He growls in my ear, "Bedroom. Now," and I shudder with delight. It's eleven o'clock at night, and I thought he'd gone to bed an hour ago, but apparently not.
He's got me by the arm, pulling me up off the couch as my smutty romance novel slides to the floor. It doesn't matter. My body lights up, responding to the way he drags me down the hallway, pausing just before the bedroom door to push me against the wall with his tall, muscular frame and capture my mouth with his. I feel a hand slide to the back of my neck, and I let out a soft moan, knowing what's coming next. His hand tightens in my hair and jerks my head back as he licks a long line across my neck. Then his teeth scrape the soft skin of the underside of my jaw, and I'm a whimpering mess.
We rush to the bedroom, peeling off clothing as we go, shedding shirts and underwear like falling leaves. By the time I'm fully undressed, he's ready, standing behind me. His hands grab my shoulder and force me to bend over the bed, my face hitting the mattress. As he runs his large hands over my bare ass, I shift impatiently, longing to feel him inside me. He likes to prolong it, though. Asshole.
A sharp slap of his hand against my ass forces a guttural cry from my throat. God, I love when he's rough with me. I try to turn my head to the side so I can breathe, but he's got my hair in his other hand, pulling my head back. It hurts, but I moan anyway as my back arches against the unnatural position. He smacks me again, this time on the outside of my upper thigh, and I wonder if he's leaving red handprints again. I hope he is.
"Please," I beg, feeling his bruising fingertips roam over my backside. I wiggle my hips, trying to encourage his fingers to move lower, to dip between my legs. He stills me with another hard smack on my ass, and I obey the unspoken order to stop moving, my neck burning from being held in such a way.
My hair is freed suddenly, and I drop my head back down onto the bed, resisting the urge to rub my sore scalp. My hands are by my sides, anyway, and he wouldn't want me to move them. I know, because he grabs my wrists and pulls them behind me. Something rattles, and I recognize the sound of the cuffs. I grin as he slides first one, then the other, over my wrists and pulls them tight. My shoulders complain, but I ignore the pulling sensation, relaxing into the bound position.
"How wet are you?" he asks in that deep voice of his, and before I can answer, he's checking, kicking my legs apart and pressing a finger between my legs, rubbing in a way that makes me moan shamelessly. I feel the finger slip inside my warm pussy, and my own fingers clench uselessly behind my back, wishing to grab his whole hand and grind against it. I need him inside me. A low chuckle; he removes his finger, then reaches around to grab my hair again. He forces the finger inside my mouth, and I suck greedily on my own juices. "How does that taste, babygirl?"
I try to answer, but his hand against my mouth muffles my reply, and he only laughs again before removing his finger and letting go of my hair. I'm left breathless, my cheek falling against the mattress once again.
Silence behind me, and I wonder for a moment if he's left me to suffer, bound and soaking wet, desperate for him. Then a hard thud hits the lower part of my back, and the surprised cry that rips from my throat ends in a low groan. My hips twitch with the bruising pain, but it's a familiar one. It's his favorite leather flogger, and I swear I can feel all fifty falls sting my tender skin as he swings it again, striking the left cheek. I howl in pain and pleasure both, breathing hard as pain signals rush screaming through my body.
He hits me again, this time a hard, dull thump against my back, and I shudder, biting back the cry of pain. Another, then another, and he's found a rhythm, swinging in a figure-eight motion as the leather falls pound me in the same damn spot over and over until my skin is raw. I'm lost in a cacophony of sensations, twisting and flailing to get some relief from the relentless barrage of thuddy strikes. Just as I part my lips to beg him for respite, he lets up, dragging the ends of the falls down my back to brush against my ass.
"Do you want more?" he whispers, letting the leather strips dangle against the backs of my legs, teasing me. It's a game: a question with no correct answer, because no matter what I say, I know he will do exactly what he wants to do, nothing more or less. He rotates the flogger so the smooth glass handle rubs against my flesh, trailing up my sore back. "Or do you want this?"
