Shifting his weight, he moved his hands and planted them on either side of her head. Rising up, he hovered, his cock poised to strike at her core. She expected him to be rough, drive her into a state of oblivion, but he dipped his cock into her entrance and remained there, tipping in and out and teasing her with pedantic slowness.
He grinned and the light caught the whites of his eyes, making them dazzle. She reached up and drew his face down so she could kiss his lips. It was as she smothered him with her own mouth, darting her tongue along his teeth that he plunged into her pussy with a firm thrust. She shrieked into his mouth, “Oh, yes.”
He neither pummelled nor caressed her with his thick rod. He judged her temperament, her ability to take him with brilliant foresight. Keeping her arse raised away from the chafing bed, he curled her legs up, gripping her behind the knees and pinning her safely in place. He stopped short of slapping into her red welts, manipulating her into positions that kept her both vulnerable and free of pain. Eventually, the wash of endorphins drowned out the discomforts and he became rougher, readier to use his hands on her flesh and nipping her with his teeth.
She came in a flood of muted screams, clenching hard around his cock, willing him to keep going and not spurt into her until she had him take her to her climax multiple times. Exhaustion won in the end, and even Blake struggled to maintain his stamina. With a roar, he pumped into her.
He convulsed, then extracted his limp cock and slumped next to her, snoring before his head hit the pillow. Lysa smiled to herself, pulled the covers over them both and lay next to his warm body, ignoring the sweat, she enjoyed his natural aroma until her eyes drooped and she joined him in a deep slumber.
Chapter Twelve
The instant he had his foot through the pod door, Lysa yanked on his hand, pulling him into the room. She appeared agitated and distracted. He went to kiss her lips, but she pulled away, flapping her hands in front of her face.
“The gas isn’t venting into the atmosphere,” she exclaimed.
“What?” Blake wanted food, not her latest discovery on the mechanics of mine engineering. Since her encounter with the constable two weeks previously, she’d renewed her efforts to study, determined to keep out of trouble and avoid contact with Millicent and her cronies. As far as he knew, only Jen and Sym visited her.
She picked up the tablet, tapping on the screen. “This, look! It’s all wrong.”
He saw some incomprehensible calculation flash up and he sighed. “Lysa, I’m a mine worker, I don’t do the maths of it. That’s the job of the surveying team.”
“I’m not talking about surveys. I’m talking about an imminent explosion!” She shoved the screen in his face.
“Explosion?”
“Yes!” She jabbed her finger.
“Lysa, will you calm down. Sit down. Tell me what you’re wittering on about.” He steered her towards a chair and sat next to her.
“The drills produce exhaust fumes and there are displaced gas pockets, yes? It all gets pumped into an underground reservoir and vented up to the surface to prevent dangerous build-up. Well, I’ve been examining the safety protocols for the sensors, which detect the volume of gas, and they’re all wrong. The figures contradict each other. Initially, I thought, you know, I’d miscalculated, but something must be wrong because nothing is being vented.” Her eyes widened and she perched on the edge of her seat. “Blake, we’re all sitting on a time bomb.”
His head lolled forward. Why had he let her get carried away with her studies instead of socialising? Her imagination had let her see things that weren’t there. “Lysa, you can’t possibly have detected a fault numerous paid, qualified engineers have missed? Heh? Now sort out some food.”
She slammed her fist on the table. “No, you don’t get it. I’m not making it up.”
“I’m sure you believe you’re right, but it can’t be true. Now put that away and do as you’re told.”
“I won’t!” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Very well, fetch the paddle.” He hoped the mere threat of a spanking would shake her out of her delusion.
“Blake. I’m trying to tell you about a life or death situation and you want to spank me? Will you just look at the numbers. Even you will see the discrepancies.”
“Even me? Oh, how charming. My pretty wife is now the expert. The paddle, Lysa.” He pointed at the closet.
She leaned forward. “You can paddle my arse as much as you want, Blake, it won’t change the numbers.”
“If that’s how you want to do this, I’ll get it.” He stood up and marched across the room, grumbling about educating women under his breath.
She wouldn’t budge out of the chair. She sat, legs crossed, arms folded and lips pressed into a frown. As he manhandled her over the edge of the table, uncovering her bare bottom, she protested. “It’s not fair. This isn’t what I expected of you, Blake. I thought you believed in me!”
He held her in place with the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades, her face forced against the surface of the table. He raised his hand and brought the paddle down. Her bottom flattened as the wood impacted her flesh.
“Will you desist with this ridiculous theory and get back to your proper place as my dutiful wife?” He waited, gripping the handle of the paddle, hoping she’d back down and see sense.
“No!” she shouted. “I will not. I’m right!”
“Damn,” he muttered. He hated to spank her when she refused to cooperate, but he’d laid out the rules and there was no backing out.