Page 77 of The Sadist and the Brat

But when he rose to his feet, crossed to a low cabinet under the window, and began rummaging through the contents…if she hadn’t been tied down, she would’ve bolted for the door.

Or maybe not, she thought, and licked her lips. Somewhere between hopping across the room to avoid his evil little zapper and now a switch had flipped inside her. Except for the desperate arousal, it was almost like she was at the end of a scene instead of the beginning. All the sharp edges inside her had smoothed away, leaving behind desire and need and a strange, inexplicable craving to see him smile again.

She was so used to Resting Dick Face that seeing him smile still gave her a little jolt, a sort of knee-jerkwhat the fuckreaction,then a strange warmth would spread through her and she’d smile back, wanting to share it. And when his smile faded, as smiles inevitably did, she found herself yearning to do something to bring it back.

Which was very, very weird. Since when did she care if Jack smiled?

She was pondering that when he came back, settling onto the couch again, and she thought absently that it was a shame she didn’t have her phone, because it would make a great picture. Her tied and spread legs framing him between them, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, that sly, baby-you’re-in-for-it-now smile that made her belly flip. Of course, even if she did have her phone, she couldn’t use it, because her hands were tied. It really was a shame.

He laid a hand on her shin. “How you doing?”

“I’m horny,” she said, and tried to wiggle enticingly. It was difficult, trussed up as she was like a Christmas turkey, but she managed to get her boobs to bounce a little. “Is it time to fuck yet?”

“Every time you ask me that, I’m adding ten minutes to your wait time.”

She gasped in genuine horror. “Youarea sadist.”

“And that ten minutes,” he continued, eyes dancing with a combination of laughter and evil, evil intent, “will be filled by an alternative activity of my choosing.”

That didn’t sound good. “What kind of alternative activity?”

“A painful one.”

“This violates my limits,” she protested.

“Does it?” He angled his head. “How?”

“No orgasm denial, remember?”

“You can come whenever you want,” he promised, his smile going sharp. “Now, hold still.”

“Do you think I have a choice?” she asked, rattling her cuffs for emphasis, then jerked in shock when something cold and wet hit her upturned asshole.

He slapped her thigh, making her jerk again. “I said, holdstill.”

“Sorry,” she gasped, and fought not to squirm. The lube he’d squirted on her asshole was like ice, and the shock of it had barely begun to fade when he popped his thumb inside.

She wanted more than anything to fuck back against his hand, to push hard against it, but she didn’t dare. So she stared at the ceiling and panted her way through the urge, gritting her teeth against the demands to go faster, do it harder, make her come, goddammit.

“You’re awful quiet,” he commented, the words accompanied by another icy squirt of lube before his thumb was back, pushing it in. “Nothing to say?”

“I’m being good,” she informed him, the words a strangled gasp. It felt so good, and she desperately wanted to move, but she was terrified of doing anything that would delay getting his dick inside her.

He laughed, a deep rumble that jiggled his thumb in her ass and had her gritting her teeth again. “You don’t have to keep quiet. The apartment is soundproofed.”

He pulled his thumb out of her ass, and the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding left her lungs in a woosh. “I’m trying not to beg.”

“Why?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed, and she lifted her head to scowl at him. “Because you told me not to!”

“I told you not to ask me to fuck you,” he corrected, and picked up something from the floor. There was a faint crinkle of plastic, like a package being opened. “Begging, on the other hand, is always allowed.”

“What’s the difference?” she wanted to know, trying to sit up further to see what he had in his hand. But the ropes would only let her go so far, and he held it too low.

“A semantic one, I suppose,” he allowed, glancing up. “But I’ll tell you if you go too far.”

“By then it’ll be too late,” she pointed out.

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