Fueling His Hunger (Masters of Adrenaline 2)

He hit her again, this time twice in fast succession. There wasn’t enough time to process the pain before the next stroke fell. And the next. Then a harder one. The slide of leather over the burning throb of her ass, gentle, threatening. She waited for more, but he waited longer, teasing her with the anticipation of violence but not delivering it until she thrust back at him. She didn’t know why, but she was impatient for more.

Two more, fast and hard, hit the same spot. She shrieked and shied away.

“Did I give you permission to move?” He put her back where he wanted her, swatting her bottom with his hand once she was back in position.

“No.”

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’ll be good.” It was true. She did. And now that she’d stolen a minute to process the pain, she wanted more.

The belt cracked across her ass twice more, leaving her gasping and hanging from her wrist restraints. It was a different kind of arousal than she was used to, but she was so turned on she was ready to do everything and anything he wanted if only he’d give her an orgasm.

He crouched down behind her, inspecting her ass in the firelight. Embarrassment at being looked at like that, so closely, made her whimper. His fingers traced along her skin.

“You mark up nicely.”

“Do you have to look at me so . . . close?”

“I had to make sure I wasn’t doing it too hard. In this light it’s difficult to tell,” he replied. “Besides, if I want to look at you while you’re tied like this, what can you really do to stop me?” Iron-grip fingers wrapped around her hips, holding her in place, probably just in case she took that as a challenge.

Featherlight, his lips brushed over her ass, following what was probably a welt. Breath caught in her throat, and she tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let her.

He was . . . his mouth . . .

He was kissing her ass and every touch was making her crazy. It wasn’t what she thought of when people said “kiss my ass.”

The brush of his lips turned into slow, erotic bites, not too hard, but hard enough to sting. Kiss, brush, bite, lick. Pause . . .

She mewled and writhed. Fingers moved from her hips to her pussy, sliding between her labia to tease at her clit. Every time he bit her ass, it forced her to try to get away, which pushed her clit harder against his fingers. A finger slid over her asshole and she tensed, squealed, and tried to avoid it, but he refused to let her, exploring that part of her with gentle touches that set her on edge.

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass, Ophelia?” he asked, his voice cutting through her harsh breathing and incoherent protests.

Molten heat flooded through her, along with a detailed and pornographic mental image.

“No!”

“Have you ever even had someone touch you here?”

“No!” She gasped. Why on earth did it feel so bone-meltingly good to be touched there when it was so, so . . . wrong? “No one I know d

oes that.”

“Some of them do. They just don’t talk about it.” He chuckled, but thankfully stood up. “Is anal a hard limit for you?”

Yes!

No, that was a lie.

Her pulse was still racing and between the sting of the welts he’d probably left, the throb of her clit, and lingering sensitivity of her asshole, she was having trouble thinking straight. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it hurt?”

“Did I hurt you there just now?”

“No,” she conceded. “Have you done it before though? Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Oh, I know what I’m doing.”

God, his voice.