Page 32 of The Freeuse Proposal
“Please what?” He goes back to loading the dryer like nothing happened. “We have all day, lass. I’m in no hurry.”
That’s when I realize what he’s doing. The anticipation is the torture. Making me desperate before he’s even really started. By the time he actually touches me properly, I’ll already be half out of my mind.
Holy hell. This is going to wreck me.
By early afternoon, I’m a trembling mess, and he still hasn’t given me anything substantial.
We’re in the bedroom now. He’s positioned me on the bed. I’m on my back, legs spread, completely exposed to his gaze. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin, and I clutch at them like they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to earth. On the nightstand, a small velvet bag I don’t recognize—something he’s set there deliberately.
“Remember,” he says, his hand warm on my thigh, “if you can’t speak, tap me three times. Or tap the bed. I’ll stop immediately. Understand?”
I nod, barely able to focus on his words when all I want is his touch.
“Say it,” he commands gently.
“Three taps if I can’t speak,” I manage. “You’ll stop.”
“Good girl.” His voice is reverent as he settles between my thighs. “Look at you, so desperate already. So ready for me.”
Then his mouth is on me, and I cry out at the sudden intensity. His tongue drags through my folds, circling my clit. The pleasure spikes so fast it steals my breath. I’m going to come. After hours of teasing, it’s only going to take seconds. I’m already right there.
He pulls back.
“No!” The protest rips out before I can stop it. My hips buck up, chasing his mouth, but he’s already moved out of reach. “Sir, please, I was so close.”
“I know exactly how close you were.” He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, maddeningly gentle. “That’s the point, lass.”
He does it again. And again. Each time he brings me to the brink with his tongue, his fingers, working me until I’m shaking and desperate, and then stops just before I crest. I’m going to lose mymind. Actual tears prick at my eyes, and I hate how desperate I am. Except I don’t. I love it.
All I can do is lie here and take whatever he decides to give me, and that helplessness is doing something to my brain I can’t explain.
“Please,” I sob. “Please, I can’t—”
“You can.” His voice is firm but kind. “You can take so much more than you think. And I’m going to prove it to you.” He sits back, studying me. “Over my knee, Alice.”
My heart slams against my ribs. This is it.
He settles against the headboard and pats his thigh. Crawling toward him on shaky limbs, I position myself across his lap. The position is vulnerable in a way that makes my stomach flip. My ass is in the air, while my face is pressed into the mattress, completely at his mercy. The comforter is soft beneath my cheek and smells faintly of his orange body wash, grounding me even as my pulse races.
His hand rests on my ass, warm and heavy. “Color?”
“Green.” My voice is muffled against the sheets.
“Have you ever been spanked before, lass? Properly, I mean. Not a playful swat.”
My head shakes against the comforter. “No, Sir.”
“Then we start slow.” His palm strokes over my skin, soothing and possessive at once. “I’ll build the intensity. If it’s too much, you tell me. Yellow to slow down, red to stop. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice comes out breathless, anticipation coiling tight in my belly.
“Good girl.”
The first slap is almost gentle. A warm-up. But even that light contact makes me gasp. My skin is so sensitized from hours of teasing that everything registers more intensely.
The second is harder. A sharp crack that echoes through the room, followed by a bloom of heat spreading across my skin. I jerk in his lap, a sound escaping me that’s half pain, half something else entirely.
“There it is.” Satisfaction roughens his voice. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
