Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The world seemed to narrow down and expand all at once. There seemed like a thousand things she ought to have been doing, noticing, cataloguing—but she couldn’t manage it. It was like she had no access to her brain the way she normally did no matter what was happening.
Tonight, all Romily could concentrate on was Zachary.
On the impossible strength he displayed so offhandedly. The way he held her up and moved her against him and didn’t seem even remotely out of breath.
On the way his dangerous Viking face looked, harsh lines somehow beautiful, that beard a revelation now that she’d felt it against her skin and those blue eyes that she was certain saw every last part of her.
On the fact that she was naked and he was almost entirely clothed still, his jeans shoved down to free him and nothing else like the fantasy she’d watched play out earlier—only now it was happening to her.
On the enormous cock that hammered into her again and again and again. Or maybe she was technically the hammer in this situation, given he was using her as the tool to fuck them both.
And it turned out that this beautiful, terrifying, perfect man was remarkably good with tools.
Zachary maintained the same rhythm. The same precise rhythm, moving her body so that she was creating the friction even though she was literally putty in his hands and frictionless in every other way.
It was glorious. It was outside anything Romily had ever experienced before. It was as if she’d never touched or been touched before—that was how utterly new this felt.
And it wasn’t just the way he was doing this, the actual mechanics of this. It was everything surrounding it. Her obedience. His approval.
Her surrender, his delicious control.
She could barely conceive of what had already happened, much less what was happening to her now. Happening and happening and happening.
Normally it took a lot of work and time and effort for her to come.
This was true when she was alone as well as when she’d been with other men in the past. She’d been certain, for years now, that it was an anatomical situation.
And she hadn’t much cared, because she could usually get there eventually. Not generally with anyone.
But Zachary seemed positive not only that she would come, but that she might come more than once.
And then he’d ordered her not to.
It had seemed silly. She might have laughed if the situation had been less intense. If she’d been mouthier she might have told him not to worry, that she’d be just fine holding herself back from something that was unlikely to ever occur, thanks.
But now it was like every single breath she took was a threat connected directly to her clit.
The more she told herself not to come, the more something seem to wind tighter and tighter deep inside of her. Something big and precarious and as serious as that blue gleam in his gaze.
It wound around and around and then arrowed straight down into her pussy, building sensation with every single one of his deep, assured, precise thrusts.
Romily tried to concentrate on other things. The taste of his shoulder in her mouth when she dipped her head forward, salt and heat. The way his big, callused hands gripped her with such ease and confidence. As if he already knew every possible secret her body could hold.
That made sense to her because the things he’d said he would do to her, she wanted. She wanted them desperately. Things that had never been even remotely interesting to her before, things that scared her a little—it all made sense because it was Zachary.
Because everything seemed to come down to this.
To him.
Deep inside her like he belonged there.
She felt herself begin to sweat.
“Look at you,” Zachary rumbled, his voice sounding perfectly calm. As if they were sitting somewhere elegant, sipping tea and making sophisticated conversation. “Trying so hard to be good.”
That made her want to be even better. She felt the urge—the deep desire— to please him shimmer in her like a different kind of coming.
At the same time she felt a deep, warning shiver go through her and this one wasn’t a shimmer. This one made her clench and then shake as she fought off the sudden huge and looming climax that seemed to press in on her.
No coaxing. No hoping. No straining.
It was like trying to fight off a lightning bolt that was already poised to strike.
“That looks difficult,” Zachary observed, clearly finding what was happening to her entertaining. “It would be terrible if someone pushed you over the edge when you were instructed not to come, wouldn’t it, little bird?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He shifted her, holding her against him with one powerful arm while the other moved so that he could get his hands between them.
And then, his blue eyes direct on hers, he pinched her clit.
It was a shock. It made her jolt—and then he was slamming her back down on that cock, sinking himself deep.
Romily ignited and exploded into too much sensation to do anything but feel.
She heard sounds that she couldn’t believe were coming from her own mouth, though she knew they were.
That she was the one making them. He kept pumping her onto him like he could piston her body against his for eternity and she kept coming and coming, not sure if she was sobbing or singing or simply lost in the cataclysm that took her over.
Over and over again.
When she was done—or maybe simply wrung out—she came back to what was left of her senses and found herself limp against him. Zachary was still holding her in his arms and she let her eyes close again, because that felt good. Right. Safe.
But when she felt as if they were suddenly moving, she forced herself to open her eyes again. She was amazed to find that her head wasn’t spinning—Zachary was simply moving across the apartment. Still holding her against him and his cock still deep inside her, and as ferociously hard as ever.
Still fully dressed except for a swathe of hip and cock.
It was all so hot it made her shake. Romily clenched down on him experimentally, as he moved, and that set off a whole set of aftershocks.
She realized her face was damp and she understood immediately that she’d been sobbing for real.
That had been part of that prolonged explosion, even though it seemed impossible.
Romily couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.
Tears were a provocation in her marriage, so she’d learned to keep them to herself.
Zachary pulled her off him and she watched his blue eyes first sharpen, then darken, as she let out an involuntary moan of loss when she felt herself completely empty again. It made her shudder.
“You broke the rules, little bird,” he told her, with a great solemnity. But there was also that fire in his gaze. “Now I have no choice but to punish you.”
She felt her eyes widen at that.
He nodded, sorrowfully. She hadn’t misheard. He’d said punish. Though there was that fire there in all that blue, brighter now, and she shuddered again. And felt that shudder wind its way through her as if it was possible they could start this all up again.
But that couldn’t be. That was impossible. Physically impossible, she was sure.
It was absolutely impossible and yet she felt that electricity hum in her all over again, and not as if it was new.
Instead it was as if they’d done this a thousand times before, because it felt like a lightning strike but it was as easy as flipping a switch.
Her whole body shivered straight back into near-painful awareness, as if she hadn’t just come so hard she barely knew who she was.
Because somehow she knew that the kind of punishment Zachary had in mind wasn’t anything like the extended punishment her marriage had turned into.
She could see it all over him. He didn’t want to hurt her—though as she thought that she knew that wasn’t right, not really. She suspected he might hurt her, but that it would be like that pinch to her clit that had set her alight.
A dash of pain to make the pleasure that much brighter.
Romily felt as if her body had been waiting all these long years of her life to understand that this, at last, was what it needed.
This was what she’d needed all along.
“Bend over the bed,” Zachary told her with a certain pitilessness that made her softer and slicker between her legs.
“I’m going to spank you, Romily. Your job is to count out the number of strikes I give you.
If you miss a number, we’ll start over. If you try to block me from landing a strike, or roll away, we’ll start over.
If I feel like starting over, we’ll start over. You understand?”
She almost answered him with words, but then remembered. He hadn’t told her the previous rules were lifted and she suspected he would be direct about such things.
So she only nodded instead. His blue eyes gleamed. “Good girl.”
It amazed her how much she liked it when he said that.
He nodded toward the bed. She been too busy keeping her attention on him to look around the room, but as he gestured behind her she looked and saw that his bed was big an imposing.
A lot like him. It had four steel posters and they were connected on the top tube, like a steel canopy in the shape of an X.
When she moved closer, she could see that there were steel contraptions in various places along the headboard. On the posts.
She didn’t have to know what they were for to know that the sight of them made her legs feel weak.