Chapter Twenty #4
“Strange good,” I confess, blushing.
“Good.” There’s a trace of humor lurking in his eyes. “I want a glass of water. Go and fetch one for me please.”
Oh.
“And when you come back, I shall put you across my knee. Think about that, Anastasia.”
Water? He wants water—now? Why?
As I leave the bedroom, it becomes abundantly clear why he wants me to walk around—as I do, the balls weigh down inside me, massaging me internally.
It’s such a weird feeling and not entirely unpleasant.
In fact, my breathing accelerates as I stretch up for a glass from the kitchen cabinet, and I gasp.
Wow… I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex.
He’s watching me carefully when I return.
“Thank you,” he says as he takes the glass from me.
Slowly, he takes a sip, then places the glass on his bedside table. There’s a foil packet, ready and waiting, like me. And I know he’s doing this to build the anticipation. My heart has picked up a beat. He turns his bright, gray gaze to mine.
“Come. Stand beside me. Like last time.”
I sidle up to him, my blood thrumming through my body, and this time…I’m excited. Aroused.
“Ask me,” he says softly.
I frown. Ask him what?
“Ask me.” His voice is slightly harder.
What? How was your water? What does he want?
“Ask me, Anastasia. I won’t say it again.” And there’s such a threat implicit in his words, and it dawns on me. He wants me to ask him to spank me.
Holy shit. He’s looking at me expectantly, his eyes growing colder.
“Spank me, please, Sir,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes momentarily, savoring my words.
Reaching up, he grasps my left hand and he tugs me over his knees.
I fall instantly, and he steadies me as I land in his lap.
My heart is in my mouth as his hand gently strokes my behind.
I’m angled across his lap again so that my torso rests on the bed beside him.
This time he doesn’t throw his leg over mine but smooths my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear.
Once he’s done, he clasps my hair at the nape to hold me in place. He tugs gently and my head shifts back.
“I want to see your face while I spank you, Anastasia,” he whispers, all the while softly rubbing my backside.
His hand moves down between the cheeks of my behind, and he pushes against my sex, and the full feeling is… I moan. Oh, the sensation is exquisite.
“This is for pleasure, Anastasia, mine and yours.”
He lifts his hand and brings it down in a resounding slap against the junction of my thighs, my behind, and my sex.
The balls are forced forward inside me, and I’m lost in a quagmire of sensation.
The stinging across my behind, the fullness of the balls inside me, and the fact that he’s holding me down.
I screw my face up as my faculties attempt to absorb all these foreign feelings.
I note somewhere in my brain that he’s not smacked me as hard as last time.
He caresses my backside again, trailing his palm across my skin and over my underwear.
Why’s he not removed my panties? Then his palm disappears, and he brings it down again.
I groan as the sensation spreads. He starts a pattern: left to right and then down.
The down ones are the best. Everything moving forward, inside me…
and in between each smack he caresses me, kneads me—so I am massaged inside and out.
It’s such a stimulating, erotic feeling, and for some reason, because this is on my terms, I don’t mind the pain.
It’s not painful as such—well, it is, but not unbearable.
It’s somehow manageable and, yes, pleasurable even. I groan. Yes, I can do this.
He pauses as he slowly peels my panties down my legs.
I writhe on his legs, not because I want to escape the blows, but I want more…
a release, something. His touch against my sensitized skin is all sensuous tingle.
It’s overwhelming, and he starts again. A few soft slaps, then building up, left to right and down. Oh, the downs. I groan.
“Good girl,” he growls, and his breathing is ragged.
He spanks me twice more, then pulls at the small threads attached to the balls and jerks them out of me suddenly.
I almost climax—the feeling is out of this world.
Moving swiftly, he gently turns me over.
I hear rather than see the rip of the foil packet, and then he’s lying beside me.
He seizes my hands, hoists them over my head, and eases himself onto me, into me, sliding slowly, filling me where the silver globes have been. I groan loudly.
“Oh, baby,” he whispers as he moves back, forward, a slow sensual tempo, savoring me, feeling me.
It is the most gentle he’s ever been, and it takes no time at all for me to fall over the edge, spiraling into a delicious, violent, exhausting orgasm. As I clench around him, it ignites his release, and he slides into me, stilling, gasping out my name in desperate wonder.
“Ana!”
He’s silent and panting on top of me, his hands still entwined in mine above my head. Finally, he leans back and stares down at me.
“I enjoyed that,” he whispers, then kisses me sweetly.
He doesn’t linger for more sweet kisses but rises, covers me with the duvet, and disappears into the bathroom. On his return, he’s carrying a bottle of white lotion. He sits beside me on the bed.
“Roll over,” he orders, and begrudgingly I move onto my front.
Honestly, all this fuss. I feel very sleepy.
“Your ass is a glorious color,” he says approvingly, and he tenderly massages the cooling lotion into my pink behind.
“Spill the beans, Grey.” I yawn.
“Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment.”
“We had a deal.”
“How do you feel?”
“Shortchanged.”
He sighs, slides in beside me, and pulls me into his arms. Careful not to touch my stinging behind, we are spooning again. He kisses me very softly beside my ear.
“The woman who brought me into this world was a crack whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep.”
Holy fuck…what does that mean?
“Was?”
“She’s dead.”
“How long?”
He sighs. “She died when I was four. I don’t really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep.”
“Good night, Christian.”
“Good night, Ana.”
And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.