Chapter 10
TEN
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I nearly trip over myself lunging for it. It's been a day since I left Colt's place, and I've been fighting the urge to text him first. The memory of his hands on me, his voice in my ear, has been playing on repeat in my mind.
I grab my phone, heart racing, when I see his name on the screen.
Colt
How are you feeling today?
Simple. Direct. So perfectly Colt. I curl up on my couch, tucking my feet under me as I type back.
Tess
Good. A little sore in interesting places.
His response comes quickly.
Colt
I'm glad. I want you to feel me today.
Heat spreads through me at his words. I'm about to respond when another message appears.
Colt
I want to see you again.
Not a question. A statement of intent that makes my pulse quicken.
Tess
I'd like that.
When?
Colt
Tonight. Your place.
I glance around my apartment. It's clean enough, but suddenly I want to make sure everything is perfect. For him.
Tess
I'm looking forward to it.
I hit send, then add another text with my address.
Colt
So am I, pretty thing.
Those three words send a shiver down my spine. I spend the next few hours in a state of nervous anticipation, changing my outfit twice before settling on comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder. Casual but not careless.
When the doorbell rings, my heart leaps into my throat. I take a deep breath before opening the door.
Colt stands there, tall and imposing in dark jeans and a gray henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. His eyes darken as they take me in. He's holding a small gift bag in his hand, tissue paper poking out the top.
"Hi," I manage, suddenly shy despite everything we've done.
"Hello, Tess." He steps inside, bringing his presence with him. My apartment feels smaller with him in it, like he takes up more space than his physical body. He sets the bag down next to the door and moves closer to me.
"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask, falling back on basic hospitality to hide my nervousness.
"Water is fine." He follows me to the kitchen, watching as I fill two glasses. "How are you really feeling? Any drop?"
The question catches me off guard with its directness and care. "No drop. I feel good. Really good, actually."
He nods, satisfied. "Good. I've been thinking about you."
"You have?" I hand him a glass, our fingers brushing.
"Constantly." His gaze is intense, unwavering. "I want to keep seeing you, Tess."
The directness of his statement makes my breath catch. "I want that too."
"This isn't just about scenes for me," he continues, setting his glass down. "I don't do casual."
"Neither do I," I admit. "I want to keep seeing you, too."
We stand there in my kitchen, the air between us charged with possibility. Not just sexual tension, though there's plenty of that, but something deeper, the recognition of finding someone who understands your darkest desires and doesn't flinch.
"Good," he says finally. "Because I brought you something."
He walks back to the door and grabs the gift bag, handing it over to me.
"Open it," he commands softly.
With slightly trembling fingers, I pluck the tissue paper from the bag and reach inside. A leather paddle. The surface is smooth and polished, with small heart-shaped cutouts that will leave their mark on the skin.
I suck in a breath, instantly aroused by the implications. "It's beautiful," I whisper, running my fingers over the leather.
"I thought about you when I saw it," Colt says, his voice dropping lower. "How those little hearts would look on your ass. How you'd feel them with every step afterward."
My cheeks flush hot, but I don't look away from his gaze. "I'd like that."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "I know you would, pretty toy. That's why you're perfect for me."
The paddle sits between us, a promise of pain and pleasure to come. I've never wanted anything more in my life.
Colt's eyes flicker toward my bedroom doorway. "Take me there," he says, voice shifting into that commanding tone that makes my insides melt.
I lead him through the apartment, suddenly self-conscious of my ordinary bedroom with its mismatched furniture and unmade bed. It's nothing like the room he rented at Desire. But when I glance back at him, he's not looking at my decor, he's looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
"Strip for me," he says once we're inside. The words aren't harsh, but there's no mistaking the command. This isn't the gentle Colt who held me in the bath or fed me chocolate. This is my Dom, and my body responds instantly to the shift.
"Yes, Sir," I say, my fingers already reaching for the hem of my sweater.
I pull it over my head slowly, watching his face. His expression remains controlled, but his eyes darken as I reveal my bare skin inch by inch. I'm not wearing a bra, and my nipples harden instantly under his gaze.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, but doesn't move to touch me.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my leggings, sliding them down my hips along with my underwear. The cool air raises goosebumps across my skin as I stand naked before him, fighting the urge to cover myself.
"Turn around," he orders. "Slowly."
I turn in a careful circle, feeling his gaze like a physical touch on every inch of my exposed skin. When I face him again, he's holding the paddle, running his thumb over the smooth leather surface.
"Come here," he says.
I step forward until I'm standing directly in front of him. He's still fully dressed, and the contrast makes me feel even more vulnerable, more exposed. More his.
He reaches out with his free hand, tracing a line from my collarbone down between my breasts, over my stomach, stopping just above where I want him most. My breath catches as he leans in, his lips close to my ear.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs. "So eager to please."
"Only for you," I whisper back, surprising myself with the truth of it.
He takes the paddle and slowly trails it over my skin—across my shoulders, down my arms, over the curve of my hip. The leather is cool and smooth, a whispered promise of what's to come. He circles behind me, letting the paddle glide over my ass, tapping it lightly against each cheek.
"You're going to feel this for days," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Every time you sit down, you'll remember who you belong to."
A shiver runs down my spine at his words. "Yes, Sir."
His free hand comes up to grip my hair, pulling my head back gently but firmly until my back arches. "Bend over the edge of the bed," he commands. "Ass up."
I move to obey, positioning myself at the foot of my bed. I bend at the waist, resting my upper body on the mattress, my feet still on the floor. The position leaves me completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that should terrify me but instead makes heat pool between my legs.
I feel him move behind me, his presence like a physical weight even before he touches me. The paddle traces lazy circles on my skin, building anticipation until I'm nearly trembling with it.
"Remember your safe words?" he asks.
"Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go," I recite, my voice muffled against the bedspread.
"Good girl." His praise washes over me like warm honey. "And your color now?"
I take a breath, centering myself in this moment, in my body, in my desire. "Green, Sir. Very green."
I can hear the smile in his voice when he responds. "That's my good girl."
The paddle lifts from my skin, and I hold my breath, waiting. The first strike lands with a sharp crack that echoes in the quiet room. A sting blooms across my right cheek, shocking but not overwhelming.
"One," I count automatically. "Thank you, Sir."
His free hand soothes the spot he just struck, his touch gentle against the heated skin. "So perfect," he murmurs. "So ready to take what I give you."
The paddle lifts again, and I brace myself for the next blow. But instead of striking, Colt continues to trail it over my skin, building anticipation, making me wait. My muscles tense with expectation, then gradually relax when the strike doesn't come.
Just as I start to ease into the sensation, the paddle lands again, harder this time, on my left cheek. I gasp, my fingers clutching the bedspread.
"Two," I manage. "Thank you, Sir."
His hand returns to caress the sting away, and I press back into his touch, craving more contact. The leather continues its teasing path across my skin, and I close my eyes, surrendering to the dual sensations of pleasure and pain.
The third strike lands with a resounding crack, making me cry out. The heart-shaped marks must be forming now, little brands of ownership across my skin.
"Three. Thank you, Sir," I gasp, my voice trembling.
"Good girl," Colt murmurs, his hand soothing the sting. "Two more."
The fourth strike catches me where my thigh meets my ass, and I yelp, unprepared for the intensity in that sensitive spot.
"Four. Thank you, Sir." Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but it's not from pain—it's from the overwhelming sensation of surrender.
The final strike is the hardest, landing across both cheeks with a force that steals my breath.
"Five! Thank you, Sir," I manage, my voice breaking.
"Perfect," Colt says, and I hear the paddle being tossed aside. "So perfect for me."
I hear the telltale rip of a condom package and then a moment later his hands grip my hips, and I feel him position himself behind me. The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I realize how wet I am—soaked from the spanking, from being marked as his.
"Look how wet you are," he growls, sliding easily into me with one powerful thrust. "Getting spanked turns you into such a dirty little slut."
"Yes," I moan, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. "Your slut."