“Don"t do this.” She tried to fold her arms against herself, hugging them up under her ribs, drawing in. “Jon, I can"t…”
“Can"t what?” Closing his hand on one of her arms, he pulled it away from her body. His touch slid down to her wrist and then he put her hand between her legs, his fingers pressing over hers on her pussy, so she felt the wetness his mouth and the climax had left there. It effectively pulled her attention back to him, made her feel out of control. He had the control.
“You just want one night, Rachel? Is that it?”
“No…” How could she deny wanting more of this? It wasn"t about what she wanted, but what she could handle. “But I don"t expect…promises or commitments. We can"t…you can"t… When you"re done with it, I"m not going to expect anything, but in order for that to happen I can"t…there"s no need to act like we have a future together.”
She stumbled to a halt as his expression cooled. Don’t ruin this, Rachel. For God’s sake, shut up.
“Hmm.” He cocked his head. “I understand. Spread your legs for me.” Uncertain, she shifted, and then sucked in a breath as he moved her hand to the side and slid his fingers back into her, pushing in deep.
“Now cup your breasts and offer them to me.”
She had to brace her elbows on the chair arm, but she managed it, sliding her hands under her bosom and then tilting back against his hold so the pink-tipped breasts tilted up toward his unfathomable gaze.
“Stay like that.”
Keeping his hand inside her, he reached over his plate, to the casserole dish with the eggplant. Removing the lid, he dipped his finger into the sauce. Steam was coming from it, but he was able to collect enough to bring it to his mouth, taste. Approval laced his expression, but she was still uneasy about that hardness around his mouth, the stillness of his gaze on her. Picking up the ladle, he scooped up more of the sauce and brought it over her breasts.
“This is going to burn some, but it won"t be unbearable. Don"t move.” She had a second to brace herself, then the hot marinara hit the upper curve, making her jump as it slid down and over her nipple. His mouth descended upon it, licking the sauce away, tasting her beneath it, scoring her with sharp teeth that made her gasp. Then he did it again to the other nipple. As he did, his fingers played inside her, sliding, scissoring, stroking. Her neck strained, and she wanted to drop her head back and thrash at the feeling, but she stayed utterly still at his command, the emotions of the past few moments swirling around them. While it made her nervous, it couldn"t repel what he was building around her again, walling her up in sensation, taking rational thought away.
When she was shuddering in that self-imposed stasis, he removed his fingers, put the top back on the casserole dish, took another swallow of wine. Pushing back from the table, he lifted her in his arms and moved away from the dining nook. He took her down the hall, to her bedroom.
“Jon, I"m sorry. I didn"t mean to—”
“Sshh.”
The almost absent command reassured her, because there was a thoughtful note to it. As if he wasn"t mad now but…thinking. Then he put her down on her stomach on her bed, but he guided her feet to the floor. “Brace yourself up on your arms and raise your ass. I believe you need another spanking, because the one I gave you at the office hasn"t sunk in. And I think it"s best to get that out of the way before you rack up more than you can handle at one go.”
She was powerless to resist his commands, even as things were gathering inside her she didn"t know how to handle. How to release. She"d angered him, she was sure, but she didn"t know how to fix it, and she was taking a one-way slide toward misery, her mind starting to pull her away from this moment, this wonderful adventure she"d had to screw up by opening her mouth…
Laying his hand on the back of her neck, he pushed her face down to the mattress, but left her ass canted high in the air. “I"m not going to stop until I"m done, and I"m not going to tell you the number of strokes. I want you to give yourself to the pain, and wherever else your body or soul takes you.”
“Maybe we should—” She got out the three desperate words, but that was all she managed.
He had a strong hand. The palm smacked her bottom with force, sending a sting throughout all the nerve endings and ricocheting right into her pussy, her nipples, reminding her of all the hours they"d been stimulated by that chain upon her, those metal pieces. Another slap, and her ass wobbled in reverberation, her knees having to lock to hold her in place.
“On your toes,” he ordered, his voice stern. “I want that ass reaching for my punishment.”
Her emotions fought a pitched battle among themselves, but she obeyed, straining up another inch, even in the tipped heels. The next strike startled her, because it wasn"t his hand. It was the back of a brush, the carved oak hairbrush he"d taken from the dresser. The wood stung fiercely against her already tender buttock. As she internalized that shock, he did it to the other cheek, and then he set about alternating, side to side, hand to brush, never letting it get into a rhythm. Stinging heat became painful fire, but she kept lifting up to him, until she realized she had tears on her cheeks and sobs were catching in her throat. That emotional knot she"d resurrected loosened, unraveled. She was begging him now, but she wasn"t sure for what. It was just his name… No, it wasn"t…
“Master…please…”
She was too far gone for the shock of it to stop the words, but as she cried out in real pain at the last strike, he dropped the brush to the side. She let out a small shriek as his hands closed hard over the abused buttocks, and then she choked on her latest sob as his tongue thrust into her pussy, his mouth sealing over that and the perineum, then moving upward, teasing the rim of her anus, making her moan further. He was turning her over. Before she could blink or move to dash her tears away, he had her stretched out on her back, and he was lying full on top of her, his body insinuated between her legs. His arms were around her, pulling her in to his chest, but the open vulnerability of it, the fact she could only curl around him, her legs and body spread open to him, kept the tears coming.
He framed her face then, making her look at him. “Tell me one thing about you, Rachel. Something I don"t know.”
I think you may know everything. Because I feel like you’re standing right inside my soul.
Because she was trembling, and because he"d laid her wide open, he"d made the one thing she could barely handle thinking about, let alone saying, come out of her lips. The thing she hadn"t been able to bring herself to voice in his office.
“My son died in Afghanistan. He was nineteen years old. I held him when he was born, and a roadside bomb blew away those perfect legs and arms, that beautiful face.
He had my nose and my smile. His father"s eyes.”
Jon nodded. He stroked away the tears, traced her lips. She was going to shatter. “I need to move. Please.”
“You"ll lie like this, spread beneath me, and trust me to hold you together.” But it was too late. That pain had already shattered her soul. What was once resilient had proven itself too fragile, and there was no putting a porcelain doll back together after it had been broken. Though she was glued together, there was no hiding the cracks. “I don"t know what this is for you, Jon, but I"m not strong enough. I thought I could do at least tonight, have this, but I made the wrong choice. Seems I"m always making the wrong choices. I"m too old to make one that"s this wrong.” Propping himself on one elbow, he swept his thumb along her cheek bone, teasing the corner of her mouth, wet with the tears. “Close your eyes.” When she hesitated, he sharpened his voice, repeated it, though there was something in the tone that made it reassuring, even with the note of reproof and command. She closed her eyes, her throat aching with those tears.
He held the pause a long moment, stroking her, letting her still, focus on what might be coming next. Occasionally a soft noise came from his throat as she hiccupped on a sob, but when she had settled down, he spoke again. “Most of us, even as we grow up, continue to look at the world through the subconscious of the age we were before we hit the reality and disappointments that we discover as adults. So, when you look at yourself in the mirror of your mind, you"re looking through the eyes of a certain age.
How old are those eyes, Rachel?”
It made her even more uncomfortable, but as long as he had her spread-eagled and pinned like this she couldn"t be less than honest. “I guess…nineteen or twenty. Right before I had Kyle.”
With her eyes still closed, she leaned her cheek into the hand that was sliding down her cheek, curving around her chin. Jon"s voice was a rumble in her anxious mind.
“The therapist I had to see when I was twelve said that I had the outlook of a forty-year-old. I told him I was the reincarnation of Galileo, or possibly the ancient bard Taliesin. Never could decide. Maybe both. So see, under either interpretation, I"m far older than you.”
A weak smile tugged at her lips, despite herself. She opened her eyes then to see him trace that smile, caressing her dimple. His eyes were full of so many mesmerizing things. Compassion, desire, knowledge. A complete and utter absorption in her that unbalanced her reality, the way she"d always told herself life had to be. A lock of his dark hair had fallen over his brow, and when she reached up to stroke through it, his palm followed the line of her upper arm, then came down to cup her breast, weigh it thoughtfully.
“You have nice, heavy breasts. You looked to me like a woman who"s nursed a child, your breasts lower than a woman your age who hasn"t.” Before that observation could discomfit her, he bent his head, licked the nipple with casual pleasure, spoke against it. “I can see you nursing your baby with these beautiful, ripe breasts, swollen with milk, your nipples so large. You"d both be in my lap, and I"d watch him suck, equally fascinated and envious, hoping I might get a turn soon. Babies are little tyrants who trump even a Master"s demands.”