay out over his rigid chest muscles as he moves backward until he hits the sofa. He pulls us both down on it, and with the strength and power that far outmatches my own, he flips me and bends me over his knee. Entirely stunned, I gasp and try to squirm, but he’s far too strong.

“You know what to say,” he growls, lifting my dress.

He knows I’m not going to say it.

I’m turned on, in a big way. His cock, hard beneath my stomach, is so tempting. I want to curl my lips around it, sucking up and down his shaft until he fills my mouth with that delectable milky liquid. I want to hear his groans and grunts of pleasure; I want to torment him the same way he torments me. The way he makes me suffer and desperately beg for more.

Slap.

A shocked scream leaves my throat as he runs a rough hand over my bottom before lifting it and bringing it down again.

Slap.

My scream turns into what would better resemble a garbled moan, and I close my eyes, trying to stop the aching between my legs.

Slap.

I’m moaning now, desperate for him to touch me.

His fingers move between my legs, and he slides one in as his hand lands on my ass once more. I gasp in pleasure, the sensations incredibly overwhelming, and I find myself enjoying them more than I’d like to admit. Curling his finger, he rubs against my g-spot as his hand smooths over my ass, and I know it won’t take long until I’m tightening around him, begging for more, wanting to sit on his cock and ride until we both lose control.

In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I slide forward, his finger slipping from my pussy as I land on my hands and knees to the side of him. I get up and stand before him, my dress pushed up around my waist, my panties down around my knees. I glance down at his cock, bulging in his jeans, and I don’t waste a single second reaching for it, unbuttoning him until it springs free. He doesn’t stop me–instead, he watches me the entire time, his eyes hooded.

Straddling him, I take his cock in my hand and slowly guide it into my wet, aching depths.

The moment he fills me, I gasp in pleasure and close my eyes, sinking down deeper and deeper. The feeling is overwhelming, the kind I wish I could feel every single day for the rest of my life. I never want to leave this spot, on his lap, his body so close to mine, even if I’m not allowed to touch him.

“I own you.”

His words, gravelly and forceful, have my eyes popping open.

“What?” I whisper, stopping my rocking.

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