Mac (Mountain Men 2)

A fourth, and I squirm, but he holds me fast.

A fifth, and I’m actively trying to get away from his punishing palm, but I can’t budge at all. My skin’s on fire, my throat clogged with tears.

“Oh God!” I yell. “That fucking hurts!”

He doesn’t respond at first, but he squeezes my heated skin, massaging my tender arse.

“Of course it hurts. What do you think this is, foreplay? You’re being spanked.”

Yes? No?

“Fucking count them,” he snaps. “Ten more for what you did.”

But he doesn’t even know what I’ve done, what I’ve yet to do. I whimper when he pinches my bottom.

“Count.”

Whack.

His palm lands harder than ever, the sound echoing in his room and I arch in protest.

“One!” I gasp.

I’ve barely recovered when he whacks my arse again, a stinging smack that takes my breath away.

“Two,” I manage to say, between choking sobs that I can’t seem to stop.

On and on the punishment goes, and I barely manage to stutter each number until finally I get to “ten.”

He doesn’t give me even a second to recover before he’s lifting me up and tossing me onto the bed.

“On your knees,” he orders, and I squeal when he gives me another spank I wasn’t prepared for. “Grab the bed rail and spread your fucking legs.”

I quickly do what he says, aware of the heat that travels from my arse to my pussy, throbbing and heated. I hear the sound of his belt being unfastened, then he tugs it through the loops. I look over my shoulder just as he smacks my arse with the folded leather.

I squeal, gripping the bed rail as he leans over, wrapping the leather around my neck. Real panic sweeps through me, and I remind myself that I trust him, that he’s had ample time to really hurt me and he hasn’t hidden his real character from me.

This is Mac, and I trust him.

My world goes momentarily hazy when he tugs the belt, restricting my air supply. I still manage to take a deep breath and will myself to breathe.

I hear the crinkle of a condom, then pressure at my entrance as he parts my folds and fists the belt.

One punishing thrust and I can’t breathe, my grip tightening. Fuck, my pussy clenches around him. I’m primed and ready, slick and hot from the punishment he gave me.

He thrusts again, impaling me on his hardened length. The knowledge that this is part of my punishment makes my pussy spasm around his cock. He thrusts hard, and I want more. Harder. Longer.

He grips my hair and yanks my head back, and the leather belt tightens on my neck. I gasp for breath, completely overwhelmed, as he masters my body and commands everything. My body caught beneath the onslaught of thrusts, my mind unable to focus on anything beyond the pain of punishment, his belt on my neck, his fingers pulling my hair.

He thrusts again.

It doesn’t matter who I am, it doesn’t matter who he is. Here in this moment, there’s one thing I know.

He owns me. He fucking owns me.

He bends his mouth to my neck, and I feel the sharp bite of his teeth. My pulse spikes, and I shatter. A tidal wave of pleasure overtakes me, and I spasm and moan as he roars through his own release. He thrusts, his cock pulsing inside me, as he rides out waves of pleasure mingled with mine.

Slowly, his thrusts begin to slow, and he loosens the belt at my neck. He’s panting, but he hasn’t said a word. I know without an explanation that being fucked soundly is part of the punishment I asked for, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed this… all of it.

He slides the belt off and tosses it to the bed.

He releases my hair, and it falls around my shoulders in messy waves, sticking to my cheeks still damp with tears. My body trembles as he lays down on the bed and pulls me to his chest.

Wordlessly he runs his fingers through my hair. Over and over, from the top of my head to the nape of my neck, he combs his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes and enjoy the consolation of his touch, his tenderness more meaningful after his harshness.

I’m tired. So fucking tired.

He lifts the blanket and tucks it in around me.

“Get some sleep.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all. I close my eyes, mentally and physically exhausted, and fall to sleep.

I wake hours later, the heaviness of his arm around me, his body behind me, spooning me. It’s warm and comfortable here, and I don’t ever want to leave.

But I have to. I have to.

I fall back asleep.

The next day, I’m groggy and sore when he gently shakes my shoulder.

“Gotta get up, baby,” he says, in that sleepy-gravelly voice I love.