The Donovan Dynasty: Bind Part 11

He brushed back strands of hair that were curled around her cheekbones, and she reached up to place her hands on his wrists.

"Behind your back," he said.

"Is that a rule?"

"Not always. Only if you're told."

"I like to touch."

"I like to be obeyed," he countered.

Reluctantly, she put her hands behind her.

His kiss started slowly, softly.

She closed her eyes and swayed toward him. He offered his body as support, and his strength flowed into her.

Though she ached to run her fingers through his hair, she took pleasure from doing as he said. Her body became more pliant as she stopped fighting herself.

He deepened the kiss, forcing her lips apart, tasting, touching, demanding. She was helpless. The combination of his determination and masculine power silenced her deepest objections. She wanted this man.

Though he only touched her face, her nipples hardened.

He ended the kiss before she was ready, but the way he drew his eyebrows together kept her silent. He stared at her intently, as if seeking an answer to a question so deep that he didn't know how to ask it.

Before she could possibly be prepared, he moved in again, this time with force, demanding her compliance.

She was lost. She wanted it. Him.

Keeping her hands in place took every bit of her mental energy. Physical sensation bombarded her, and she ached to partic.i.p.ate.

When her breathing was erratic and her body responsive, he eased back.

"I could kiss you all night, and it wouldn't be enough."

"For me, either," she confessed.

He lowered his hands. "You pleased me."

The words were heady, and she exhaled an unsteady breath.

"You can put your hands at your sides. I'll show you the playroom."

She'd never admit that she was a bit disappointed that he hadn't suggested she bend over the bench.

He moved past her, and she followed.

In the bedroom, he stopped near the foot of the bed, and said, "But first, I want to see you on the bench."

Her heart skidded to a halt.

"What do you say?"

"Yes, Sir."

"d.a.m.n."

The approval in his tone made excitement trip through her.

"You remember that we talked about safe words?"

She couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "Yes."

"Unless there are words you want to use, we can use red and yellow. Red for stop immediately, yellow for slow down, we need to talk, I'm scared, or to let me know you need something."

"That works for me."

"Tell me what we're going to do," he said.

"Ah..." She could hardly make herself use the words. "You're going to punish me in some way for not keeping my hands behind my back earlier this afternoon."

He nodded. "I want you to face the bed and hold onto the bench. I expect you to stay in place. Tell me you understand."

She nodded.

Earlier today, she'd realized that having him order her around was a mind f.u.c.k. He'd agreed. Lara realized that he knew what he was doing, what to say, how to act. This was part of the whole seduction, she realized, the part that made BDSM relations.h.i.+ps different. Her previous boyfriend had just dragged her across his lap and started wailing on her b.u.t.tocks. There'd been no discussion, no exquisite antic.i.p.ation or demands for compliance. In contrast, everything Connor did heightened her arousal.

Unhurriedly, she got into place and he drew up her dress.

She bit her lower lip.

"Your a.s.s was made for a beating, Lara," he said as he outlined the top part of her panties. "I'm going to take these off."

She closed her eyes.

He drew her underwear down then tossed them on top of the bed. "Gorgeous. Now spread your legs as far as you can and turn your toes inward."

Lara found it impossible to breathe.

"So lovely."

He rubbed her b.u.t.tocks, light, then quick. Abruptly, he stopped.

She was antic.i.p.ating that he'd strike her then, but he didn't. Instead, he slid a finger back and forth against her c.l.i.t. Shocked, she drew her legs together.

"Stay in position," he warned.

He'd moistened his finger before touching her, and since she was already a little damp, it only took a few seconds for her to become slick.

She began to sway in response to his touch. It'd been a long time since she'd had s.e.x and his touch aroused her quickly.

Before she expected it, he entered.

In response, she moaned. If this was punishment...

He began to finger-f.u.c.k her. She rose up but was careful not to let her legs close. Then she felt him push his thumb against her c.l.i.t. The pressure was unbearably wonderful. "Mmm," she said.

"Do you like this, my responsive little Lara?"

"So, so much," she said, feeling an o.r.g.a.s.m beginning.

But instead of driving her to completion, he pulled back then slapped her right b.u.t.tock, hard.

She yelped.

Almost right away, the pain receded. Then it vanished when he pushed his finger back into her. The o.r.g.a.s.m began to unfurl again. "Yes..."

He kept one hand between her legs but slapped her left a.s.s cheek with the other.

The shocking sting added to the throbbing in her p.u.s.s.y.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Tell me what you want."

She shoved her p.u.s.s.y backward, wordlessly asking for more. "An o.r.g.a.s.m."

"An o.r.g.a.s.m, Sir," he coached.

"Yes! An o.r.g.a.s.m, Sir."

"Ask."

She locked her knees for a moment as she fought for rational thought. "Please. Please, may I have an o.r.g.a.s.m? Sir?"

"Have you earned it yet?" He spanked her right cheek again.

The o.r.g.a.s.m started to burn in her. "More. Please."

"Beg," he told her.

"Please, will you spank me? Please will you give me an o.r.g.a.s.m, Sir?"

"Absolutely perfect responses, little Lara," he approved.

He smacked her left cheek, and he kept the punishment going, slapping the right side of her a.s.s five times in quick succession before moving back to the left. "I..."

"Come when you're ready," he said.

He continued to rain the blows on her bare skin, and the climax gathered force.

"I want your juices all over me," he told her.

His words, the small amount of pain, the way he ground his thumb against her, the speed with which he fingered her all combined to make her thighs tremble.

She cried out, choking on a sob as she thrust her hips back, demanding he go deeper, harder, and he gave her what she needed.

The o.r.g.a.s.m plowed into her with a force she'd never experienced. She screamed out his name as she came, her p.u.s.s.y clenching.

He stayed there, saying things quietly, words that were so far away that she couldn't make them out.

It took her a long time to return to reality and start breathing normally again.

Eventually he moved, picking her up, then he turned to sit on the bench with her on his lap.

Lara rested her cheek on his chest while he stroked her hair, brus.h.i.+ng back her confounding, curly tendrils.

"I enjoyed that," he said.

"I bet you did," she agreed. She moved so she could look at him. "It's not your a.s.s that's sore."

"True." He raised a finger to his mouth and licked her juices from it.

She'd never seen anything as shockingly erotic. It made her needy all over again.

"You survived your first punishment."

"Are they all like that?"

"Depends on the infraction," he said. "I told you I want the punishment to fit the crime. Your infraction was wanting to touch me, so I forced you to keep your hands on the bench. But you won't always get an o.r.g.a.s.m with a punishment. In fact, most times you won't. I'll want you to think about what you did." He put his hand in her hair and pulled her head back a little. "You have one promise from me. You will never, ever be punished when either of us are angry. You'll always know the reason as we will have talked about it ahead of time, and you will have agreed to it. At times, you may get to choose it."

"I actually don't intend to be punished ever again." Even as she said it, she wriggled around on his lap, aware of the scratchy denim of his jeans and the tenderness of her skin.

"Would you like to see the playroom?"

"If you wish, Sir."

He helped her to stand. A little embarra.s.sed, she straightened her dress and reached for her underwear.

"Leave them. I like knowing you're still damp, and I'm hoping your dress keeps reminding you of the handprints on your b.u.t.tocks."

"Diabolical."

"Never underestimate that trait," he warned, and she knew she'd do well to heed the words.

He led her to the playroom.

"Feel free to touch and hold anything."

"I'm not sure I'm that brave." She wandered around. A slender chest of drawers was pushed against one wall. Despite the fact there were no windows, the s.p.a.ce seemed light and airy. The wooden floor was polished and, as she expected, all of the items in the room were obsessively organized.