Chapter 15
Fifteen
Alex
Istrip off my tuxedo jacket and throw it away. The bowtie follows, ripped from my neck.
She lies there, ass still raised, skin covered in a sheen of perspiration, thighs damp with her arousal, pussy pink and wet and exposed.
Fucking beautiful.
She spits out her thong, and it lies on the sheet beside her face, a damp ball of cloth.
Perhaps she thinks I’ve finished punishing her.
“What did I even do wrong?”
Her question is a plea, but she’s not protesting anymore. And though I’ve released the grip on the back of her neck, she’s not trying to move.
She hasn’t even lowered her ass. It’s like she’s offering herself to me.
Who am I to say no?
I kick my shoes off, rip off my shirt. Buttons ping away. My clothes are an irritant now. I want her skin against mine.
“You danced with another man.”
“You fucking kissed another woman.”
I pause in the act of unfastening my pants. “No,” I say slowly. “She kissed me.”
“That doesn’t make any difference.”
“Yes, it does.” The distinction’s important. It’s everything.
“You could’ve stopped her.”
I strip off the rest of my clothes and lean over her. My hand returns to the back of her neck, my mouth near her ear. “I did,” I hiss.
She whimpers at my touch, at my grip. Such a delicious sound.
She’s usually near-silent when we’ve made love in the past. There’s been the occasional moan, and I’ve made her cry out in pleasure. But nothing like tonight.
No involuntary little whimpers, telling me how aroused she is.
Nothing so raw, nothing so goddamn needy.
But we’re not making love. I’ve punished her, made her come, and now I’m going to fuck her.
“You deserve this,” I remind her.
“For what? Dancing with someone else?”
She’s still arguing. I love it. She’s pinned beneath my hand, naked and wet and helpless. She must know what I’m going to do to her, and she’s still arguing.
That’s my girl.
“I didn’t like seeing his hands on you. You’re mine.”
“One, it was a goddamn dance. It’s very difficult to dance without touching your partner. Two, I’m not yours. You lost the prerogative to call me that when I returned the ring.”
Her voice is half-muffled by the sheet, but the petulance in her tone still comes through clearly.
“You know who you sound like?”
She doesn’t reply.
“Tinker Bell. From the classic Disney.”
She goes still, then huffs into the sheet. “She doesn’t speak, idiot.”
I chuckle. No one else would ever talk to me like she does. “I think you just made my point, Tink.”
She tenses as she hears my laugh. “You think this is goddamn funny?”
Only now does she try to move, and I tighten my grip.
“Get off me, Alex. You’ve had your fun. I’m going home.”
I switch hands, placing my right on the back of her neck, freeing up my dominant left. I cup her ass again, and she stills. Her butt comes up off the bed. Just an inch, maybe two, but she’s raised it for me. I wonder if she’s even aware she did.
“Do you want more spanks? Is that it?”
“No, you bastard. I’m done with your twisted games.”
Sounds like a provocation to me.
My hand comes down on her ass. Not as hard as the first few blows—that was my anger coming out. But I don’t need to hit her hard. Her ass is delightfully red, warm to the touch, the skin lightly textured where I’ve spanked her.
She gives a muffled cry into the sheet, and her hands clench again. It’s so helplessly pathetic, so endearingly vulnerable. So much fun to see, to hear, to feel.
“I told you we weren’t finished.”
She stills at my words. “No,” she breathes. “Please, no. Don’t. Not like this.”
“Don’t what, Tink?”
Her muscles tense at the endearment. I’m not sure I’ve ever given her one before. It was ‘Victoria’ for so long, ‘Vicky’ later. That’s been about it. Not even ‘baby.’
Why is that, I wonder?
“Don’t fuck me,” she replies. “I don’t want you to. I’m saying no, Alex.”
“I heard you.” And I really don’t care.
My fingers dip between her legs again. If anything, she’s wetter than she was before. She came so hard.
Another whimper escapes her, but this time she lowers her hips, pressing them into the bed, ass clenching, thighs tight. I don’t like that; it spoils my view.
“Behave,” I say, “or I’ll get my belt.” It’s an idle threat. I wouldn’t go that far—I don’t need to go that far—but she doesn’t know it.
A little sob, and her lower half slowly relaxes. It must’ve been a conscious effort on her part. But she’s open to me again, and that’s all that matters.
“Are you going to do what you’re told?” I ask, leaning over her again. I want to see her face, but it’s turned away from me and half pressed into the bed. “Are you going to be a good girl?”
“Gosh, I don’t know,” she grinds out, still managing to deliver the words with derision. “Are you going to stop being a bastard?”
But she gave me a shiver before she gave me her snark, her body responding to my words.
I need to see her eyes, to see the responses she can’t hide. I ease up my grip on her neck, but don’t remove my hand. “Roll over, Tink.”
She’s slow to respond, but she does. Responding to that name. Turning beneath my hand, revealing herself to me inch by inch, moment by moment. Her reluctance to obey is my delight, prolonging the pleasure of her reveal. My hand remains around her neck, but now it’s her throat I’m gripping.
I gaze at her, like I’m seeing her for the first time. Her flushed skin. Her small, firm, flawless breasts topped with those dusky pink nipples, standing erect. Her tiny waist, slender hips. My Vicky isn’t a petite woman—she’s tall enough—but she’s slim. Delicate. Perfectly proportioned.
Fucking gorgeous.
I cup her pussy, rubbing up through her folds, and she draws a breath. I flick over her clit, and she jerks, back arching. My fingers grip onto the sparse thatch of pubic hair she has, trimmed short, maybe a half inch in length. Just enough to tug.
“I don’t like this,” I say. “It obscures my view of you. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the salon and have it all removed.”
She doesn’t reply.
I was looking at her body—at her cunt, specifically—and I shift my gaze to her eyes. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you.” The words are sharp, her eyes flash with fury. My little Tink is still provoking me.
Then her eyes flicker down. Pause. Come back up. It’s just a moment, fleetingly brief, but in that instant she’s checked me out. Lingered on my cock. Her lips are parted and the tip of her tongue dabs at the bottom one, wetting it.
And I see it all.
“Do you want to taste?” I ask.
She glares at me, then shakes her head. Her eyes flick back down.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I shift my grip to the top of her head, turning it toward me, and place a knee on the bed.
“Alex, no.” Her tone is reluctant, but she doesn’t try to squirm away. She could; she doesn’t.
Vicky has gone down on me once or twice. I don’t think it’s her favorite activity, and to be frank, she’s awful at it. I’ve always let her set her own pace, and her own insecurities are her worst enemy. Now I wonder if she doesn’t do it because she thinks I don’t like it, not because she doesn’t.
But I don’t much care. Tonight, it’s happening.
This play, seeing her like this over such a long time, it’s aroused me. My cock’s hard, and the tip is wet. I let it bounce on her lips, and I’m rewarded with another glare.
“Open.” She shakes her head, and I grip it tighter, tilting it back to me. “Open, or I’ll fist my fingers in your hair and squeeze until you do.”
Reluctantly, she opens.
“Good girl.”
The fire in her eyes when I utter those words is the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
She responds every time, and hates that she does.
My cock twitches in response, and she feels it against her lips.
She’s lying there passive, waiting for me, refusing to cooperate. But I’m not in a rush. I wait, too.
The head of my cock is resting on her half-open mouth, her lips partly embracing it, like she’s giving it a little kiss. The position holds. A breath. Two. Another.
Her tongue flicks over the tip of me. Tasting me.
Her eyes screw tight, and she tries to turn her head away. Her cheeks flush red as she blushes, ashamed at her response.
How did I never see this before? How did I never explore what she really was?
Why the hell did I ever think my Vicky wasn’t sexual?
Her latent sexuality is stronger than I could ever have imagined.
I thought she didn’t like sex. That she was vanilla in her desires.
One bruising kiss, one dress ruined, one spanking, and the truth is unveiled.
My pulse is the fastest it’s been since I closed my first billion-dollar deal. Faster, actually.
I get to explore her, all over again. To learn, once more, but this time to really understand her. And she’s going to learn too, because God knows she’s not already aware.
She’s fighting me, every step of the way, and that… that’s the best bit.
I twist her head back and push my cock into her mouth, just an inch. “Bite me, and it won’t be my hand that smacks your pussy, it’ll be my belt. Picture that.”
She shudders at my words, her whole body squirming. Like the imagery is one she both loves and hates. There’s no flash in her eyes, only submission. So unbelievably exciting.
My cock twitches in her mouth, and she lets out a whimper.
On the subject of her pussy, her legs are pressed tight together. Her knees locked, turned in, her thighs kissing almost all the way up.
That won’t do.
“Spread your legs.”
Another glare, her eyes so expressive. Pale blue, gleaming with tears of frustration and shame. Then her legs slowly part.
“And your folds. Show me inside.”
She tries to shake her head again. My cock in her mouth doesn’t make it easy, and my hand on her head holds it mostly still. It moves an inch each way, the message clear.
I am, of course, completely ignoring her wishes. Why shouldn’t I? She doesn’t know what she wants herself.
I don’t say anything else. I just wait, my cock half into her mouth, my hand on her head, my knee pressing against her side as I brace myself over her.