Page 16 of Punish Me, Daddy (Boston Kings #8)

Then he touched me.

I gasped.

It felt like sparks under my skin. Every nerve was hyper-alert, his fingers were so damn warm, and I hated that my first reaction was to rock against his touch.

His chuckle was dark and knowing.

He slid his finger over my pussy lips, finding my clit and circling it, and I shuddered.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“No,” I hissed, but it was a weak denial and we both knew it. I knew that he knew it before he even said anything at all.

“That’s alright, Sloane,” he murmured, his voice so damn low, his accent thick. “I’m a man who likes a woman who enjoys her punishment.”

Fuck.

There was a part of me that hated the way he talked to me. Like I was a disobedient child. A bad girl in need of a firm hand, a hard spanking, and an even harder cock. But it did something to me, too, something dark and hungry and humiliating, and I couldn’t deny that a tiny part of me loved it.

“Tell me you liked it,” he ordered, his fingers slipping over my clit a bit more firmly than before.

“No,” I hissed.

His other hand came down and squeezed my ass cheek, reminding me of the stinging punishment he’d already laid down, and the burning ache that still lingered, along with the threat that he could start it anew and I couldn’t do anything to stop him.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

I didn’t answer.

I wouldn’t.

He laughed. “Stubborn little girl. Maybe I should spank your soaking wet cunt, too.”

“You wouldn’t,” I said shakily, but it came out as more of a dare than anything else. Again, I tried to bring my legs together and he kicked them apart.

“Oh, I would,” he said, and when he slipped a finger into me, I couldn’t bite back the moan in time. “You’ve earned it, haven’t you?”

“That’s not fair,” I replied, the words coming out a bit strangled as he pumped his finger in and out of my soaking wet pussy.

“What’s not fair,” he countered, “is a pretty little girl getting spanked and liking it so much.”

He pushed another finger into me, his other hand between my shoulders, holding me down, and I groaned, my hips arching toward him without permission.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his hand on my back pressing down hard. “Say it, or you’ll be begging me to stop before I’m done.”

I wanted to say something clever. I wanted to be coy. I wanted to be smart and sexy and a tease, the kind of girl who got what she wanted because everyone around her knew they couldn’t have her.

I couldn’t. Not now. Not with him.

So I did the only thing that I could. I denied it.

“No,” I gasped, trying not to move my hips and ride his fingers, and really trying not to clench my pussy around his thick digits.

“Bad girl,” he growled.

And then his fingers were gone.

I barely had time to process the emptiness before his hand came up between my thighs and smacked my pussy.

My shocked intake of breath echoed throughout the room and my legs buckled.

The pain was immediate, shocking, and so much more intense than the spanking I just received on my ass.

It burned and stung and sent a hot flash of pleasure right through me.

God help me, I was so wet.

I could hear it when he smacked between my legs, so he could, too. Fuck. I felt more humiliated in this moment than I’d ever imagined possible. Little did I know.

“No,” I whispered.

“You want to lie to me, little girl?” he asked, and his tone was dark and dangerous and so, so close.

“I hate you?—”

His hand came up between my legs once more, punishing my pussy with the flat of his fingers. Once. Twice. Three times until my knees were buckling, and I was leaning on the counter trying to stay upright.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

My eyes flew open, a whimper escaped me, and my legs trembled. My pussy was on fire, my clit was throbbing, and every inch of my body was blazing with sensation.

Then he paused, sliding one hand down my body until it settled between me and the counter, and rubbed his palm between my legs.

“You’re bare down here, like a little slut,” he mused, and my face flamed with heat.

With that same hand, he used his fingers to spread me open, the cool air of the kitchen making my skin prickle and a shiver run through me. Then he used his other hand and brought it up between my legs, hard , the flats of his fingers punishing my clit directly.

The spank was brutal. Ruthless and shocking and so, so intense. I jolted forward and the moan that escaped my lips was broken and desperate. My entire body was trembling now, and it wasn’t just from the pain.

I felt like a live wire, every nerve ending in me alight with passionate need, the ache between my legs more intense than anything I had ever felt before and I tried to ignore it, but it was getting progressively harder.

“Stop,” I gasped, the word strangled and broken.

“No,” he growled. “I’m not even close to being done with you.”

He spanked my pussy again and I couldn’t stop myself. I bucked my hips back, seeking him out.

“You should know that was how good girls get their pretty little pussies spanked, but you weren’t a good girl, were you? You played around in my world, a world that’s far more dangerous than you realize. You’re a bad girl and you need to be punished, not pleasured,” he scolded and my face heated.

My body was humming. It felt like a coil that tightened too far, and I was frantic for release.

He smacked my pussy again, and I was so slick I could feel the wetness against my thighs.

“This is for your own good,” he told me, and I believed him.

Maybe it was. Maybe this was what I deserved. Maybe this was what I needed…

“How do bad girls get their pussies spanked?” I breathed out my question, wiggling my bottom just a bit as his fingers found my clit, rubbing in small tight circles and driving me crazy.

He leaned down, his lips at my ear. “Bad girls get their pussies spanked bright red, Sloane, and they get fucked hard and deep.”

Fuck .

The words sent a shiver down my spine, and the thought of him fucking me had my pussy clenching.

I tried to close my legs again and he forced them back apart.

“No, little girl,” he grunted. “You wanted to play in the big leagues, and you’re going to have to accept the consequences.”

Then his hand was between my legs again, and he spanked my pussy hard. Much harder than before.

He smacked me again and again. Each hit landed with perfect precision. I cried out, the pain and the pleasure twisting until it was all heat and tension, coiling tighter until I felt like I might snap.

“Please,” I begged, and I didn’t even know what I was begging for.

Maybe to come.

Maybe for mercy.

Maybe both.

“Please, what?” he demanded, his voice gravelly.

“Please, Nikolai,” I whispered.

“You want to come, little girl?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Not yet.”

I whimpered.

His palm slapped the tops of my thighs several times, the sharp sting painful in yet another way.

Then his fingers slid through the slickness between my legs and found my clit.

He was rubbing me. Then spanking me. And then fucking me with his fingers.

He wasn’t even holding me down anymore, but my body refused to move, almost as if I was actually submitting to this, because maybe I was.

And all I could do was clutch the edge of the island and take it.

Take everything .

Until my body was wound too tight and there was nothing left to give.

“Come for me, Sloane,” he said, and the words were a command, though the tone was gentle. “Come now.”

And I did.

My orgasm slammed into me with the force of a freight train.

My knees buckled and the kitchen island beneath me was the only thing holding me up.

Waves of sensation crashed over me, each one more intense than the last. He kept rubbing me, kept spanking me, working me through every last ripple until I sagged against the counter, breathless and dazed.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“We’re not done,” he warned, and the words should have worried me, but I was too far gone to care.

Without warning, his fingers drove back inside me again. Two, then three.

I cried out.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

I felt like I was going to break.

But he kept finger fucking me, his thumb against my clit, his other hand pressing me down into the cool marble, and I started to beg.

“Please,” I begged. “Nikolai, please?—”

“Come again,” he growled.

“No! I can’t—” I shrieked.

“You can,” he demanded.

His fingers fucked me faster. Harder. Deeper.

When the second orgasm hit, it was just as intense as the first, but this time, when my body went limp, he didn’t stop.

He kept going.

He was unrelenting, working me through the aftershocks until my body started to climb again.

“No,” I gasped. “I can’t. Please! Nikolai, please.”

He spanked my sore aching pussy, and I shuddered.

“You can,” he growled, and then his hand was back on me, and he was fucking me with his fingers again. Fast. Deep. Unyielding.

I was lost in it, in the intensity of it. In the way he was demanding every part of me, and in the fact that I was giving in.

Another orgasm built, and this time when I came, I cried out his name. He didn’t stop, and I didn’t ask him to.

My third orgasm was the most intense. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel. It was terrifying and incredible at the exact same time. I never wanted it to end.

When I was finally spent, I sagged against the island, breathing deeply and trying to process everything that just happened.

His voice against my ear froze me in place.

“That was just the warmup, little girl,” he warned.

Oh.

Fuck.