Chapter 13 #2
"Safe," I admitted, the word surprising me even as it left my mouth. "And . . ." Heat flooded my face at the next admission. "Needy."
Because along with everything else, arousal had built with each strike, each word of praise, each demonstration of his control. The spanking had lit me up in ways I hadn't expected, leaving me aching and empty and desperate for his touch in other ways.
"I know." His voice had gone rough, telling me I wasn't alone in that particular response. "Normal reaction. But first, let me take care of you."
He shifted me carefully, reaching for something on the side table I hadn't noticed him prepare. Lotion, I realized, as he helped me stretch out across his lap again, this time for a very different purpose.
"This might be cool," he warned before smoothing the lotion over my heated skin.
The relief was immediate, the gentle touch such a contrast to what had come before.
He took his time, making sure every inch of pinkened skin was soothed, checking in constantly about pressure and comfort.
The care undid me more than the discipline had, fresh tears spilling over at being tended to so thoroughly.
"Too much?" he asked, pausing in his ministrations.
"No," I managed. "Just . . . no one's ever . . ." I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't explain how revolutionary it felt to be cared for after being vulnerable, to have consequences followed immediately by comfort.
"Shh." He continued the gentle massage, working the lotion in with steady strokes. "This is part of it. The discipline and the care. Can't have one without the other."
"Tyson . . ." His name came out needy, desperate.
"What do you need, baby?"
"You," I breathed, squirming under his touch. "Just you. Please."
He helped me sit up, studying my face with those intense brown eyes. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him because he stood in one fluid motion, lifting me with him.
"Bedroom," he said simply. "We're doing this right."
H e laid me out on the bed like I was made of spun sugar, every movement deliberate and careful.
The sheets felt cool against my heated skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth still radiating from where his hand had connected with me.
I reached for him immediately, needing the anchor of his touch, but he caught my wrists with gentle firmness.
"Patience," he murmured, pressing a kiss to each palm before releasing them. "We have all the time in the world."
But that was the problem—I didn't want all the time in the world. I wanted him now, wanted to ease the ache that had been building since this morning, wanted to feel him everywhere at once. My body hummed with need, every nerve ending alive and seeking.
He started with kisses, devastatingly soft things that made my toes curl.
His mouth found mine with reverent care, tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I opened for him.
The kiss deepened, his hand tangling in my hair to angle my head just right, and I melted into the mattress with a sigh of relief. Finally. Finally, he was—
Then he pulled back.
"No," I whined, chasing his mouth, but he'd already moved out of reach. "Come back."
"Shh." His lips found my jaw instead, pressing feather-light kisses along the line of it. "Let me worship you properly."
Worship sounded good in theory. In practice, it was torture.
His mouth traced patterns on my skin that had no pattern at all—the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder, the sensitive spot where neck met collarbone.
Each kiss was perfectly placed to make me arch and seek more, but he never stayed in one spot long enough to satisfy.
His hands joined the exploration, fingertips skating over my ribs with touches so light they almost tickled. He traced the cherry blossoms on my shoulder, followed the vine wrapping my ribs, found every sensitive spot I didn't know I had. But always, always, he avoided where I needed him most.
"Please," I gasped when his fingers ghosted over the underside of my breast without actually touching. "Tyson, I need—"
"I know what you need." He caught my reaching hands before I could pull him closer, that easy strength making my stomach clench.
"But you're going to wait. Going to show me you can follow directions now. I’m going to teach you the benefit of letting me be in charge of your orgasms. Can you handle it? "
The callback to my earlier disobedience made heat flood my face. "I can," I promised desperately, trying to still my writhing body. "I'll be so good."
"You already are." He punctuated the praise with a kiss to my stomach that made my muscles jump. "So perfect for me."
Perfect. The word settled into my chest like warmth, even as the denial made every cell in my body scream for more.
He continued his sweet torture with methodical precision—the inside of my elbow, the dip of my waist, the crease where thigh met hip.
Every touch deliberately placed to build arousal without providing relief.
When I tried to press closer, he simply held me still with one hand splayed on my stomach. The casual display of control made me whimper.
"Such a responsive girl," he murmured against my hip bone. "Look how beautiful you are like this. All flushed and needy."
"Too needy," I corrected, squirming under his weight. "Dying of needy. This is how I die—denied to death by my sadistic boyfriend."
His laugh rumbled against my skin. "Dramatic."
"Accurate," I countered, then gasped when he nipped at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "Oh god, please, just—"
"Just what?" He pulled back to look at me, and the intensity in his eyes made my protests die on my lips. "Tell me exactly what you want."
But that was the problem—I wanted everything. His hands, his mouth, his cock, his control. I wanted to be taken apart and put back together. I wanted to be claimed so thoroughly that I'd feel it for days. I wanted, wanted, wanted with a desperation that should have embarrassed me but didn't.
"Can't," I managed. "Can't think when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm yours." The words came out raw, honest. "Like you own every part of me."
His expression shifted, something possessive and pleased flickering across his features.
"You are mine. Every inch, every breath, every thought.
" He moved up my body with predatory grace until he could frame my face with his hands.
"Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to deny when you need to learn patience. "
"I've been patient," I argued weakly.
"Have you?" His thumb traced my lower lip, and I fought the urge to suck it into my mouth. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been squirming and begging for all of five minutes."
Five minutes that felt like five hours, but I didn't say that. Couldn't say much of anything when he was looking at me like I was a puzzle he was solving, a code he was cracking, a challenge he was determined to meet.
He kissed me again, deep and claiming, until my thoughts scattered like startled birds. His weight settled over me, not crushing but present, inescapable. I could feel how hard he was through his jeans, evidence that this affected him too, but his control never wavered.
When he pulled back this time, I actually whined. "This is mean."
"This is discipline," he corrected, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Learning that good things come to good girls who wait."
"How long?" The question came out more desperate than intended.
"Until I say. I’m in charge of when you come." The authority in his voice made me shiver, made something deep in my belly clench with want. "It won’t happen until I know you're ready."
Ready? I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly combust from frustrated arousal.
I'd been ready since I woke up this morning with his body pressed against mine.
Ready since I'd sent those pictures. Ready since he'd walked through the door radiating controlled violence and then turned all that intensity on me.
But I could see in his eyes that this was about more than physical readiness. This was about trust, surrender, letting him lead completely. About proving I could follow his commands even when every instinct screamed to take what I wanted.
"Okay," I whispered, forcing my body to still against the mattress. "I'll wait. I'll be good."
"That's my girl." He sealed the praise with another kiss, this one softer, rewarding. "It’ll be worth it, sweetheart.”
The praise made me glow even as my body ached for more. But I kept my hands flat on the bed, didn't chase his mouth when he pulled away, didn't arch into his touches no matter how much I wanted to. I submitted to the sweet torture and trusted him to know when I'd had enough.
Time became syrup-slow and honey-thick as he continued his exploration.
I lost track of how long he spent mapping my body with hands and mouth, building me up only to pull back just when I thought I'd get relief.
By the time he finally paused, hovering over me with dark eyes and controlled breathing, I'd been reduced to wordless pleas and trembling limbs.
Time became meaningless. There was only sensation, need, and Tyson's steady presence controlling it all.
Minutes or hours could have passed as he worked me into a state of desperation I'd never experienced before.
Every nerve ending alive, every breath a plea, every heartbeat pounding his name through my veins like a prayer I couldn't stop repeating.
When his fingers finally, finally brushed where I needed them most, I nearly sobbed with relief. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but after so much denial it felt like lightning striking directly to my core.
"That's it," he encouraged, watching my face with laser focus. "Let me hear you."