Chapter 29 Spank Me and Love Me
SPANK ME AND LOVE ME
SKYLAR
I can’t wait.
I can’t wait so much I nearly blurt out my plans on the drive home. But I’m a good girl, keeping my mouth zipped as Ford drives and pulls up in front of our houses. We hop out together, and for a brief moment, my mind spins forward.
This action—pulling up together at our homes—is so…couple-y.
It’s almost like we live together.
What will it be like when this ends? We won’t be driving home together. But how will we behave when I run into him in the front yard? On the sidewalk? In the backyard?
My brother’s concerns weigh on me.
But then I think of my plans for tonight, and what’s waiting in the bedroom, and I kick those concerns to the curb.
Best to stay in the moment. To enjoy.
After we take our dogs out for a walk, we head up the steps to my home. Before I unlock the door though, I set a hand on his chest. “I have something for you. Leave the suit on.”
His lips quirk up. “Whatever you want, baby.”
“But take the jacket off,” I say, then I don’t bother waiting. I push it off his shoulders myself.
“Someone’s eager,” he says, grabbing the material before it falls to the ground.
“So are you, so be good and wait here for me for a few minutes,” I toss back as I unlock the door, then take off for the staircase.
I can picture the scene. I nearly giggle at the thought of what’s to come.
I fly upstairs, little paws slapping on the floor behind me, since Simon must be a part of everything.
I wash my hands, change quickly into a sexy black bra and panties, grab my supplies, and position myself at the edge of the bed—Simon staring avidly from the floor, because of course he does.
I do a double take though. Cleo’s lounging on the pillow, all stretched out and lithe.
She probably knows Ford is here. She’s always had a thing for him.
“I get it, girl,” I whisper, then I call out to Ford. “It’s safe to come upstairs.”
A trail of laughter follows his voice. “Is it ever safe with you?”
“Reasonable question,” I call back.
His bare feet pad along the hardwood floor, growing louder with every step. Anticipation climbs the stairs inside me. I feel bubbly and frothy. My chest flips as I wait.
The second Ford turns into the room, he stops cold. “Fuck yes,” he murmurs.
The praise zips through me, and I wiggle my hips—though there’s not a doubt in the world it’s the only place he’s looking.
I’m in position, bent over the bed, holding the sign over my ass. I crane my neck to watch his reaction, savoring every second.
He shakes his head. He looks to the ceiling, like he’s asking the universe are you even real? Then he reads the sign out loud:
Spank Me.
“Are you glad I didn’t bring it to the game tonight?”
“I’m very glad you saved it just for us,” he says, and those last three words echo in my head and heart—just for us.
That shouldn’t hit me as hard as it does. Raw, full of meaning, full of a future. But this thing between us isn’t about the future. It’s about the present and there’s no place I’d rather be than here in this moment.
Ford closes the distance between us, then bends so his face is close to me.
He cups my chin, and claims my lips in a hot, searing kiss.
My head goes hazy as his fingertips slide along my jaw, his other hand roaming down my lacy bra and over my stomach.
His kisses are deep and hot and full of something pent up.
Like he’s been holding back all night and doesn’t have to anymore.
When he pulls back with a long, appreciative sigh, he takes the sign and sets it on the bed. He moves behind me and slides a hand up my back, along my neck, into my hair. He curls his fist gently around the strands. I tremble, my breath catching.
A charged moment. The air vibrating. Cleo watching.
Then Ford’s hand comes down on my ass in a sharp smack. I yelp as the sting spreads through me in a painfully delicious way. Simon barks.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I reassure him as I drop my head, catch my breath, then lift the sign again.
Once more Ford laughs, raises a hand, and swats the other cheek. The bark is quieter this time, but the pleasure is even greater. I raise the sign a third time.
Ford gives me the same treatment a few more times until I feel a little sore and a lot turned on.
Setting the sign down, I turn around, grab his tie, and loop it around my palm. “Did you wear your lucky yellow shorts tonight during the game?”
“Always.”
“What color are you wearing now?”
“Find out,” he orders.
“Yes, sir.”
My eager hands travel down his white shirt to his beige slacks. I undo the button, then the zipper, and tug them down.
I lick my lips. My body hums. A pulse beats between my thighs as I take in his sartorial choice. “When did yellow become so sexy?”
But I already know the answer—when I met him.
“You tell me, baby,” he says, curling a hand lightly around the back of my head.
Nothing has ever been sexier than his yellow boxer briefs—especially with his hard cock straining against them, a drop of liquid arousal giving away exactly how he feels.
I drop to my knees.
Roaming my hands up his rock-hard thighs, I lift my chin, locking eyes with this man as I tease him with my eager fingers. His blue eyes darken, and in them I see heat, desire and something else. Something I’ve been seeing in them lately—a passion that goes beyond the bedroom.
A passion that matches mine.
He lets go of my head and runs a finger along my jaw. A new vulnerability spreads inside me. I think I sense it in him too.
Or maybe I just want to? Hard to say, especially in this moment when lust has the wheel.
I tear my gaze away from his handsome face. I like looking at his dick too. And touching it, so I peel down his boxer briefs, inch by inch, enjoying the moment when his hard cock springs free, pointing right at me.
I bite the corner of my lips, and stare at his long, pretty pink dick. Yes, I could draw him into my mouth right now. But I think I’ll toy with him first. I fist his cock. His breath hitches. I rest my cheek against his shaft, rubbing him against my face.
“Fuck, baby. You have no idea how hot that is,” he mutters.
I smile wickedly. “Actually, I do. That’s why I did it.”
His fingers rope through my hair. “Do it again then.” Like a cat marking a person, I rub my face along his cock, like I’m saying he’s mine.
Mine. It’s a strange thought, but it feels strangely true.
I tease him some more, then brush my lips slightly against the head. I flick out my tongue. He groans. I squeeze the base with my palm. He shudders.
I press the gentlest kiss to the tip.
He snaps, saying on a rough groan, “Suck it, baby. Suck it now.”
“What a good idea,” I say, then draw him past my lips.
His breath is ragged. The staggered sound of his moans sends sparks of pleasure through my body, settling between my thighs as I fill my mouth, enjoying the view of him in his post-game suit—the slacks undone, the shirt untucked, the briefs half down, the jacket gone.
Somehow, the messiness of his attire makes me hotter.
I suck deeper. Harder. Take him all the way in while curling my fist around the base.
He sucks a breath of air through his teeth. Cups my head harder this time. Rocks into my mouth.
Want pools in my belly. I wriggle around, like I can find some sort of relief from this ache between my thighs.
But then I concentrate fully on him, murmuring against his cock, scraping my nails along the coarse hair of his thighs.
His muscles are like steel, and this isn’t the first time I’ve felt his legs, of course.
But to feel them now while his dick’s pulsing in my mouth, thrusting into my throat, gives me a particular thrill.
All day, this man is so strong, so stoic, so steady.
Yet when we’re alone, he seems as lost to the pleasure as I am.
That thought spurs me on. I grab his firm ass, then take him deeper.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts.
He fists my hair with one hand, his other hand moving down my face, his fingertips dragging along my cheek. I swirl my tongue around the head then relax my throat, letting him drive deeper.
With a throaty moan, he fucks my mouth, his gaze locked on my face as he pumps. My lips stretch around his length, and I will myself to open wider. It’s not easy. He’s a little rough, a lot big. My tonsils are getting knocked around, and I’m not sure how long my throat can handle this.
But I’m also growing wetter from every thrust, every grunt, every tight grip of his fingers in my hair. Most of all, from his eyes lasered on me. His attention is a match, and it lights a fire of lust inside me. I’m rocking my hips now too, moaning as I lick and suck.
“Look at you,” he grits out. “With your pretty lips wrapped around my dick. Just look at you. So fucking turned on from sucking me off.”
My brain pops. No one has ever spoken to me like this. I’m used to being the chatty one, to talking too much, to speaking my mind. But here he is, reading me right. Seeing through me. Knowing I love touching him and turning him on too.
And saying it.
That’s freeing as well—the fearless way he names what’s happening between us in the bedroom.
I feel fearless with him, so I let my right hand fall from his ass, and I shove my fingers inside my panties.
Yes…
I’ve been aching for contact, and in seconds I’m riding my hand while I suck him.
“Ah, hell, Skylar. You can’t keep that sweetness to yourself. Gimme,” he demands. “Gimme some of that right now.”
Arousal gathers hotter and faster as I fuck my fingers, then remove them, lifting that hand. Offering it to him.
He pulls his dick from my mouth. I whimper from the loss of contact, but not for long.
He kneels so we’re eye to eye as he sucks my slick fingers, licking my desire off each one, his eyes rolling back in his head.
When he lets go, our gazes hold each other, flickering with so much need, so much urgency.