“Of course not. Men really do this?”

She’s so innocent, I have to laugh. But all hint of humor dies the instant I see her world-class ass across my lap. Taut, round, firm, pale. Kissable. Edible. Fuckable.

I start to sweat.

I don’t know who the fuck she’s been dating or why he hasn’t managed to locate his dick, but… “Oh, yeah. Men definitely do this, angel. Get ready.”

With a nudge, I steady her by planting one hand on the small of her back. With the other, I smooth and squeeze the luscious globes—testing, prepping, fondling.

“Will it hurt?”

Since I’m a dirty, degenerate son of a bitch, the tremble in her voice only turns me on more. “Sting. For a minute. After that… Well, you’ll see.”

“O-okay.”

I wonder at the trust she’s placing in me. She still doesn’t even know my name. But for some reason, she’s willing to surrender everything to me.

Does she feel that inexplicable tug between us, too?

She must. It’s the only explanation.

I would never hurt Calla, but make her feel? Push her to the limit? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Breath held, I lift my hand, then bring it down with a soft smack to her left cheek. I do the same to her right, then settle into a rhythm. Every time I land my hand, the blow turns a little harder, a little louder, until her cheeks begin to turn satisfyingly pink.

At first she tenses, then—a few spanks in—she starts to gasp and soften. Wiggling follows. When I pause to press my palms against her hot, stinging flesh, she moans. I smile. Then, fuck yes, I hasten the pace and the intensity of each smack until she starts breathing heavily, her ass slowly turns red, and she lifts herself to me for more.

I rub and squeeze her tormented cheeks until she hisses. “If you want me to keep going, Calla, ask for it.”

The long, heavenly hair bobbing around my feet tells me she’s nodding. “More,” she gasps. “I don’t know why, but I need it.”

She probably doesn’t know. I do. She’s proving to be the softly sexual yin to my dirty-as-fuck yang. Even if I’d special ordered her, I’m not sure I could have found a woman who dovetails as nicely with my proclivities as this one. I’m eager as hell to show her everything she’s been missing.

“Good girl,” I praise as I pinch and knead her sensitive backside.

When she whimpers, I swat her with more force and sting than before. She jerks again. Her keening gets louder. I get even fucking harder.

Minutes slide by. My palm stings. Her backside looks sunburned red. And I wait. I suspect I’m approaching the edge of her tolerance, but I may not be quite there yet. I hope, anyway. I’m enjoying the hell out of seeing my bronzed hand connect with her pale, supple ass, hearing her groans and gasps, feeling her wriggle and jolt. I suspect she loves this every bit as much as I do.

“More?”

“Yes.” The word rushes out with her audible exhalation. “Yes.”

“You’re going to be sore.” And because I’m perverse and I can’t resist, I give my fingernails a gentle drag down her flushed skin.

She sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t care.”

I smile. She will care a lot more tomorrow when she tries to sit down, but if she remembers me a bit longer, I’m all for it.

“I warned you…” Then I don’t give her a chance to change her mind, just unleash a fresh dozen blows on her throbbing ass, loving the way she rocks and digs her nails into my calf as her voice lifts to broken, strangled cries every time I lay my palm across her sensitive flesh.

When I stop, she’s shuddering and struggling to catch her breath. A light sheen of perspiration covers her skin. Her ass is all but glowing. I could happily keep going for half the night. But whether Calla knows it or not, she’s had enough. And her well-being comes first.

Even so, I can’t resist the opportunity to kiss her backside, which throbs hot under my tongue. I run the tip up one blistering cheek, then nip at it until she yelps and begs.

“Oh. My god. Do something…” She struggles to sit up.

I plant my palm on her back more firmly to hold her in place. “Why?”

I know the reason, but I want to hear her say it.

“I’m on fire. I’m dying…”

That makes me grin. She really is perfect.

I help her upright, onto shaky legs. She stumbles to find her balance, planting her hands on my thighs and blinking at me with dilated eyes like I’m something between a monster and a god. I tuck a long strand of her hair behind her ear, marveling at how fucking beautiful she is. I wonder what her last name is, where she’s from, what she does for a living, and how it’s possible no red-blooded man has seen who and what she is, then snapped her up for his own. “You need to come?”


Tags: Shayla Black Romance
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