Page 51 of Hannah and the Hitman
“There’s nothing wrong with you, gorgeous.”
Swat.
“You’re not fat. Or overweight. Or any of those bullshitwords. Those dipshits weren’t real men. A real man takes care of his woman.”
Swat.
“Ow! By spanking her?”
“If that’s what she needs. You said you wanted to be a bad girl. Well, bad girls like getting spanked. I bet your pussy’s dripping to prove it.”
His hand slid over my butt, then cupped me from behind. I startled, then moaned. I was wet still. No not still, butmore.
His words, his actions, the spanking… I never knew. Read about and got turned on while doing it, but that had been in a book. This? Jack wasveryreal.
“You came on my fingers in the library. You just came all over my face in my elevator. Your taste is on my fucking tongue.”
“But that wasn’t me satisfying you.”
Tucking an arm about my waist, he hoisted my hips up so I was on my knees, my cheek still pressed against what felt like three million thread count bedding.
“Oh my God, Jack, what are you–” He put his mouth on me. “OH MY GOD.”
I squirmed, definitely embarrassed that my butt was in the flipping air, and he not only saw everything, but licked it. Top to bottom, and by bottom, I meantbottom.“Jack!”
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his breath fanning over my swollen flesh. Then his fingers slid over it. Traced it. Learned it.
“No.”
“Am I too rough?”
He’d been manhandling me, but he maneuvered mearound easily enough and the spanking had been more of a scientific test of arousal and interest than discipline. And I asked for it because what I read ofroughin romance books was something I craved.
Fiction and reality were two very different things when Jack was involved.
I squirmed because he was being too gentle now. His touch was so light I could barely stand it. I was so worked up from the elevator orgasm that I was close.
“No,” I replied.
“Good.”
“Shh. I’m not being rough.”
“But you’re–”
Perry was probably right. I was sinning hard core. And it felt so fucking good.
“In fact, I’m being very,verygentle.”
I whimpered, wiggled my butt, telling him I wanted more without saying it. Because if I did, what kind of woman did that make me? I needed his fingers in me like at the library. I needed something else in me. Big and hard. He had to be both.
“You still want rough?” he asked, kissing the back of my thigh.
“You’re not sticking anything in my butt without a shit ton of lube and a hell of a lot more foreplay.”
I felt him smile against my skin. “Noted, but that wasn’t what I was thinking.”
“Yes, I still want it rough.” I wanteditbecause he wasn’t doing anything except petting my pussy. I’d thought I couldn’t get any wetter, but I was practically dripping withneed. I clenched in eagerness. “Yes, I want you to do unspeakably rude things to me.”