Ace of Hearts (Vegas Underground 3)

He slaps me lightly, like he’s afraid to inflict pain now that I’m his fiancée.

I wiggle my butt for more.

“What part did you like best about that night, songbird?” He spanks me again, a little harder.

I arch and push back, begging for more. He rubs his fingers between my legs. I’m sopping wet. “I liked all of it,” I admit. “It was so hot that you were really genuinely angry with me, but all you did was smack my ass. And I loved that this giant, dangerous man found me attractive enough to punish this way.” It makes no sense when I say it out loud. Maybe there’s no explaining kink.

He spanks me harder now—a real spanking like he gave me that night. The kind that leaves my butt hot and tingling.

Then I remember what really lit me on fire. “The pussy spanking.”

“What?”

“That was definitely the best part.”

He chuckles and pulls my shorts the rest of the way off so I’m completely naked. “Spread your legs, songbird.”

I spread wide—porn star wide—and Tony’s groan tells me he loves what he sees.

Slap.

His fingers connect with my lady parts and a shiver of pleasure zaps through me. “Yes,” I breathe.

He slaps again and again. It doesn’t hurt, but there’s a harshness to it, a punitive edge that sets my kite flying. “What I remember more is what didn’t happen.” Tony slaps my pussy again, but I hear the jingle of his belt buckle, the slide of fabric. “What I wanted to do.” He releases my wrists for a moment and I steal a glance at him sheathing his cock. “Clasp your elbows behind your back, songbird—that’s it. Give me a handle to hold onto.” He pushes into me, then grasps my elbows and uses them to propel me back onto his cock.

I shudder with the pleasure of it—the deliciousness of feeling used and controlled. Of pretending choice has been taken away from me. He plows into me, filling and emptying my channel, taking me roughly.

After a moment, he must grow bored with holding my elbows because he untangles them, cupping my throat instead. He uses it to pull me into an arched position, my hands braced on the counter. “Oh God, yes,” I moan, my teeth chattering with the glory of it.

“Fanculo, yes. So good,” he mutters. “I won’t last long, baby.”

“Come,” I encourage, because I want to come too, and it’s always better when he comes first. He shifts his hands again, gripping my hips and slamming his loins against my ass again and again, like another dirty spanking.

“Madonna, yes,” he roars and buries himself deep. My internal muscles contract with my release, squeezing and milking his cock. He inches out and slams in again and I come some more. A third time. Then he reaches around and taps my clit. The fluttering of my muscles renews as the orgasm is prolonged.

And then I collapse over the counter, my legs too wobbly to stand.

Tony leans over, covering my torso with his, kissing my neck and nuzzling into me. “Sweet, songbird. That’s what I wanted to do that night. Or maybe fuck your ass, since you’d mentioned it the first time you barged into my office.”

I turn my face to his. “We can practice that one before we leave tomorrow,” I murmur.

Tomorrow we leave Vegas. Tony rented us a beautiful place in Los Angeles where we’ll stay while I record the next album and then we’ll figure out where we want to live when we’re not on tour. We have time to decide. Our whole lives, actually.

Tony dresses me because I’m limp and about as useless as a rag doll and we go upstairs. To toast with the people who are most important to us. To celebrate the end of our stay here and the beginning of our new adventure.

The End