Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
He fucked me slowly at first. Long, measured strokes that withdrew almost completely before driving back in to the hilt, his hips meeting my welted bottom with each thrust and sending fresh waves of stinging heat through the bruised skin. The collision of tenderness and sting—the soreness of my punished cheeks against the hard planes of his body—kept me suspended between pain and pleasure in that place I was beginning to understand as the essence of what I needed.
“This is what you asked for,” Master Paul said behind me, his voice low and rough and intimate in a way I didn’t think it had ever been on set. “This is what my girl wants. To be bent over and taken.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Yes, Master, this is what I want, this is—”
His rhythm quickened. The chair rocked beneath me, its legs scraping faintly against the hardwood, and I clung to the seat cushion and let the pleasure build in rolling waves that started where his cock split me open and radiated upward through my belly and my chest. My bare, shaved mound pressed against the leather arm with each thrust, the friction of the warm hide against my hypersensitive clit sending jolts through my nervous system that made my thighs shake.
Then I felt his thumb.
It pressed against the tight, puckered opening above where his cock moved inside me—the place he’d touched on the set, the place he’d told me he would claim. The pad of his thumb rested there with a pressure that was exploratory rather than invasive, a firm, circling touch that made every nerve ending in that forbidden spot fire simultaneously. I gasped. My whole body went rigid, a full-length clench of surprise and something much, much darker.
“Feel that?” His voice was low, rough with exertion, his hips still driving into me in deep, punishing strokes. His thumb pressed a fraction harder, not entering, just insisting, making its presence known against that impossibly sensitive ring of muscle. “Remember what I told you. This is mine too, Annie. Every part of you. And you’re going to take me here soon. You’re getting ready for it every time you serve me.”
A sound left me that I had no name for. It contained, in its single meaningless syllable, the full scope of my terror and my want. His thumb circled slowly, patiently, while his cock filled me from the other side, and the dual sensation—the relentless fullness inside my pussy and the insistent pressure against my virgin anus—created a feeling so overwhelming that my arms gave out. My chest collapsed against the seat of the armchair, my face pressing into the warm leather that smelled like him, and I sobbed with a pleasure so acute it had become indistinguishable from anguish.
“You’ll open for me,” he said, his thumb still circling, still pressing. “The way you opened your throat. The way you opened this sweet cunt. Slowly. Willingly. Because you’re mine, and mine means all of you.”
“Yes,” I sobbed into the leather. “Yes, sir. All of me. Everything.”
He came inside me for the second time that day, his cock buried to the hilt, his thumb pressed against my anus, his body curved over mine like something sheltering and claiming simultaneously. I felt each pulse of his release flooding my insides, hot and possessive, and the sensation triggered one final orgasm that left me boneless and shaking and draped over his armchair like something that had been wrung out and hung up to dry.
We stayed like that for a long time. His weight against my back. His softening cock still inside me. His thumb, mercifully, had lifted from that terrifying, electric spot between my cheeks, and his hand now rested on the small of my back with a tenderness that made my throat ache.
Eventually he gathered me up. Carried me back to the bed. Wrapped himself around me in the darkening apartment while the last of the gold light faded from the windows and the city sounds rose faintly through the glass.
I slept in his arms, and I didn’t dream of anything at all.
CHAPTER 29
Paul
The next morning I woke before Anne did.
I lay there for several minutes, watching the early light find the angles of her face, and I let myself feel the full weight of what had begun to happen to me. I had shown her a vulnerability yesterday that I felt not the slightest desire to take back today. I could feel my life rearranging itself around the shape of this girl sleeping in my bed with her lips slightly parted and one hand curled beneath her chin.
I got up and made coffee. By the time Anne joined me in the kitchen, blushing and unable to meet my eyes at first, I had decided how to handle the thing that had arisen between us like a force of nature: a tectonic shift that had somehow occurred with the speed of a tornado.