He rubs me gently. “I’ve always wanted to see your sweet ass ripple against my palm.” A small quirk lifts his lips. “And I think you’ll like it.”
Cocky bastard.
Rye Peterson spanking me isn’t something I thought I would ever allow. Not in my wildest dreams. The mere suggestion should set me off because no way should I be giving Rye that power. Never mind spanking is so not my kink.
And yet the way Rye looks at me with that impish glint in his eyes. The one that says, Let’s play. The way he bites his lower lip as though he can’t wait to take me in hand and give me pleasure…
God. A tremor goes up my thighs, and without another thought, I arch my back a little, lifting my butt into his touch. “Do it.”
Rye is a bassist; his hands are, quite frankly, huge. And strong. He knows his strength. He knows how to use those clever hands. A slap rings out, the contact sending prickling sparks of sensation over my ass, between my thighs. Everywhere.
I let out a harsh breath, my head falling forward as I lick my lips. “Shit.”
“Okay?”
My breath grows short, the tingling heat on my ass glowing. “That shouldn’t feel so good.”
“But it does.” Not a question. Even so, his warm, questing hand goes still. Waiting.
“Yes. Yes, it fucking does.”
Rye makes a noise of amusement. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, palming me.
Then he spanks me again, a firm but easy slap. I groan, my body jolting with sensation.
Why does it feel so good? How did he know?
Unnerved, I shoot him another look. “I’m going to return the favor later.”
His answering smile is dark sin. “I’m looking forward to it.”
One more slap and my knees are wobbling. Rye smooths his hand over my hot flesh before dipping between my legs. His finger slides around my messy sex in an indolent circle. “Look at you, all hot and slippery for me.”
He spanks me again. Right on my clit.
I jerk in surprise and pleasure. Because it felt insanely good, that slap. I want it again and again. I don’t understand it and try to cover my confusion. “You’re pushing it, buttercup.”
But there’s no conviction in my voice, and he chuckles, pleased as punch with himself. I can’t exactly blame him for that. He’s playing me like a well-loved song. I tense, anticipating another teasing spank, but Rye doesn’t do that.
His big hands settle on my ass and glide up my back. It feels so good, so wonderfully tender, that ripples of sweet pleasure run over my body. Slowly he rubs me, along my sides, over my aching breasts. I fight a sob. I hadn’t truly realized how much I needed someone—him—to simply stroke my skin. To just touch me.
But he knew. Somehow, he knew. And it devastates me.
Unbidden, a memory rises, of me sitting in a booth, tense and fractious as I confess to Jules.
It isn’t the same as feeling someone else’s hands on my body, not knowing exactly where they’ll touch me next or how.
For a second, I can’t draw a breath, and then it returns with a rush of aching affection. He’s giving me what I yearned for. My throat closes in on me, and I swallow thickly, the fine weave of his flannel bedding blurring before my eyes.
“Rye.” It comes out broken.
He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment, smoothing his hand over the crown of my head and down the long length of my ponytail. Shivers flow over my scalp. He was right; I love having my hair stroked. My lashes flutter. Without warning, he coils the length of my hair around his fist and tugs. Not hard, but enough to fucking rein me in.
My eyes snap open, a gasp escaping me.
“Easy, sweetness.” Rye steps closer, and the thick slab of his cock lies heavy on my ass.
Heart thudding, muscles trembling, I blink down at the covers. With one hand, he moves his hard dick along my sex, the thick length sliding over my tender slickness.
The wide head of his cock pauses at my opening, notching just inside. Rye bends over me, blanketing my body with his heat. “You ready for me, Bren?”
I feel him there, searing hot against my sex, spreading me wide to accept him. Just the tip. Just that alone is so good I have to brace myself against the urge to whimper and whine, to push back against him, make him sink into me.
Despite my disquiet and the fact that I’m teetering on the edge, a smile breaks free. And I find my voice, strong and sure. “Fuck me, Rye.”
His grip on my hair twitches, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me one thing first.” Soft lips touch the shell of my ear, his voice dark and resonant. “Who’s your Daddy?”
Shock explodes over my skin in a wave of heat. My knees buckle. A breath escapes me—half startled laugh, half groan. Sweet hell, I’m so hot, I can barely breathe. My response is thready, needy. “You. Only you.”