Pushing Her Buttons (4 page)

When I snarled at him, he just laughed. “Don’t you know what I’m waiting for?”

“No. No I don’t. Tell me. Please—”

The first stoke was fast and harsh and hard. I think I came a little right then.

“Yes. That’s what I wanted.” Another. Heat, the exact size and shape of his palm, sliced through me. “I wanted you to beg for it.” He smacked me again.

“Oh yes. Yes. Please.”

And again. His hand rained down in a torrent of heaven and hell again and again and again. The smacks echoed through the room, along with my moans and groans and his labored breathing. My ass jiggled with each blow.

They came quicker. More fervent. More frenzied. I writhed, struggled against him, riding him almost, seeking the bliss I needed.

“More,” I gasped. “Harder.”

He complied. Five. Six. Seven more slaps.

And then just as I was about to crest, just as I was about to explode in ecstasy, he stopped. I barely had time to cry out my denial, when he ripped my panties off. Without pause he shoved three fingers into my weeping cavern, deep, unyielding and urgent.

And I came. Like an erupting volcano. A volcano gushing furious lava that had been held captive beneath a ton of cold granite for an eternity. Finally—
finally
—released in a glorious flood. I came and came, clutching at him with an intensity I had not experienced for ages.

It seemed like I came forever.

When I finished, when I was sane and within my skin once more, he lifted me up and kissed me sweetly. Then he lowered me to the carpet, a thick, rich bed. He settled beside me and edged closer. I thought he meant to kiss me again, perhaps hop on top and begin riding right away, but he didn’t. He took my nipple in his mouth and, through the lace, sucked. I came again. But it was just a little one. An aftershock.

He grinned. “Wait here.” He levered himself up and before I could respond, bounded off to the bedroom.

Wait here?
As though I could move. I was a bowl of quivering Jell-O. A flan.

He was back in a flash with a foil packet.

Ah hell. That thought had never even crossed my mind. Thank God he was prepared.

He sat on the sofa and gestured to me. “Come here.”

I disliked being commanded so but he had something I wanted. I saw it there, thrusting against gray flannel, a fat insistent cock. Even its ridge was pronounced.

I wanted it. I wanted it a lot. So I rolled over onto my knees and crawled the short distance to the couch. I wedged myself between his legs. I wanted to give him what he’d given me. I wanted to give as good as I’d gotten.

He watched me with feral eyes. Passion blazed there but it was banked. His fingers were tightly fisted. He was holding back. He wanted me to make the first move in this, our next sortie.

So I knelt between his thick thighs with his warmth surrounding me, his strength infusing me, and met his gaze. “Take it off.”

“What?” He blinked innocently.

Oh. So he wanted to play? I’d show him. I’d show him I could play. “The sweatshirt. Take it off.”

He responded so quickly I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Because what he revealed stole all reason. A broad, ridged expanse of tanned muscle sprinkled with a light dusting of sable hair. Oh. My mouth watered. I ached to touch him.

So I did. I explored his chest with my mouth and cheek. I rubbed against him like a cat until he arched his hips instinctively and nudged me with that rigid cock. I let my lips trail to a nipple and sucked. He hissed through his teeth. Then I lapped and nipped my way down his chest to his belly.

When I diddled his bellybutton, he groaned. I followed the waistband of his sweats from one side to the other with my tongue then covered the encased head of his cock with my mouth and blew out a hot breath.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! What are you waiting for?”

I caught his gaze and grinned. “Don’t you know?”

He stared at me, befuddled and flustered and horny as hell. Then he lifted his hips and yanked off his sweats. His cock, delicious and demanding, bobbled free. “Please. Dear God. Please.”

My mouth was on him before the words were out. And my heavens, he was exquisite. Soft as silk and smooth as satin. Hard as stone and throbbing and fragrant. I wanted to gobble him up. So I did. I nibbled and sucked at the tip of his cock, delighting in that sweet single drop of cum that, more than anything, stated his readiness.

But I didn’t let him come. Not yet. I wanted to explore that pole, as long and steely and firm as it was. I stroked him and teased him and made him plead.

And then when I was ready, when he was nearly mad with wanting, I crawled up onto his lap, astride him, and rubbed my wet cunt against his cock. His heat against my clit made me shiver. As I undulated against his hardness, I found the crook of his neck—my favorite place on a man—and I feasted.

I found a spot that made him clench and hiss. A raw, desperate sound came from his throat.

“Now.” His fingers trembled as he fumbled for the condom, ripped it out of the pouch and unrolled it onto his length. “Oh. Now. Now.” He pinned me with a desperate look. “Are you ready? Please tell me you’re ready.”

In response, I lifted up, positioned him against the simmering mouth of my cunt and impaled myself. On him.

And oh.

Oh.

He felt so perfect, sliding into me. I was wet and slick and he was thick and hot and long. I didn’t stop until we were belly to belly. Until he filled me. Completely.

I had to pause then, to savor the sensations. He stretched me, stuffed me, massaged every nerve. My cunt danced around him, sucking at him, quivering, quaking.

He surged inside me and my body clenched.

Slowly, I rose and fell again. And again. And again.

The wet slurping sound of a void being filled over and over rocked the room, playing counterpoint to his grunts and gasps, my cries.

But I couldn’t go fast enough. For either of us. So he took over.

He pulled out of me—much to my chagrin—and arranged me, ass up, over the ottoman. He spread my legs far apart, perched behind me and plunged in. Deep.

Bliss flooded me. Insanity consumed me. I rocked back into him, trying to make him go faster, harder. I spread my legs farther, aching for the brush of his balls on my clit. He must have sensed my urgency. He fondled, pinched, slapped that screaming button, all the while plowing into me with a raging passion.

The thrusts became short and fast. His body tightened. His cock swelled as it prepared to erupt inside me. He shifted position, entering me slightly from the side, hitting my cunt from a new angle. The ridge, that glorious steely ridge, stroked a secret place. A place that had never before been so caressed. A bundle of aching raw nerves.

I exploded. Imploded. Collapsed. A star consumed by its own brightness. An ocean drowned in its own tears.

He erupted in harsh, insistent jerks, shudders and throbs that resonated through my being and the bliss took me again.

He’d made me come. And I’d returned the favor. And yes. My ass still burned.

It was paradise.

Afterward we made our way to the bedroom and curled up under the covers. His bed was magnificent. Huge and firm and warm. Or maybe that was him. His sheets were so soft, they must have been eight-hundred count.

But all I could think of was that
she
had slept here.

He must have read my thoughts, noticed my restlessness, because he laughed and said, “No. She never slept here. No woman ever has.”

I read the truth in his eyes. But still. Kinda hard to believe. He was some guy. The sort of man any woman would do anything to be with.

“I mean it.” He kissed me. “No woman. But I would like it if you would stay.”

I nuzzled closer. “I’ll think about it.”

His chuckle rumbled through me.

We lay there for a while in silence, enjoying the afterglow of fantastic sex. And then he went and ruined everything.

“Tell me about him.”

I stiffened. “Him who?”

“Your ex.”

A hot flush crawled up my nape. “What makes you think I have an ex?”

He stilled. Was quiet for a moment and then said, “Of course you have an ex. Everyone has an ex.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Ever.

“Why didn’t it work out?”

I pushed away and glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously.”

He yanked me right back into his arms. He was too comfortable. I didn’t want to conform to him, melt into him, but I did.

“Tell me.” He kissed my neck. Stroked my thigh. “I need to know why things went sour.”

“He took things too far. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Took things too far…how?”

“I’m hungry. Do you have any food or are you planning to starve me into submission?” Oh crap. Had I really said that?

His body stiffened around me—and not in a good way. “Did he do that?” Harshness roughened his voice.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Now I met his gaze. Mine was laced with cynicism. “Of course he hurt me.”

He hurt me so many ways I couldn’t begin to catalog them.

“Well, I won’t.” He tucked me back into his embrace and formed our bodies together. His touch was tender. A promise. “I won’t.”

I fell asleep that way.

We both forgot to eat.

Chapter Four

Tuesday

We woke up late the next morning, still tangled together in the soft nest of his bed. I felt wonderful, like I’d slept for a year. I hadn’t slept that deeply in…well, I couldn’t recall.

He rose up over me and settled his hot mouth on mine. He tasted wonderful, his breath addictive.

“Good morning,” he rumbled through the kiss.

“Mmm.” Apparently I was incapable of forming a coherent response.

And then I was incapable of forming a coherent thought. Because his mouth nibbled and sucked its way across my cheek and over to my ear and then down my neck. Delicious shivers and shimmers sparkled through my body. My nipples peaked, my clit tingled. I arched into him.

He continued grazing at that tender flesh as his hand teased its way from my shoulders to the swell of my breast. His clever fingers found and plagued a puckered nipple.

“Umm,” he murmured against my skin. The growl sent a wave of hunger and delight sluicing through me. “Do you like that?”

“Yes.” A warbled pant.

“Then you might like this too.” He licked his way to my other breast.

Yes. I was probably going to like it.

He sucked the tip and a shaft of pure bliss shot straight from my tits to my cunny.

“Oh God.” I wiggled my hips, trying to encourage him to do it again, but he didn’t. He just teased. Around and around and around my aching engorged nipple until I wanted to scream. “Please.”

His response was immediate. Immediate and brutal and damn exquisite. He sucked one nipple—hard—as he pinched the other.

He chuckled at the way I howled. “You like that,” he said. “A little rough.”

When I whimpered in reply, he did it again.

Hell. He could have done that all day. But… “I have to go to work.”

He glanced up at me. A mischievous smile quirked his beautiful lips. “Yes. You do.”

But he didn’t stop his delicious torment. He splayed his palm across my belly, exploring and delighting me with his direction. Because it was down.

He was going down. I spread my legs as he neared. He chuckled again.

I felt his breath first. It was warm and soft and riffled through downy tufts. He skimmed over my pubis, just raking me with a hint of sensation. I wanted more. I wanted him to rub deeper, slip into me, take me, possess me. But he didn’t.

He toyed with me, taunted me, teased me. His tongue began a dance on the outer lips. A swipe, a lick and a dab. Every so often it would slip a little deeper, nudge at my throbbing button. But then—when I was almost there, when I could just grasp my elation—he would withdraw and start again from the beginning.

I planted my feet on the bed and tried to thrust up into him but that only made him withdraw farther.

“Put your ass back on the bed.” He pressed gently at my hips. When I complied, he nodded. “Open your legs, like this.”

He arranged me so I was splayed before him. Shivers of anticipation racked me. Excitement raged. When I squeezed my cunt walls against it, a bit of that excitement oozed out, dampening me still further.

“Now.” He glanced up at my face. “Do not move. Not an inch. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

His evil smile should have warned me. But I was too far gone for logic. Also, he was lowering his head again. I was focused on that.

He drew a finger across my tender slit, starting at the top and dancing all the way to the very back. “You’re wet.” It sounded like an accusation.

“Yes.”
God
. “When are you going to fuck me?”

His only response was a dark chuckle. His tongue followed his finger’s path.

Desperate for more, I lifted my hips. I had to. His response was a quick, short slap to my pussy. It was hard and hot and right over the mound that so craved his touch.

Little shivers of pre-orgasm scuttled through me and I groaned out loud. “Yessss.”

He followed the smack with a kiss. Long and slow and sweet. Then he nuzzled in and did what I had wanted him to do for so long. He took my throbbing clit in his mouth and sucked. His tongue swirled around that fat nub, teasing it in an endless array of flicks and jabs. He licked at the underside of it, where it was so tender, until I began to writhe.

And he stopped.

Again!

Panting, I clutched at his hair and tried to drag him back. Back to where he belonged. Where I needed him. But he resisted. When I opened my eyes to glare at him, to plead, perhaps, he was staring at me, a solemn expression on his face.

“I told you not to move.”

“I have to move. You’re driving me crazy.”

He shook his head. Sable curls flopped from side to side. “I told you not to move.”

“Jesus. Will you just fuck me?”

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“When you pay your debt.”

Well, that shut me up. My mind spun. “W-what debt?”

He scooted back up to the top of the bed and kissed me on the lips. I tasted myself on his tongue. His fingers, bless them, delved into my cleft again, rubbing small, slow circles around my clit. My pulse throbbed madly. I’d never been so aroused. So swollen. So tender.

“Yesterday I gave you a command. You disobeyed.”

Oh. Shit. The G-string.

“I just—”

“Ah ah ah.” He tapped my lips. Drew a soft line along the seam, as though this hint of a touch would silence me. It did. “Until I get my due, no orgasms for you.”

I gaped at him. Seriously? I was mad to come. Literally insane with aching, throbbing lust.

“You can’t do this to me!” I wailed. I actually wailed.

He had the temerity to laugh. And then he softened it with a kiss. “Sorry, sweetheart. Rules are rules. If you disobey, I will punish you.”

“You already spanked me.” Did I really need to remind him?

His grin was wolfish. “What makes you think that was a punishment?”

My mouth opened and closed several times in succession. Rather like a landed trout. “What was it then?”

“Foreplay. Now come on.” He sat up and took me with him. Every aching part of me protested. “Time to get dressed for work.” He shot me a dark look. “And when you’re ready, when you are all dressed, come back over here for your inspection.”

Why oh why, did that send a sharp sliver of delight through me? I stood and collected my clothes.

He watched as I dressed and then walked me to the door. “Oh, and sweetheart?”

I glared at him. “What?”

“Don’t diddle your cunt in the shower.”

“I’m horny. And you won’t do it.”

“Don’t. Do. It. I’ll know if you do. And that will only make it worse.”

“Make what worse?” My voice was soft, unsure. Although I was sure, pretty damn sure, of the answer.

He kissed my neck, a long, slow suck, a nibble, a lick. “Your punishment, of course.”

Of course.

I swung away, out of his clutches, and stormed across the hall. I had to swipe my keycard several times before the door opened. I tried not to glance back at him, but I did. He leaned against the doorjamb, deliciously naked. His cock was at full stand.

If I was suffering through this, at least he was aching too.

“Don’t forget,” he called in a singsong voice. “No touching.”

* * * * *

My shower that morning was a quick one. It was damn frustrating that the pulsating showerhead was right there within reach and I couldn’t use it on my steaming clit. But as frustrated as I was—and I was—I gloried in it.

Every time I thought of the G-string he wanted me to wear—all day—every time I thought of him across the hall waiting for me, every time I thought of the coming inspection, my body seized. I was on razor wire, so close to orgasm I could almost taste it.

Almost.

But the decision before me was monumental. It was more than the mere choice of whether or not I would wear the G-string. It was bigger than that. The real question was—was I going to do this again? Would I take the risk? Could I?

That’s the real trouble with addiction. You can love something and hate it at the same time. Not that I was addicted to sexual submission. I wasn’t. Hell, I’d gone for years without it. I just hadn’t enjoyed those years. Certainly not the vanilla sex that came along with eschewing a powerful, sensual partner. But I could live without it.

Every day, though, had a huge gaping hole right in the middle of it. I’d been haunted by the deep dark suspicion that my life was wanting. Plagued by a secret ache for something more.

And this man, this man had brought that passion, that hunger, that spark roaring back to life. Brought me roaring back to life. And I reveled in it.

Did I want to go back to French-kissing fish-lipped props in the elevator? Pretending I liked having their mediocre pricks floundering around inside me? Almost getting me there…but not quite?

Life with my ex had been exciting. Beyond words. But then he had changed. And our sex life had bled into the real world. And then started hemorrhaging. He had forgotten all about the lines. Forgotten the safety words and the reason we were doing it in the first place. He had forgotten his wife was a person.

And it had become a nightmare.

I didn’t want to go back to that place. I couldn’t.

Would it be different this time? Would
he
be different?

As I toweled off, I stared at that damn G-string lying on the bed and I weighed my options. Go back to the way it was before—miserable—or continue exploring this adventure.

I picked up the device and dragged a thumb along the striations on the rubber. The striations that would scrape against my clit all day.

Hell. I could walk away if things turned sour. I had before.

I fingered the leather straps and shivered to think how they’d look wrapped around the tops of my thighs, my belly, my ass.

Hell. I could always take the damn thing off if it became too much.

Watching myself in the mirror, I steeled my spine and slipped it on. Adjusted the straps around my thighs and drew the thong between my damp lips. Settled the flange against my clit and…

Ah.

Ah.

The rubber triangle, so like a tongue, lapped at me with each movement.

Heaven.

There was one more strap. One that slipped around my waist and held the whole contraption in place. I tugged it tight and snapped it shut and…

Oh. It was too tight. Each step would be a torment. Each breath a caress.

Panic flared. No. I had to take it off. And then to my horror, I discovered the snap at the back was a lock.

It was locked on. I was locked in. Bloody hell.

Panic flared. I got dressed in a flash and stormed across the hall. Pounded on his door.

He opened it looking relaxed and svelte and way too handsome. He smiled. “Come on in. I made breakfast.”

He had. I smelled bacon. All of a sudden, I remembered just how hungry I was.

I put out a lip. “I’m not hungry.”

He kissed me and tugged me over to the table set with crystal and china and…bacon. “Of course you are. We missed dinner. Sit.”

I winced. I couldn’t sit. The damn contraption was too tight.

He froze halfway to his seat when he saw my expression and he licked his lips. “Are you wearing it?” His voice was a guttural growl. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple. He remembered to finish sitting but his attention was locked on me.

I picked up a piece of bacon and crunched my way through it. It was perfect. Just the way I liked it. “How do I get this thing off?”

He swallowed. “It’s not coming off. Not until tonight.”

“You cannot expect me to wear this to work.”

He sat back. A smug smile teased his lips.

“Seriously? I’ll be mad, insane, by lunchtime.”

“Come home early.” A raspy, resonant response.

I threw up my hands. “I have meetings.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t. We’re meeting the new boss.”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“Very funny. Come on. How does this come off?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. His grin blossomed.

“You’re a beast.” Was I laughing? Where the hell did that come from? One small gamine grin and I crumble into his arms? Seriously?

Apparently.

“Let me see it.”

“What?”

“Lift up your skirt. I want to see it.”

“No.”

He quirked a brow. “Are you refusing? Someone’s hungry for extra punishments.”

I flinched. I didn’t think I would survive any more of his punishments. Slowly, I lifted the hem of my skirt until my pussy, framed in leather, was exposed. I was well aware of the vision I offered. I’d stared at it long enough in the mirror. I also saw it in his eyes.