He moved at last, but he still didn’t touch me. He just sat down on the edge of the table, sighed, and finally said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to spank you hard today.”
I was breathing more heavily already, my body tensing in anticipation. Finally, he was lifting my skirt, pulling it high. Still not touching my skin, though, and I needed him to touch me.
It was dirty, and it was twisted, and I wanted it.
I was wearing high-cut, pale-blue underwear with an edging of lace, and he must have been looking at them, but I couldn’t see him well enough. I began to turn to get a better look, and he put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down just as the other hand came down on me, sharp and hard.
I jumped and cried out, and he didn’t let go of my shoulder. He held me down, and he spanked me. The slaps sounded loud in the room even over the drumming of the rain outside, and his broad hand drove me up to the edge of pain, awakening sensation everywhere he touched. He spanked every inch of my bottom and upper thighs, around and down and back up again, and he spanked hard.
He knew where it stopped feeling good. He’d made me tell him, had tested and found my limits. Usually, though, he saved that place where pleasure met pain for the last few slaps. This time, he started too close, then went on and on while my breath came in gasps and my flesh heated. Until it was hurting, and I cried out loud and said, “Hemi. Stop. Please. Pie.”
I’d never used my word. I’d never had to. Maybe I’d been afraid to test whether he really would stop, afraid to know the answer.
I found out now, because the second I said it, he stopped. He was smoothing his palm over my burning skin, soothing me. “Sweetheart. Sorry. All right?”
“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice as shaky as the rest of me. “But I…I…” I didn’t even know what I wanted to say.
“Are we stopping, then? What do you need?” His voice was still ragged, I was still tender, and all of it thrilled me. It was probably wrong, and it was definitely dirty, but just hearing him like that, knowing how close to the edge he was, drove me higher.
“You,” I told him. “I need you. Please, Hemi. Please. I need you. More.” I was still on my stomach, he was still rubbing his hand over me, and the burning was changing to tingling arousal. And when his hand dove down, began to explore, diving under the lace to feel how shamefully wet and swollen I was? I hauled in an unsteady breath and willed him to continue.
He didn’t, of course. He pulled his hand away, and I couldn’t help whimpering at the loss. “I’m going to push you some more, then,” he said. “If you don’t want that, tell me.”
“I…I want it.” Definitely dirty. And I couldn’t resist it any more than I could resist gravity.
He waited a minute, during which I held my breath, then said, “Get up, then. Come over to the couch.” He didn’t give me any more time than that, or any more softness. He stood up and left me.
I got to my feet as best I could, even though my knees were shaking. Hemi could have helped me, but he didn’t. He was sitting in the middle of the black leather couch again, and when I hesitated, he said, “Take off your underwear. You want to see how possessive I can be? I’m going to show you.”
I could have said the word again, but I didn’t. I knew for sure now that he wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want. I believed he’d stop as soon as I asked him to, and the freedom coursed through me even as I trembled with excitement and something that was close to fear, but…not.
No. Not fear. Being with Hemi was pure physical thrill, like leaping from an airplane into the wide, wild sky. And right now, it was falling without the parachute.
“Hope. Do it now,” he told me, because I’d waited too long. “Or I’ll put you over my knee and spank you again.”
I shuddered, and I did it. I pulled the pale-blue scrap of fabric over my tingling skin, and he watched. If it hadn’t been for the faint flush on his bronzed skin, the heat in his dark eyes, I wouldn’t have known what he was feeling. But I did know, and I wanted nothing more at that moment than to prove to him that I was his, and to have him prove it to me.
Two seconds, three, and he still didn’t move. Finally, his hands went to his belt buckle, and he unfastened it, then pulled down his zip, shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down over his hips, and freed himself. “Take off your skirt first,” he said. “And then come kneel over me. The same way you did it before.”
I did that, too. Of course I did. I expected him to lower me onto him, even though he never took me like this, without any foreplay. He always made sure I was ready, and the first orgasm was always mine. But he had to know how excited I was already, and how desperately I ached to have him inside me. How much I needed him filling me so completely that he took my breath, driving into me so hard that he stole my will.
Except he didn’t do it. He still didn’t touch me, even when I was rubbing against him. Instead, he said, “Take your sweater off and give it to me.” His hands were at his sides again, his eyes staring into mine, transfixing me exactly like the spider he was, coming closer, stalking me across the web.
I unbuttoned slowly, from the top to the bottom, then pulled off the little blue sweater and handed it to him.
“Now the bra,” he said. “Take it off. Give it to me.”
I did that, too, though my hands were shaking. And then I was naked, and he was still almost fully dressed.
“Yeh,” he said. “This is what I want.” He picked up my tights, and he touched me at last. At least, sort of. He grabbed both my wrists, pulled my hands behind my back, and tied them with my tights, until the soft binding held me fast. And then he let go of me.
I fought for balance over him. It was obvious that he wanted me, so why wasn’t he touching me?
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Wh-what?”
“Do you want it?”
“Hemi. Please. What do you want me to do?”
“If you want it,” he said, “you’re going to have to work for it.”
“I—can’t. I’m…tied.”
“You are. So what are you going to do?”
The leather was cold under my knees, my shins. My hands were pulled so tightly behind me, and he wasn’t helping me.
I was so frustrated. So close, and I couldn’t get there. My face was against his neck, and I was breathing in his warm scent as I lifted myself onto my knees and tried to wriggle onto him, and he sat still. I needed him inside me, but no matter how hard I struggled, how many times I shifted and fell against him and pushed, I couldn’t make it happen. My breath came loud in the quiet room, but it was from effort now.
Finally, I gave up. I sank down over him, pressed my body into his, and said, “Please, Hemi. Help me.”
I could feel his sigh all the way through my body. And then he had his hands around my waist, was picking me up, setting me over him, finding the angle, and then, so slowly, so deliciously…he impaled me deep. And I cried out loud to get it.
He read my movements, my sobbing breaths. He listened, and he responded. He held me tight, used me hard, lifted me high and bit gently at my breasts, then sucked until I moaned. He gave me no choice, but I didn’t want any, not now. I was making too much noise, and then I was making more.