Page 20 of Slick & Spooky

“This what you’ve been chasing?” he rasps. “Me, breaking the rules for you?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Tell me you still want it.”

“I never stopped.”

His hands find the waistband of my shorts and with one hard tug, he tears them down the middle, leaving scraps of fabric clutched in his fists. He tosses them aside, then runs his palms over the curve of my ass, framed perfectly by the stretch of my jock strap.

“You think I like seeing you walk around like this,” he asks, voice like gravel. “Testing my restraint and begging for my attention.”

“I don’t need to beg.”

His touch falls away, and my skin misses the heat instantly.

“No?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why’s that?”

I know I should let it go. I know mouthing off might bring hell down on me, but that spark his voice ignites is begging me to light the match, because I have to see what happens when this man finally comes off his leash.

“You bred me once and never let go,” I say, low into the mattress. “The outfit’s to rile you up enough to stop being a pussy and finally do it again.”

The chuckle that rumbles out of him has my fingers curling into the sheets. He drags me back until my spine arches and I’mfully on display. His hands skate up my ribs, heat trailing in their wake, until the weight of his body presses flush against mine.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger, lips brushing the shell of my ear, “Looks like your plan worked.”

He leans off me, fingers hooking into the band of my jockstrap, stretching it to the edge of its limit before letting it snap back against my skin with a sharp, satisfying sting.

I arch into it, breath ragged.

My cock aches, leaking through the thin fabric of my jock until the pouch’s damp and clinging. There’s a soft, involuntary grind of my hips toward the mattress, chasing friction like it might save me even as I clench down on nothing, desperate and empty and needing him to fill the space he’s carved out inside me.

“You Finley boys are all the same,” he says, “Always think you’re in control.”

I chuckle. “Still am.”

“Let’s try that again.”

He yanks the elastic again, harder this time. The sting snaps through me and I gasp as it blooms into something sickly sweet just under my skin.

“Do you think you’re in control?” he repeats, voice like a noose tightening.

I exhale, trying my best to appear unbothered. “Yes.”

The heat of him disappears, and the absence is brutal. I stay where I am. Face buried in my arms, knees spread, ass arched and waiting. There’s a pause and then the unmistakable sound of him rummaging across the room.

My heart kicks when I realize what he’s reaching for.

“I’m gonna give you one more try,” he says, eerily calm. “Do you think you’re in control?”

Before I can answer I feel cool wood dragging down the curve of my ass. A big brother paddle plucked from his wall and etchedwith his name in raised block letters, edges smoothed from years of tradition, weighty with history.

An involuntary moans erupts from me at the first touch, like my body’s been waiting for this longer than I have.

“No…”

He lays the paddle flat against me.