Page 77 of Imperfect Player

“Everything’s fine, sunshine. The only thing that’s bothering me is you being a naughty girl who needs to be punished.”

As much as I want to push, to ask questions, I’m afraid to out of fear that I’ll push too far and ruin whatever this is between us. The idea of losing him terrifies me.

So I bite my tongue and I give in to what I know he needs—sex, me, a way to forget.

When I don’t respond, he continues.

“Is. That. What. You. Want.” He punctuates each word as he says them.

Unable to formulate the words, I nod.

He emits a low growl and begins to circle around me, appraising me. When he meets my eyes again, he smiles.

“Strip.”

“Strip?” I mutter out the question.

Ethan sits on the couch, his arms stretched out to either side of him.

“Yes, strip. As in take your clothes off in a seductive manner.”

He sits there, waiting.

I’ve never stripped before. The lack of music is making the whole ordeal even harder.

I slowly peel my shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground, exposing the bra beneath. It’s a sheer material. Railcats red. It sits beneath my breasts, hoisting them up, exposing my already hardened nipples.

The hiss he emits only serves as encouragement. My movements might be anything but sexy, but he’s enjoying the show and that’s what matters.

My hands tremble as they reach for the button of my jeans.

With my pants unfastened, I slide the material down my thighs before stepping out of them exposing the stringy, crotchless material that’s supposed to be panties.

Standing before him like this, I feel exposed and insecure. It’s one thing for him to see me like this. It’s a whole other to be on display for him.

My arms move to cover my body.

“No. I want to see you.”

I drop my arms, body and soul exposed to him.

“Jesus Christ,” he says before licking his lips and emitting a low growl. “Get over here.”

One foot in front of the other, I move forward until I’m standing directly in front of him. His right arm falls from the back of the couch, his hand moving to his thigh and patting it.

“Bend over,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“Bend. Over. My. Lap.”

Taking a deep breath, I do as he says. Lying over his lap, my ass in his face, I don’t breathe. Not until I feel his hand on me, running over my skin. His hand lifts, returning to my skin with a slight tap. I heave a sigh of relief when I feel the gentleness of his touch.

He slides his hand over the swell of my ass, rubbing it in a circular motion before palming it and giving it a firm squeeze. Again, his hand leaves my body. This time returning with a smack. Goodbye gentleness, hello hard slap of his firm hand against my bare skin.

Taking my lip between my teeth, I try to bite back the pain it elicits, but I can’t. An inaudible sound still escapes me. I wait for him to say something, forbid me from making a sound, but it doesn’t come. Just another smack. Flesh against flesh.

This time, I cry out.

---