Trouble in the Making (6 page)

Back in high school, she’d been into the hair bands…leather, tattoos, big hair, glammed-up rockers who could write ballads like nobody else. They’d strutted around and played their sexed-up songs for the teenage do-anything-for-a-chance-with-you girls in attendance, and if Liz hadn’t been so shy, she’d have been one of those. She’d have tossed her panties and her bra up on stage. She’d have worn the skirts so short anyone looking could see everything and shirts so tight or low cut there’d been nothing left to the imagination.

But she had been painfully shy then too. Shy, quiet, reserved. She hadn’t gone looking for anything or anyone. Rejection was too high a fear on her list and one she wasn’t keen to feel very often, if at all. She wasn’t a good girl by any means, preferring to keep her escapades private, but she wasn’t aggressive either.

Even all grown up as she was now, she wasn’t the one to go out seeking. She wasn’t the one to make the first move, to put herself out there as available. Until Johnny.

“Sweet little Lizzie. You’re thinking too much and it’s not about my leather pants anymore.”

“I’m just thinking about how we got here, how I got here.” Of course, she was hard pressed to think of much beyond his touch and the fire it elicited.

He nuzzled the crown of her head with his face, burying his nose in her hair. “The interstate?”

She laughed and nudged him playfully with her elbow. “No. Here in this room, with you. You’re the first man I’ve ever gone after like this. I…

He gave her a good squeeze, slid his hands down her waist, over her hips. “You’ve always been strong in your own way, babe. You were a good person, a good friend.”

Liz hung her head and took a deep breath. “And dull, bashful and the quiet one. I like my comfort zone.”

“Not anymore, though. You’re not the same girl you were. Not completely. And even if you were, why would you have to change? You’re your own person. You have a job you love and a place of your own where you want it. You have your own life that you live according to your own terms. I remember how you’d never speak in front of a group of people. Friends or strangers, if you had to talk in front of more than a couple of people, you wouldn’t. Look at you, though? You were a professor for a while, talking in front of hundreds at a time and now you give writing workshops to high school and college kids. The Liz from so many years ago wouldn’t have done that if she hadn’t had a passion for it. If
you
hadn’t had a passion for it.”

He was right. When she wanted something, desired it, she could force herself outside of what was normally safe and she could adapt. She took chances when it was important. Teaching was definite proof of that. And now, so was Johnny. The fact that it was personal this time seemed to be what was throwing her. She took professional chances, but personal ones? This was new. Terrifying and incredible. “I still can’t believe I’ve got you. Here. In leather.”

“Yes, yes you do.” He pressed his lips to her ear. “Hot, hard, so fucking horny for you, woman. I’ve done nothing for weeks but jack off thinking about this, about having you under me, about showing you just how good it can be.”

She turned in his arms and looked up into those eyes that had haunted her dreams more than once over the last two decades. They were lit with fire and heat, things she knew well. “Yeah?”

He dropped his hands to her ass and brought her firmly into his body. His cock throbbed against her. “Oh yeah.”

She liked the image of him being unable to masturbate enough to slake even an ounce of his lust. He walked her backward until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, then he spun her around and urged her down to the mattress.

“On your knees and elbows.”

And just that quick, she was ready again. Her clit filled with need and her nipples scraped the soft bed linens. She got into position and he pulled her by her ankles until her feet hung off the edge. She turned her head when she heard the pop of a snap.

“Eyes down or forward. Don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

Liz was sure she should have a retort of some sort for him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything. He was unfastening his leathers and all she wanted to do was get a peek at his cock. She was already wet, already willing, already primed. What could one little peek hurt? What harm could one little glance at his hardness do?

If she couldn’t look… She wiggled her ass.

Johnny smacked her on the ass for her trouble. “Brat.”

She started to laugh, to agree, but thought better of it. There was a lot about him she wanted to explore, to know, to experience, but it was pleasure and sex that was foremost on her mind at that moment. She stilled and looked down at the rich brown of the coverlet, tracing the elegant swirls with nothing more than her gaze.

“You’re such a strong, independent woman, Liz.” Johnny stroked his fingers down her spine. “I couldn’t be more proud of you for staying true to who you are, not changing for anyone or anything. You’ve always done things your way.” He dipped those same fingers between her legs and trailed her juices up over her ass. “You’ve got this part of you, though, that begs to be taken, to be shown a whole new way of living life, to be forced outside that area of comfort you surround yourself with and cling to. You want to be played with, teased, loved, even romanced. You want to be given a chance to explore with someone, to give someone every inch of your body and soul, to be free to give and take whatever you want. I’m that someone, Liz.”

She knew what he was talking about and she was fighting not to shiver at his touch, at the way his voice dropped while he talked, while he teased her. She wanted to move against his fingers, but knew he’d spank her again if she did. Then again…

They’d talked about this, about spankings, something she didn’t really know anything about other than what she’d seen and read in books. Her own romances were tame on the sex, graphic in detail, but not kinky. Now that he’d spanked her, though, she might have to ask him to help her explore it some more. For research, of course.

They’d talked about many things during those late-night phone calls, things that made her yearn for something she hadn’t known existed. Things she wanted to learn more about, but hadn’t had the courage to seek an outlet for until the idea of Johnny teaching her, showing her, had settled inside her. Whatever fantasies she might have had about him in the past didn’t come close to the reality of him.

She wiggled her ass again and was rewarded by the swat she knew he’d give simply because she moved when he’d told her not to.

“Now you’re just trying my patience.” He palmed one of her bottom cheeks and squeezed hard until she bucked. “Don’t think for a second, Lizzie girl, that I won’t put you over my knee and paddle you just like the brat you’re trying to be. Stay still.”

The hardened tone was laced with tenderness only someone familiar with him would hear. She didn’t doubt him or his resolve, but she also knew he wouldn’t harm her. He cared for her too much, and right then, under his hands and the threat of a spanking, she realized exactly how much she believed him, believed that he did care for and about her.

“Okay,” she said, playfully sullen.

“Of course, it seems the idea of being put over my knee has you even more aroused than you were before.” His fingers were back between her thighs, swirling through the juices coating her inner and outer lips. “I wasn’t sure that was possible, darlin’. It has also,” he pressed the head of his cock against her opening, “made me harder than I thought was possible. Time to do something about it.”

Johnny pushed forward into the woman on her knees in front of him. He took it slow, one hellacious inch at a time. She was impossibly tight, but incredibly wet. She was so pliant and giving that he could have come within seconds had he still been a teenager thinking he knew everything about women.

Thank God for age and control. But God, he hated condoms. He wanted to feel Liz around him, just the two of them. He wanted her cunt tugging at his dick without anything between them.

He started to pull out, to ease back, but groaned at the way she gripped him from inside, her heat sliding along his shaft and oversensitive cock head. He teased her and himself by entering her several times before seating himself all the way in. Each time he drew back, her body tugged him and tried to keep him within it. Her hips were held tight in his fingers, and he eased in again, withdrew and smiled when she whimpered in protest. She moved with him, followed his lead, but stopped almost as soon as she’d started. “Good girl,” he offered seconds before he slammed in, bottomed out with his ass tightening from the pressure not to come just yet.

“Johnny, please.” Her head hung downward and her voice was muffled. The coverlet was balled in her fists and she had a beautiful sheen of perspiration forming on her back. That shower she took before coming to him would be a distant memory by the time he was done with her. He’d dreamed of having her like this. Every time he met her for dinner or coffee, every time he had to leave her, every time he heard her voice on the phone, he wanted her.

“What would you please like me to do, little Lizzie?” He knew what he’d like to do to her. He’d like to have her this way day in and day out. He’d like to be able to touch her whenever the mood struck him, kiss her, talk to her, laugh with her, just fucking be with her. She was familiar to him, she was comfortable for him, but at the same time, she was new, an enigma, delicious and in need of corrupting.

On any given day, Liz was every good and pure thing he’d ever held to a higher standard. Like this, though, naked with him, she was every wicked sin he wanted to commit. He trailed his fingers slowly along her hips and upper thighs while moving with small, minute thrusts inside her.

She mewled in frustration. He remembered that sound well and cherished it. It was a sound he’d heard often back in school when she couldn’t or didn’t get something she wanted. It was a little more deep throated now, full of impatience and need.

“Tell me, baby. What do you want me to do?” He’d take the moon out of the sky and rehang it for her if that was what she wanted from him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make it fun and a little bit sexy along the way.

“You know what I want, Johnny, please don’t make me say it.”

Oh that wasn’t going to work with him. She dropped her head deeper toward her chest, trying to hide, but that wasn’t what this time together was about. She wasn’t allowed to hide anymore. He grabbed her ponytail and tugged her head up. “Say it, Liz.”

“Johnny, please …”

“I’ll be happy to please you in any way I can, just say it. I want to hear the dirty little word from your lips.” She’d never been one for saying more than damn or bitch, shit if she was in a really grumpy mood, but the F word? He’d never heard it from her, ever. He was going to make her say it. It might kill him, as he was already hanging on by a thread, but he was going to get the word from her.

She tried to shake her head, but he only tightened his hold on her hair. For a few moments, they were locked in a battle of wills, hers against his, and he had a feeling his patience would win out. He’d spent years honing it, learning to wait for the things he wanted, and he wanted this, her. He—

“Fuck me.”

She said it so softly he almost missed it. He wanted to be sure he’d heard correctly, though. “What?”

She sighed and her body lost some of its tension. “Fuck me, Johnny.”

“Again. Say it again.” Good God, the word fuck on her lips was the hottest sound he’d ever heard next to the whimpers she made when she came. His dick wanted her to say it again too. “C’mon, Lizzie. One more time for me.”

“Fucking sadist,” she uttered. It earned her a slap on her ass, followed by another for good measure.

“Not what I meant. But yes, I can be and thank you for the compliment. Say it.”

“Fuck me, Johnny, please.” She clawed at the bed and strained against his hold in her hair. “Fuck me, please. Please, please, please.”

Goddamn… “Begging sounds so pretty coming from your lips, baby.” He ground himself against her before he slipped out of her clutching heat, only to thrust back in before she could draw her next breath. He tunneled and pushed and gave her exactly what she was asking for, what he’d forced her to say, what he’d needed to give her for years.

His balls slapped against her clit and her sexy, full, heart-shaped ass gleamed up at him, pristine and blemish-free save for the one hand print where he’d first slapped, then squeezed. She marked up so pretty for him.

He hadn’t planned on spanking her, on taking her roughly at first, but while he might have control over his orgasms, his control over having her in his hands and under his power seemed to have left him. Liz was his woman. He’d known it for five long years. She wasn’t getting away from him.

Using her hair as a rein of sorts, he rode her into the bed. He focused on the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the muscles in her shoulders. She was beautiful, full and lush. If he angled his head to the side, he could see the bounce and sway of her tits, the pointed nipples. He let go of her hip, pressed his thumb against her asshole and inched it forward. Between the perspiration sliding down her crack and her juices coating everything, she was slick enough he could get the digit in.

“Oh m— God, Johnny, please.” Her voice was a growl, an animal in heat, a woman lost to lust and unable to do more than feel. Little more than an hour ago, they’d been downstairs having coffee, a conversation, him watching her blush so prettily because she was embarrassed about the reason they were meeting. It was more than sex, though. It was a lot about the sex, but it was so much more than that to him. She’d soon know it too.