Page 46 of Jensen

The kitchen light is off, making him a shadow. My skirt has slipped down over my ass, but my thighs are out. Can he see they’re wet?

Why do I want this?

It feels like I shouldn’t, but there’s this deep hole inside me that feels like it was scooped out with a serrated spoon. I’ve had it for the last five years. It’s the inside voice that cried out for someone to do something when Leland appeared, the same one he starved out by stonewalling my every need.

I need. I need so badly, it hurts.

A firm hand, a gentle word. A guide through the things that terrify me. A lighthouse in the dark.

Clink.

He’s unfastening his belt, stained with sweat and dust from the ring. It slides through rough fingers. Then—crack—he snaps it so loud, I jump, biting my lip to keep from gasping.

Between my legs is swollen, so sensitive, I can make out the rhythmic throb of desire where I’m soaked. His hand cups the back of my thighs. His inhale is so sweet, I have to close my eyes while he trails his fingertips through my arousal.

I had no idea it could be like this.

“You’re a wet little bitch, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

Heat floods through me, making my ears roar. His tone is soft, reverent, but his words are filthy. I don’t know if I should be offended, or if I should grind back on his hand and come.

Before I can decide, he pulls back, almost flicking me as he does, bringing his palm down across my ass.

Pain ripples, followed by heat.

“Oh God,” I whimper.

“I asked you a question, baby,” he says, the hand holding the belt pressing on the middle of my back.

He slaps the back of my right thigh hard.

“Yes,” I manage. “Anything you want.”

He comes down on my other thigh. “Anything?”

I’m pretty sure he could ask me to sign my soul away, and I’d do it for him. Delirious, I nod. “Yes, just don’t stop.”

He shifts, crouching behind me. He pushes my skirt up over my ass and starts eating me from the back, licking me from clit to pussy in long, hungry strokes, sucking, biting. My nails scrape into his table. I hope he doesn’t care that much about it.

“I think I can answer my own question,” he murmurs, scraping his teeth against my inner thigh.

“What?” I whisper, floating.

“You are a wet little bitch,” he says, slapping my ass again.

My pussy throbs. Never in my life did I think I’d get off on being called that word, but Lord, the way he says it, just all dirty and sweet, is too much. He bends in, flicking my clit, and I come again.

He’s on his feet, and I hear the belt whistle. White heat bursts, followed by pain so intense, I cry out.

Everything is a mess of pleasure and agony. It’s two flavors that shouldn’t work together, but they do, like fireworks ripping through every inch of me. Shutting off my brain. Turning everything else on. Lighting me up.

I’ve never burned this bright.

The belt comes down across the backs of my thighs. Something wet drips on the floor between my feet. His hand slides beneath my throat, cupping the underbelly. His hands are so big and firm, holding my head steady, thumb on my jaw, pointer and middle beneath my opposite ear.

The belt whistles again. It cracks across my upper thighs.

I whimper, tears stinging my eyes. The belt comes down again, then one more time, on the same place, right where my ass meets my thighs. Then, it hits the floor. The dull thud of leather and clink of metal makes me open my eyes.