Page 20 of Renegade
Chapter Six
Walker
This is going to fucking kill me. Gemma caught me off guard when she walked into the room wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of black lace panties and a matching bra that was just revealing enough to send my imagination into overdrive. I was far from ready to begin this charade she’s somehow talked me into, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes that I’m not used to seeing—a rare vulnerability that’s not like Gemma at all. It stirred something inside me, and I acted on pure instinct.
I kissed her. And my world came to a fucking standstill.
You’re not supposed to kiss your best friend, or want the things I wanted in that moment when I pinned her wrists over her head and touched her lips with mine. I tried to brush it off, tried to brush her off. I knew that if I was going to talk her out of this dumb-ass submission thing she’s hell-bent and determined to sign up for, I needed to have the upper hand, and that meant some serious regrouping. But when Gemma wants something, there’s no stopping her, and I knew I had to head her off at the pass. I went into full dom mode—or at least what I hoped was full dom mode—and started throwing down rules and protocol and putting her through a series of submissive positions that I was sure would violate every feminist bone in her body. But I hadn’t accounted for how stubborn she can be when she wants something. It’s one of the things I admire most about her, probably because I’m exactly the same.
Her eyes had flashed, but she’d pulled each position off with a grace and innate sensuality that had my cock throbbing. She’d found it arousing, too, if the tight little points of her nipples were any indication. Even the spanking positions hadn’t fazed her. I’d played it up, thinking she’d beg off, but she’d looked oddly disappointed when she thought we were through. And then she threw down the gauntlet, saying she’d try more with Declan. Obviously, I’m going to have to up the stakes to put an end to all of this before it goes any farther. I’m going to have to actually spank her.
I sit down in the upholstered chair and pat my lap, my intention clear. Her eyes widen, and then she slowly crosses the room and arranges herself over my lap, her toes barely skimming the floor as her full weight rests in my lap. Her sweet little rounded ass is perfectly positioned over my thighs. Holy fuck! I hope to hell she can’t feel the hardness of my cock through my jeans, but the pope himself would get turned on if he had Gemma in an ass-framing thong draped across his lap like this.
How the hell are you supposed to spank a girl? I’d done a little research, armed with the list Declan had given Gemma after I thought she’d gone to bed, but I’d only gotten through the basic rules and protocols before she showed up all ready to be dominated. I’d read several posts on spanking technique (thank God for Tumblr and the internet), but reading how to do it and actuallydoingit are two vastly different things. I’m not prepared for this.
I run my hand experimentally over her ass. It’s soft and smooth and supple; her skin is like liquid satin, and so beautifully pale. Her body is rigid, and I find myself stroking my hand over her back, moving up to her neck and shoulders as I knead the tension away. She slowly relaxes into my touch, and I caress her hair, smoothing it gently. Her hair is almost as soft as her skin, and I have the urge to tangle my fingers in it. I move lower, pulling her legs apart slightly before stroking up her thighs to caress her ass a little more deliberately this time. She tenses up again, so I repeat the process several more times—rubbing her back and shoulders, pressing them down a little more each time, brushing her hair away from her face, then rubbing her ass.
I experimentally squeeze each sweet cheek roughly a few times. A muffled moan escapes her lips.
“You okay?”
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
Alternately rubbing and squeezing her butt cheeks with my right hand, I grip her waist just above her right hip with my left hand as I lightly press my elbow between her shoulder blades to keep her pinned against my lap.
I feel like I did on a mission in Afghanistan, when my team was advancing on a target house in the desert and a suicide bomber detonated right as we were about to infiltrate it. Time stops, anticipation hangs heavy in the air, and you know you’ve got no choice but to go in. I raise my right knee slightly, turning her bottom up to a better and even more pronounced advantage, and I smack her ass with the open palm of my hand.
She gasps, and I spank her again. And again. And again. I vary my technique, experimenting with cupping my hand slightly with my fingers closed, using an open palm (which seems to get more dramatic squirms from her) and spreading my fingers as I spank her, carefully gauging her reactions to see what she likes. At first, I massage her bottom after every few strokes, but then I focus on the strokes themselves, varying the speed and intensity in proportion to her response. A few soft slaps followed by harder blows. A few slow, even strokes, then a short burst of rapid-fire smacks that have her wriggling all over my cock.
With her pale skin, it doesn’t take long for her ass to glow pink. I stop and scrape my nails lightly over the sensitive skin, and she groans and squirms deliciously.
I spank her again, a little harder this time, some perverse part of me determined to push her to the point that she will quit, that she says her safe word and admits this isn’t for her and she’s not going to see that asshole Declan again, much less consider being his submissive. I hit the same sensitive spot four, five, six times, and her hand flies back to try to stop me. I grab her wrist and hold it against the small of her back. Her body tightens, struggles, turns. She lifts her head and shoots me a look that I can’t quite decipher.
I lift an eyebrow. “Want to use your safe word?”
Her eyes flash, and this time, I don’t need any translation. I know sheer defiance when I see it. She lowers her head, raises her ass, and wiggles it antagonizingly. I can’t fight back my grin as I spank her a few more times, mixing it up so she doesn’t know what to expect. A few spanks and then a few sensual light strokes across her hot skin. A few more, followed by the warmth of my tongue tracing the sweet curves of her bottom. The appreciative little noises coming from her are going to fuel my fantasies for months.
I don’t know if it’s her struggling, the way she writhes against my cock, her mound grinding against me, or the sight of her gorgeous ass reddened and upturned in my lap, but I’ve got a raging hard-on. I’m going to have to quit or risk blowing my wad.
“Count to five and we’ll be done,” I say.
She starts to count, and I smack her ass with each number. When she reaches five, I lift her off my lap and set her on her feet. Her cheeks—all of them—are red, and her breath is coming in short little huffs. We look at each other for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say.
“You did good,” I admit.
She smiles. “And you doubted me!” She rubs her ass tentatively. “You didn’t go easy on me.”
“You didn’t want me to,” I counter.
“True.” She bites her lip, and I inexplicably want to kiss her again. “I’m going to go to bed. Charlotte’s picking us up at eight.”
“Perfect.” I stand up and move the chair back to its usual spot.
She walks deliberately toward her bedroom with a pronounced and deliberate sway of her gorgeous now-reddened ass. “You know, I’m going to totally rock this,” she calls back over her shoulder.
That’s what I’m starting to be afraid of.
The blast of a horn from downstairs announces Charlotte’s arrival to drive us to the airport. I pound on Gemma’s door. “You coming?”
