He crouches down in front of me, easing my knees open. His gloved fingers find the soft folds of my pussy, stroking over my wetness. “No panties? Slutty little girl.”

I watch his hard, green eyes as he circles my clit with tender care. One finger pushes deeper and I feel the strange sensation of the leather glove in my tight channel, soft but rough. He adds another finger and starts that come here motion that never fails to have me gasping with rapidly rising sensation, and I arch toward him, needing him deeper, needing more of him. But before I can come he stops and withdraws his fingers. His jewellike eyes are so close to my face.

“So needy already? I’m not done with you yet.”

Hauling me over his shoulder he throws me down onto the bed, face-first, my hands still secure behind my back. Face pressed against the duvet, unable to see, I feel him behind me on the bed. He kneels between my thighs, walking them open with his knees. I hear the clink of his belt as he undoes it.

“I think you need some marks, baby.”

Yes, yes I do, please. With his free hand he stuffs a pillow beneath my hips, raising my behind into the air. The last tatters of my dress are ripped to one side and his hand caresses my bare flesh lovingly.

“As a special treat you can even cry out if you like. Do you want to beg for mercy?”

“Please, daddy, don’t. I haven’t even been bad.” It’s not hard to sound convincing when I know what’s coming. It won’t just be one strike from his belt, but many, and though I crave it, it scares me at the same time.

“No, you haven’t, mon ange. Isn’t that just so fucking unfair?” He hits me with the loop of leather and pain blazes over my left cheek, and I squeal into the duvet. I can’t help wriggling about and he laughs, a cold laugh, and puts his knees over my thighs, pinning me down. “But you haven’t really been my little angel, have you? You got all dressed up but forgot to put your underwear on. Were you going to tease me at the dinner table?”

“No, I wasn’t—” But he strikes me again, so hard I’m sure he’s raising welts. They’ll last for a week and darken to deep red smudges that I’ll admire in the mirror at college.

“Lies as well?” The belt strikes me again. “My sweet little girl is lying to me? Say yes and I’ll go easy on you.” And again.

I sob into the mattress, the heat and the pain and the sound of his hard voice making me go to pieces. “Yes, yes I was lying.”

He laughs at the sound of my suffering and his gloved hand squeezes one of the marks he’s made. “I know you were, baby. What’s funny is that you think admitting it will change what I’m going to do to you.”

“No, daddy, please—”

But he takes his hand away and the belt cracks again, and then again. I struggle against the ropes but my hands are securely tied behind my back and I’m only making it burn against my ribs and shoulders. Every strike of his belt draws a sharp cry from my throat and fresh tears to my eyes, but I’m anticipating the pain, craving it, the feel of the leather, the sound of his breathing.

Finally he stops and reaches forward to smooth the tendrils of damp hair from my cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, baby.”

I’m so deeply in his thrall that when I hear the zipper on his fly my back arches in response. Yes. Please, I need you. I feel the press of his cock against my sex and he plants a heavy hand on my lower back. Then he’s surging forward, filling me right to my core with a growl. He’s my vicious intruder, taking

this selfishly, but he’s Frederic as well. I moan into the tear-dampened bedclothes as he rides me higher with rough tenderness.

He pauses, the thick length of him inside me, and I listen to his hard breathing. I hear the snick of the knife and suddenly the ropes loosen around me. Still buried deep inside me he pulls the twist of rope and the tatters of my dress from my body, and then turns me, slowly and carefully, until I’m lying on my back. With one had he reaches behind his head and yanks the balaclava off his face. I smile, seeing his curls in disarray, and reach up to touch his cheek.

He freezes, looking down at me, a strange expression in his eyes. It’s not like his other strange looks, that are guarded and unreadable. This one is filled with feeling. Confusion. Vulnerability. He gathers me close in his arms, his face very close to mine.

“Minette, I—” But he presses his lips together, as if not sure what to say. “Help me get these clothes off. I want to feel you against me.”

And without disentangling ourselves I help him peel off his gloves, shirt, shoes and trousers until we’re lying together in a nest of blankets, pieces of rope and discarded clothing. He’s hard inside me, his irregular thrusts making me gasp. I clutch at his broad shoulders with my hands. My fingers trail down over his chest.

Kissing my neck, he murmurs, “I don’t think I deserve you.”

I smile through the climbing intensity in my core, eyes half closed, throat bare to him. “No, you don’t, daddy. You’re very wicked.”

His eyes glint with dark promise and one hand clamps around my throat, squeezing hard. “Sweet little baby. Show me how you love it.”

He picks up the pace of his thrusts and as I come, his hand around my throat makes me feel light-headed, lost in sensation. His fierce pounding driving me higher and higher, the soreness in my nipples and on my behind blazing, though the pain is sweet. I hear him curse roughly in French as he comes. Then he’s releasing me and gathering me to him, and I’m as limp as one of my dolls, exhausted from the tears and pleasure.

He draws me against him and I hear his heart thundering against my cheek. “I’m here, petite fille. I’ve got you.” Very gently, he pulls me up and takes one reddened nipple into his mouth, then the other, his tongue soft against my sore flesh. When he takes his mouth away he gently blows cold air on each one, soothing them. His voice is a tender whisper. “Sweet baby. You were such a good girl for me.”

I don’t say anything but I smile a tired, contented smile for him as he keeps murmuring soft words to me. There’s a bottle of cream on the nightstand and, without removing me from the circle of his arms, he reaches behind me and smooths some over the welts on my behind. They cool instantly, and my eyes drift closed and I put my thumb in my mouth.

“I’ve got something for you, baby, but you’ll need to let me go for a moment.”

I release him, though unwillingly, and he leans down over the side of the bed. “Close your eyes,” he says, seeing me watching him, and he’s holding something behind his back. I do, and he kisses me, his tongue slipping into my mouth, deep and caressing. “Keep your mouth open, baby,” he whispers. Something rubbery and yielding touches my tongue. My lips close automatically around it, this soft, fat thing with a hard plastic shield against my lips, and I open my eyes in surprise. It’s a pacifier, and I suck it, moving it around in my mouth.

Tags: Brianna Hale Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net