Читать книгу Teach Me / Getting Dirty - Rachael Stewart - Страница 16

ERIKA MIGHT HAVE thought she was on the verge of being sick, if it weren’t for that blazing fire in her pussy that made a lie out of all the other sensations that sloshed around inside her. Her heart jolted, her stomach dropped, her skin felt stretched too tight… But still she burned.

And all Dorian did was sit there, almost lazily, watching her intently as she battled herself.

He did nothing to encourage her. He did nothing to hurry her along.

He only waited as if he was in absolutely no doubt that no matter her struggle, she would do exactly what he’d told her to do.

Because you want to do it, something in her whispered.

She was that hard, small stone in his palm, and he would make a fist only if she admitted it. If she allowed it. If she laid herself across his lap and submitted the way she wanted to, with every last part of the melty, swoony thing currently burning up inside her.

“Were my instructions unclear?” Dorian asked, mildly enough.

But nothing about the intensity in his dark gaze was mild.

Erika let out a breath that turned into something like a sob, and then she lowered herself over him.

It was awkward. His thighs were much too hard, and she was too…aware of everything. The way her breasts pressed into the leather cushion and how weird it was to crawl over another person like this in the first place. Much less for the reason she was doing it.

“I want you to lace your hands behind your head,” Dorian said, and she instantly felt calmer and more on fire at the same time.

It was like the more she melted, the more of her there was to melt.

And it was a lot different to hear him talk now. In this position. She shifted, and his hand came down to the small of her back, holding her there. Firmly, yet light enough that if she’d wanted to, she could have rolled away from him. Thrown herself on the floor, run for the door—

But she only exhaled. Loudly.

And stayed where she was.

“Hands, please,” he said calmly. But there was no mistaking the power in his voice.

God, that power.

Erika had spent her whole life careening about from one so-called authority figure to the next, always laughing when they tried to control her, because they couldn’t. They always backed down, or lost track of her, or proved easy enough for her to control. They had the position of authority, but not the power to back it up.

Dorian had the power. And she’d given him the authority, hadn’t she?

And she knew without having to ask that there was no possibility that she was going to control this, or him, or anything at all unless and until she uttered that safe word.

But she really didn’t want to do that.

Her skin was so oversensitized she thought she might come from the faintest breeze, and it seemed to get worse with every breath. Or maybe she meant better. She threaded her fingers together behind her head, and that changed things all over again. It thrust her breasts into the leather cushion beneath her, abrading her nipples through the strappy top she wore and making them pull tighter.

But she was far more focused on Dorian. His rock-hard thighs beneath her, muscle like stone, that made her feel deliciously weak. And that hand in the small of her back, holding her in place so easily—though it felt like a heavy length of chain to her. She could feel his heat. His strength. That power that she’d already spent two years chasing. She felt surrounded by him, and it made her body shudder in reaction. Or longing. It was hard to tell.

It was all the same, and she melted, and everything was much too hot—

He smoothed his other hand over her ass, flipping up that tiny skirt. She tried to imagine what he saw. Her bright red lacy thong stuck between her ass cheeks, painting him a picture. She could see herself and it made her hips rock a little, as if that could help her aching clit.

It didn’t. Especially when he widened his legs, effectively preventing her from rocking herself against him for any kind of relief.

More than that it reminded her, wordlessly, that he was in control. Complete and utter control, and saw everything. Every little wriggle she tried to make. Every expression on her face. Every flush that stained her skin.

For someone who had spent a whole life being both too visible and yet forever ignored, it was…gratifying. Terrifying. Electrifying.

“I’m going to pull your thong down,” he told her matter-of-factly, as if he was narrating the weather to a disinterested party. “I want your ass entirely exposed. It looks as if it’s never been touched. Has it?”

“No one’s ever really spanked me, sir,” she said to the leather beneath her. “If that’s what you mean.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” he said with what she thought might be a measure of satisfaction. “You’ve needed a good spanking as long as I’ve known you.”

She shuddered at that, and his hand moved, rolling her thong down over her hips. She expected him to pull it all the way off her, but he only left it tangled there above her knees.

Confining her, she realized. Making her feel dirty, tied down and, for some reason, so turned-on she wanted to cry.

Then he didn’t say anything. He stroked her ass in silence, warming each cheek with his palms. Roughly. He explored her, running his hands where he pleased, even delving into the furrow between her cheeks to press against the opening there.

Something arced through her, white-hot and greedy, a dark little gas fire of fear and longing.

“Has anyone taken you in the ass before?” he asked with that damned calm.

“N-no.”

“What a shame. Why not? Is it a hard limit for you?”

She wanted to kick him, but she couldn’t seem to move. “No. I don’t know.”

“Pick one or the other.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” she said, scowling at the cushion beneath her. “Why do something that hurts?”

Though it occurred to her that the question was pretty silly, given her current situation. To his credit, though she had the sense he smiled, Dorian didn’t laugh.

“Because pain is temporary and, if employed deliberately and well, enhances pleasure.” He pressed against her tight bud again, then moved on. He rubbed his palms restlessly over her upturned cheeks, laying in a pinch here, there, then holding her down when she jumped. “I promise you that if I hurt you, when I hurt you, I’ll also make you come. Eventually. You may thank me.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” she managed to say, while she melted and burned, raged and wanted to sob.

“And you didn’t answer my question. Is anal play a hard limit for you?”

Erika felt the strangest trickle of something like relief then, when that didn’t make any sense. Why would she feel relieved when she was still waiting for a spanking of all things? And he was going out of his way to make sure she knew he never forgot a damned thing?

But in the next too-quick breath, she understood. That was why. He didn’t forget. He didn’t let things go. If he asked her a question, he expected her to answer.

He would not forget her or any detail about her, down to the dress she’d worn two years ago at a party in Greece.

He would not, for example, swan off to Cap Ferrat for the season as her mother had done one winter, forgetting that she’d left Erika alone on the estate south of Melbourne where they’d spent a span of years. She’d been seven. The staff had been lovely, but her mother hadn’t deigned to return until Erika lit a fire in one of the old, empty barns and the butler had finally given his notice, as he wasn’t a babysitter.

Erika had no idea why that weird, old memory was cropping up now. While she was close enough to naked and tossed over Dorian’s lap all these years later and in Berlin.

“Erika. Don’t make me ask you again.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not a limit. I would try it.”

“If I asked.”

“If you asked,” she agreed, her heart so loud inside her it hurt. “Sir.”

She felt humiliated and excited in turn, and the contrast lurched around inside her, making her squirm. And pant. And want to die—but not before he kept that promise that any hurt he dished out would come with a hefty dollop of pleasure, too.

Erika thought she might die if he didn’t keep his promise.

And then, to her horror and her delight, he reached beneath her and cupped her pussy in his hand. That was all he did. He simply…held her there.

She was the one who was quivering, sensitive and sweating with the force of a need that felt like madness.

“Look at this,” he said, sounding dark and approving all at once. “You can’t wait, can you? You’re desperate. Soaking wet. As if you’ve been waiting your whole life for someone to finally take you in hand. Is that what you want, Erika?”

She wanted to fight. She wanted to argue. And more than both of those things, she wanted to thrust herself backward and somehow make him move his palm hard against her, because she knew it would take only the slightest graze of her clit against him to make her explode.

But she didn’t dare misbehave like that. And he didn’t move his palm. As if he knew exactly what it was she wanted most.

“Yes, sir,” she made herself say, squeezing her eyes shut as storm after storm rampaged through her. She kept her cheek pressed hard against the leather, gripping her own fingers behind her neck—even though all that did was press her breasts harder against the sofa beneath her.

Everything she did made it worse. Or better.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said again, desperation making her voice shake. “I’ve waited my whole life for someone to take me in hand.”

“Not someone. Me. You want me, specifically, to teach you boundaries. To demand respect. To be the only person you’ve ever met who doesn’t allow your insolence to go unheeded. Don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

And it came out a moan, though he hadn’t really done anything yet.

All she was doing was lying here, in this remarkably exposed position, with his hand resting gently in almost the perfect place. And yet she was as turned-on as if he was fucking her. She’d had orgasms that were less intense than this. She was stretched out, gripping her own hands too tightly behind her neck, every part of her tense and waiting and so, so needy—

“You are in luck, little girl,” he told her, with a certain erotic menace that made her pulse kick at her even as she melted all the more. “Because I have no intention of going easy on you. I’m going to spank you. You’re going to count. You can sob, but you will lie still. You can cry out, but you will not fight me. If you use words, they will be of gratitude or your safe word and nothing else. Do you understand me?”

It was all storms and riot inside her. Why wasn’t she calling this off? Why wasn’t she rolling away from him, protecting herself, doing something to stop this?

Erika had played games before, with handcuffs and funny little floggers that tickled, and she’d thought she was practicing for this. But she’d never doubted that she was in complete control. Not once. The men she was with had teased her, but never hurt her.

This was different. Dorian wanted to hurt her. And would.

Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. He wanted her to allow him to hurt her, because the crazy thing was, she wanted him to do just that.

He saw her. He could list her sins, and had. He was the only one who could punish her for them—and then grant her absolution, too.

She might not be in control of him. But she was here because she wanted to be here.

It was as simple and as wildly, impossibly convoluted as that.

“Yes, sir,” she said and shuddered with the force of what she was agreeing to—but it felt as if she needed this. As if he was right, and she’d been looking for it all her life.

“Are you a reckless, thoughtless, selfish girl who needs this punishment?”

It was as if he could read her mind. She tried to control her breathing, and failed miserably. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you trust me to punish you as you deserve?”

She gave up on her breath, because she was sobbing. Big racking sobs rolled up from somewhere deep inside her, and made her body convulse. Her eyes were wet, her fingers so tight they were cramping behind her neck.

And still, all she could focus on was that blazing heat between her legs.

And him. Dorian.

At this moment, he was the whole of her world.

“Yes,” she managed to get out. “Yes, sir.”

He moved his hand from her pussy, and did it without so much as grazing a single part of her that would have kicked her deeper into that fire. And when his hand moved over her ass again, she could feel her own wetness.

The first smack shocked her.

It hurt.

“Count, please,” he ordered her.

“One,” she managed to get out. “Thank you, sir.”

“Excellent,” he said, and he was already rubbing the place where he’d smacked her, almost soothing it. But not quite enough to keep that deep red ache at bay. “Just like that.”

And then he got to work.

It was shocking. Excruciating. His hand was big and impossibly hard. And he was thorough. The pain of each precise smack jolted through her, making her kick her legs, but she didn’t roll off him. She stayed where she was, no matter the sting and the ache of it.

Erika counted. And thanked him.

And cried.

And he kept going. First he spanked one cheek, then the other. He smacked her in the crease where her ass met her thighs. He continued until her whole butt felt bright red and agonized, and then he started the same painful pattern all over again.

Again and again, until she wasn’t even pretending that she was doing anything but sobbing her eyes out.

She sobbed and she sobbed and he spanked her, and it fucking hurt. And she was strung out somewhere between the white noise in her head and the way her nipples were still too hard as they moved with the force of his smacks against the leather beneath her. Her ass was on fire, the pain outrageous and bright, and still, her clit ached and her pussy was so wet she hardly knew what to do with herself.

Dorian, by contrast, did not thrash about. He spanked her, that was all, but he did it in the same calm, considered rhythm as when he’d started. He didn’t speed up. He didn’t hit her harder or taper off into something lighter. He was laying down a lesson.

And all Erika could do was count. And sob for all the memories she didn’t want in her head right now, but seemed lodged in her chest anyway.

Though Dorian seemed determined to spank them right out of her.

When she counted all the way to twenty, he stopped.

It took her a moment to realize that, because she was still sobbing. He picked her up, so easily that it occurred to her he’d wanted her to crawl into that position with as much strained awkwardness as it took.

But that was something she would have to think about later, when she wasn’t so beside herself. He pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest. And then he murmured words that didn’t quite penetrate as he held her there, her ass sore and hot against his thighs and her face tucked against his collarbone.

For a long time, Erika cried. And it wasn’t until she was sniffling and calming herself, that it actually hit her that she was in Dorian’s arms.

And not only that, all the pain in her ass seemed to be radiating out and setting that raging fire in her pussy into some kind of inferno.

“If you keep squirming against me like that,” Dorian said, his voice so close, so dark, it made her shudder, “I will take it as an invitation to continue the lesson.”

She shuddered out a breath and stopped.

And then he lifted her, gripping her by the upper arms and holding her just far enough away from him that he could stare directly into her eyes.

The world outside had disappeared. There was only sensation, Dorian and that intense gleam in his eyes.

“You please me, Erika,” he told her, his voice grave. “You took that well.”

She couldn’t seem to think. Or speak. All she could do was hold his words close, unexpected light that made her heart feel bigger than it had been.

She pleased him.

Maybe that was enough.

And then, all she could focus on was that ache between her legs, made ravenous by the hot red ache he’d given her.

He set her on her feet then, there between his legs. Erika cast her eyes down without being asked, but she could feel the smile in his voice when he spoke.

“Turn around, please. I want to admire my work.”

She shuddered, but obeyed.

“Hold up your skirt, please.”

And she could hear her own breathing again—not quite a sob any longer, not simply a breath—as she stood there, staring at those books again. Pretending she wasn’t holding her skirt up high, her thong still tangled around her knees, baring the ass he’d spanked to his view. And also unable to think of anything else.

She knew he sat forward when he gripped her hips, then moved his hands painfully over her ass cheeks again.

“Stay still,” he ordered her.

And she tried. She really did try.

“Your ass is beautifully red and hot,” he told her after a moment. “I like all those tears on your face, Erika. I’m feeling magnanimous and very well pleased. Ask me for what you want. I might just grant it to you.”

She didn’t even think. She didn’t have to think. She knew exactly what she wanted.

Erika couldn’t have imagined that it would all go down like this, that he would scare her, then spank her and make her purge herself of some ugliness she wasn’t sure she even wanted to look at straight. But she knew what she wanted.

She’d only ever wanted one thing from him, above everything else. It was funny how clear it was now. All the world had seemed to narrow down to just one thing.

“Look at me,” he said, and she did.

She looked back over her shoulder to find his dark eyes blazing with the same intense heat she could feel coiled so tightly inside her.

“Ask me,” he ordered.

“Please, sir,” Erika said softly in a voice that sounded like belonged to someone else, but she couldn’t think about that now. “Please. Fuck me.”