The Billionaire's Embrace
Page 6
“Carter,” I said, urgently, wanting him to stop so I could have a moment to catch my breath, but also not wanting him to stop at all, wanting him to keep going until I crested and fell, joyous, over the edge.
He must have heard the frantic note in my voice, because he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve had enough.”
“No,” I said, hiking my knees higher, wishing I hadn’t said anything. I spread my legs hopefully, wanting him to go back to what he had been doing.
He chuckled and said, “Turn over.”
It took me longer than it should have. My legs, when I released them, were stiff and uncooperative, and I had to lie still for a moment before I could muster the strength to roll over. My legs dangled awkwardly onto the floor, and I crawled forward onto the bed, drawing my knees beneath me.
Carter stood and sat beside me, placing one hand on my back and sliding it down over the curve of my ass. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
I flushed. The skin of my face felt too tight. He was right—I had told him I would be good, that I wouldn’t say anything. And then I said his name, and ruined it. “I’m sorry,” I said. Was that the right thing to say? Did he want me to apologize?
He shook his head, looking regretful. “That isn’t good enough, Regan. It’s better to ask permission than forgiveness. If you aren’t able to be good for me...”
I sat up instantly, horrified. “I can be good!” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I was just so—but I can be good, I’ll do whatever you say, just please—”
“Hush,” he said. “I’m not angry. It’s my fault; I haven’t trained you well enough.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “Do you want to show me that you can be good?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding frantically. I would have done just about anything to redeem myself. “I do, please, let me show you—”
“Hush,” he said again. “Lie down across my lap.”
I hesitated. I could only imagine one reason he would ask me to do that, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. The position alone would be humiliating, like I was a naughty child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. But he looked so calm and matter-of-fact about it that I was able to ignore my reservations. Carter had been good to me so far. He had listened to me when I used my safeword. If I didn’t like it, he would let met stop. What was the harm in giving it a try?
Slowly, awkwardly, I went onto all fours and arranged myself over his lap.
It was difficult to balance myself, with him sitting on the edge of the bed, and one of my elbows and knees threatening to slide off the mattress. But I did the best that I could, and he curled his left hand around my waist, helping to hold me in position. I turned my face to one side, resting against the bed, and gave myself over to it: the shame, the arousal, the feeling of his wool trousers against my bare belly, the feeling of his erection pressed against my abdomen. He wasn’t just punishing me; he wanted this. And that made me want it, too.
He stroked my ass with his free hand, small circles, and then, without warning, lifted his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack.
I yelped. It escaped from me with that first stroke, and I immediately bit my tongue to hold in any further noises. I had to be quiet. I had to be good. I would be so good that he would keep me in his bed forever.
The blows reined down in quick succession. He hit me with his open palm, fingers spread, making a loud sound every time and sending waves of sparkling pain through my body. My parents had beaten me when I was a child, but this felt nothing like those early spankings. Carter wasn’t trying to hurt me; he was trying to make me feel the power he had over me, and the pleasure and pain he could give me.
I felt alive.
It did hurt. That wasn’t the goal; it was a side effect, but my nerve endings didn’t care. My brain did care, though, and it told me that the pain I was feeling wasn’t pain at all—it was ecstasy, in a slightly different form.
The skin of my ass felt hot, like a bad sunburn. My skin tingled with each blow, and every time Carter’s palm came down, I felt it throughout my entire body: my scalp prickled, my toes curled, my pussy throbbed, and I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I wouldn’t make a noise. I would be good.
It stopped, after some indeterminate amount of time. Carter smoothed his hand over my ass, comforting, and then down between my legs. He pushed his thumb inside of me and then smeared the wetness over my swollen clit, stroking me in languid circles. I breathed through my nose, desperate, trying to hold on.
“You’re ready,” he said. He slid one hand beneath my thighs and the other beneath my shoulders, and lifted me from his lap. He carried me around the side of the bed and lay me on the mattress. I clung to him, limp and almost beyond language, but he gently disentangled my hands from his shirt and stepped back to take off his clothes.
I watched him, curled where I was on the bed, as he unbuttoned his shirt and revealed his muscular chest, as he unzipped his trousers and revealed the length of his erection. He really wasn’t wearing underwear. I wanted to feel him on top of me, pressing me down into the bed. I wanted to feel him inside of me. My skin prickled all over, and I thought I would fall to pieces the instant he touched me.
He folded his clothes and put them on a nearby chair, slowly, deliberately, and opened a drawer in the bedside table. I watched him open a condom and roll it onto his thick cock. I watched him climb onto the bed and kneel above me, the very picture of masculine glory, and I reached for him with my limp arms, wanting.
“You showed me,” he murmured, leaning down. “You were very good.” He kissed me then, deep and passionate, and I tasted myself on his tongue.
I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, and we were still kissing when he pushed inside me.
I couldn’t last long, not after what he’d put me through. I felt my orgasm building as soon as he rolled his hips against me, and as he moved faster, I dug my fingers into the dense muscles of his back and felt my mouth opening in a soundless moan. His cock dragged out of me and I was on fire, and he pushed back in and I was hurtling through space. I didn’t control my body anymore. I was completely at his mercy, and he was going to make me come like this was our last night on earth.
“That’s right,” I heard him saying, from a great distance, “you’re almost there, aren’t you? Be a good girl and come for me,” and I didn’t, not right then, but a few strokes later, my tense muscles all released at once, in a sweeping cataclysm that shook me down to my very bones.
He must have heard the frantic note in my voice, because he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve had enough.”
“No,” I said, hiking my knees higher, wishing I hadn’t said anything. I spread my legs hopefully, wanting him to go back to what he had been doing.
He chuckled and said, “Turn over.”
It took me longer than it should have. My legs, when I released them, were stiff and uncooperative, and I had to lie still for a moment before I could muster the strength to roll over. My legs dangled awkwardly onto the floor, and I crawled forward onto the bed, drawing my knees beneath me.
Carter stood and sat beside me, placing one hand on my back and sliding it down over the curve of my ass. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
I flushed. The skin of my face felt too tight. He was right—I had told him I would be good, that I wouldn’t say anything. And then I said his name, and ruined it. “I’m sorry,” I said. Was that the right thing to say? Did he want me to apologize?
He shook his head, looking regretful. “That isn’t good enough, Regan. It’s better to ask permission than forgiveness. If you aren’t able to be good for me...”
I sat up instantly, horrified. “I can be good!” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I was just so—but I can be good, I’ll do whatever you say, just please—”
“Hush,” he said. “I’m not angry. It’s my fault; I haven’t trained you well enough.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “Do you want to show me that you can be good?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding frantically. I would have done just about anything to redeem myself. “I do, please, let me show you—”
“Hush,” he said again. “Lie down across my lap.”
I hesitated. I could only imagine one reason he would ask me to do that, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. The position alone would be humiliating, like I was a naughty child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. But he looked so calm and matter-of-fact about it that I was able to ignore my reservations. Carter had been good to me so far. He had listened to me when I used my safeword. If I didn’t like it, he would let met stop. What was the harm in giving it a try?
Slowly, awkwardly, I went onto all fours and arranged myself over his lap.
It was difficult to balance myself, with him sitting on the edge of the bed, and one of my elbows and knees threatening to slide off the mattress. But I did the best that I could, and he curled his left hand around my waist, helping to hold me in position. I turned my face to one side, resting against the bed, and gave myself over to it: the shame, the arousal, the feeling of his wool trousers against my bare belly, the feeling of his erection pressed against my abdomen. He wasn’t just punishing me; he wanted this. And that made me want it, too.
He stroked my ass with his free hand, small circles, and then, without warning, lifted his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack.
I yelped. It escaped from me with that first stroke, and I immediately bit my tongue to hold in any further noises. I had to be quiet. I had to be good. I would be so good that he would keep me in his bed forever.
The blows reined down in quick succession. He hit me with his open palm, fingers spread, making a loud sound every time and sending waves of sparkling pain through my body. My parents had beaten me when I was a child, but this felt nothing like those early spankings. Carter wasn’t trying to hurt me; he was trying to make me feel the power he had over me, and the pleasure and pain he could give me.
I felt alive.
It did hurt. That wasn’t the goal; it was a side effect, but my nerve endings didn’t care. My brain did care, though, and it told me that the pain I was feeling wasn’t pain at all—it was ecstasy, in a slightly different form.
The skin of my ass felt hot, like a bad sunburn. My skin tingled with each blow, and every time Carter’s palm came down, I felt it throughout my entire body: my scalp prickled, my toes curled, my pussy throbbed, and I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I wouldn’t make a noise. I would be good.
It stopped, after some indeterminate amount of time. Carter smoothed his hand over my ass, comforting, and then down between my legs. He pushed his thumb inside of me and then smeared the wetness over my swollen clit, stroking me in languid circles. I breathed through my nose, desperate, trying to hold on.
“You’re ready,” he said. He slid one hand beneath my thighs and the other beneath my shoulders, and lifted me from his lap. He carried me around the side of the bed and lay me on the mattress. I clung to him, limp and almost beyond language, but he gently disentangled my hands from his shirt and stepped back to take off his clothes.
I watched him, curled where I was on the bed, as he unbuttoned his shirt and revealed his muscular chest, as he unzipped his trousers and revealed the length of his erection. He really wasn’t wearing underwear. I wanted to feel him on top of me, pressing me down into the bed. I wanted to feel him inside of me. My skin prickled all over, and I thought I would fall to pieces the instant he touched me.
He folded his clothes and put them on a nearby chair, slowly, deliberately, and opened a drawer in the bedside table. I watched him open a condom and roll it onto his thick cock. I watched him climb onto the bed and kneel above me, the very picture of masculine glory, and I reached for him with my limp arms, wanting.
“You showed me,” he murmured, leaning down. “You were very good.” He kissed me then, deep and passionate, and I tasted myself on his tongue.
I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, and we were still kissing when he pushed inside me.
I couldn’t last long, not after what he’d put me through. I felt my orgasm building as soon as he rolled his hips against me, and as he moved faster, I dug my fingers into the dense muscles of his back and felt my mouth opening in a soundless moan. His cock dragged out of me and I was on fire, and he pushed back in and I was hurtling through space. I didn’t control my body anymore. I was completely at his mercy, and he was going to make me come like this was our last night on earth.
“That’s right,” I heard him saying, from a great distance, “you’re almost there, aren’t you? Be a good girl and come for me,” and I didn’t, not right then, but a few strokes later, my tense muscles all released at once, in a sweeping cataclysm that shook me down to my very bones.
