He lifted his hand and slapped her right buttock, then her left, then her right in quick succession, the cracking noises echoing in her ears even when he paused. She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. He was obviously experienced at spanking; his strokes were precise, firm, quick but unhurried. He landed another flurry of blows, covering all of her ass and upper thighs. Her bottom began to burn in a different way than it had from her paddling. Ian’s hand created a slow, simmering kind of heat that resonated off her skin. She also learned quickly enough where he liked spanking her most—on the round lower curve of her buttocks. Every time he smacked her there, his cock lurched against her and she felt the tension leap in his thighs. His slapping hand grew every bit as hot as her ass. Heat resonated from his cock as well, through the fabric of his trousers and into her skin.
He landed a slap on the bottom curve of her ass, then suddenly grabbed the entire buttock and lifted his groin, grinding her against his cock. Her shaky moan mingled with his low, feral growl. Her clit went from a burn to a sizzle at the pressure and the sharp awareness of his arousal. She felt dizzy, fevered, like she was on fire from the inside out. She wanted nothing more than to twist in his lap and get pressure on her clit . . . to hump against his cock like a wild, shameless thing. He lowered his hips and resumed spanking her. When he paused after a rapid round of slaps and again molded a buttock greedily into his palm, her control broke.
“Oh, Ian . . . no. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore,” she moaned, writhing in his lap. He stilled, her ass cheek still squeezed in his palm.
“It’s too painful?” he asked tautly.
“No. I can’t stay still anymore. I burn.”
For an anxious few seconds, he didn’t move. Then he let go of her ass and slid his hand between her thighs. She whimpered in frantic agony when his fingertips skimmed across her outer sex. His cock leapt against her.
“Christ . . . you’re soaking wet,” she heard him utter. He sounded stunned. She was too excited to be embarrassed . . . too far gone. She gasped when he put a hand on her shoulder, urging her upward.
“Come here,” he ordered in a hard tone.
Oh, no. Had she irritated him again? She pushed herself onto her knees with his assistance.
“Straddle my lap,” he ordered.
Her nearly dried hair scattered around her shoulders and back as she did his bidding. He placed his hands on her hips, settling her hot, burning bottom on his thighs. He smoothed her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her breasts. His gaze fixed on them, his upper lip curling slightly in a snarl.
“Look at that,” he said under his breath. “Your nipples are nearly as red as your ass.” His gaze flickered up to her face. “So are your cheeks, Francesca . . . and your lips. You enjoyed being punished, lovely. And that pleases me so much. It’s going to be so good fucking your wet little pussy.”
Her sex clenched painfully. He opened his large hands around her ribs and lowered his head, bringing her breasts to him. She tensed, expecting the delightful, forceful suck he’d treated her nipple to in the workout room, but instead, he pursed his lips slightly, kissing first one turgid nipple, then the other sweetly. “So perfect,” he whispered. His hands moved rapidly. Her excitement spiked when she realized he was unfastening his pants. He slipped just the crest of her breast between his lips, sucking lightly and whipping the flesh with his wet, warm tongue.
Her clit sizzled, tormenting her. Her hips twitched in his lap. She couldn’t control herself. She clutched onto his head and made a wild, fevered sound in her throat. He lifted his head and glanced up at her face.
“It’s all right,” he soothed, his blue eyes alight with lust. He moved his hand, sliding it down her heaving belly. She whimpered when he slid his finger between her creamy labia. He touched her clit. That’s all. One touch.
She exploded like a cache of dynamite.
She hardly knew what she was doing, so much pleasure swamped her existence at that moment. For a moment or two, he continued to stroke her clit as climax thundered through her. Distantly, she was aware of him cursing harshly and pushing her closer to his body, as if he wanted to absorb her shudders of orgasm. She shook against him, helpless in the face of roaring pleasure.
He shifted his hand. She cried out when she felt him push a thick finger into her vagina.
The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the couch next to Ian, and he was staring down at her as she gasped for air.
“You’ve never been with a man. Have you?”
Her soughing breath froze. It hadn’t really been a question but an accusation.
“No,” she said, resuming her panting. Why was he looking at her like that? “I told you.”
Fury sparked in his eyes. “When exactly did you tell me you were a virgin, Francesca? Because I sincerely doubt I would have let such a crucial piece of information slip my mind,” he snarled.
“There—before we came into the room tonight,” she said, pointing stupidly at the door to his bedroom. “You asked if I’d ever done this before, and I said—”
“I meant had you ever let a man punish you. Dominate you. Not—fuck,” he muttered in a blistering fashion. He stood jerkily and began to pace in front of the fireplace, raking his fingers through his short hair. He looked a little demented.
“Ian, what—”
“I knew this was a mistake,” he muttered bitterly. “Who did I think I was kidding?”
Her lips parted in dawning shock. He thought this had been a mistake? He was rejecting her? Now? Fresh images and sensations bombarded her consciousness, memories of how wild she’d been, how out of control with lust and need.