Page 35 of The Bargain (Dalton Family #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sofia

I want him to spank me. Admitting that to myself is empowering.

Arousing. My skin is flushed, my cheeks hot, my body hotter, and I dare submit to Ethan.

I lean forward, reach over his lap, and press my hands to the couch on the other side of his thigh, effectively draping my body over the top of his lap, offering myself to him.

And in response, he doesn’t touch me.

Long seconds tick by, and he leaves me like that—naked, exposed, at his mercy—and it feels like a test, as if he’s allowing me the chance to back out, to run all over again.

But I will not run. I’m here. I’m staying.

And no matter where that leads, no matter how we might break each other, I can only hope we put each other back together.

We hold onto each other. “Ethan, please,” I whisper, losing my mind, my body tingling, my nerves on edge, and then, only then, does his hand settle warmly on my lower spine.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, and there is something about his tone that clenches my belly and slicks my thighs.

His palm travels up my spine, a gentle caress so unlike the spanking I’m expecting, but somehow, I know that’s the idea.

The wait. The contrast. The anticipation.

It’s all part of the seduction, the pleasure.

There’s a high to it I do not expect, and I wonder if it’s simply handing him control, letting him drive when all I’ve done for years is steer away from anything that might add a spark to life, but it comes with risk.

He’s a risk; maybe he’s even trouble.

I know this, and I don’t seem to care.

And if trouble is what this is, trouble is exactly where I want to crash and burn.

I know now that I’ve needed something I couldn’t name, something unreachable, something that he’s answered with his touch, his hands and mouth on my body. Him pushing me, claiming me. He leans in and presses his mouth between my shoulder blades, and I pant with the shock of it.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, trailing fingers down my spine, goosebumps lifting in their wake, one hand sliding under my belly and lifting my backside in the air.

He caresses my left cheek with one hand, and with the other his fingers slip between my legs, teasing my clit, and Lord help me, I’m rocking against his hand, so wet and aroused I ache with need.

He gives my backside a tiny tap, and when I gasp, expecting more, ready for it, he does it again and again, a steady, gentle patting, and I have this sense he’s getting me used to his hand on my backside.

Just as I settle into the moment, the fingers of his other hand find my clit again, teasing it, flicking it, and then, cupping my sex, his fingers teasing me as he does, and I have no control, no willpower.

I start rocking again, little whimpers sliding from me, and I’m close, so very close to coming when he just stops, leaving me gasping, needy, desperate.

“ Ethan. ”

“Count with me,” he reminds me, and he’s caressing my right cheek as if warming it.

I’m still halfway to orgasm, my brain foggy, as he adds, “Five times. Now, baby. Ready?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, needing everything and needing it almost too much. “Yes.”

“Count. Now. ”

His palm comes down on my backside, and my back arches with the sting. “One,” he calls out, but I can’t say it with him. “Two,” he is already saying, and when I feel his hand, it’s a deeper sting, and I cry out. “Oh, God.”

“Count,” he demands. “Three,” he says. “ Say it .”

“Three,” I pant out, and the next smack is there.

“Four,” he says. “Sofia—”

“Four!” I yell out, my fingers curling in my palms with the burn that follows.

“Five.”

We say it together, and the bite of his hand on my skin has me gasping.

But it’s over, it’s done, and I can feel myself trembling, adrenaline lighting me up, and I barely know when he pulls me into his arms, cradling me close and cupping my face.

“Tell me what you feel.” There is concern in his voice, tenderness.

Not gloating. Not satisfaction. He wants me to be okay.

He wants me to have liked what he did to me.

What do I feel?

The words replay in my head, and all I know is that I have never felt as intimate with anyone in my life.

I press my lips to his, and we’re instantly wild with need, fighting to get his pants down, maneuvering to shift our bodies until I’m straddling him, gripping his cock and guiding him inside me.

I’m gasping all over again as he pulls me down his ridiculously hard length and thrusts deep.

He groans with the feel of me around him, and I like the power to make him wild.

I want more. It seems like I always need more with him.

But when I lean in to kiss him, to rock against him, his hand slides under my hair, and he holds me there, searching my face. “Did you like it?”

For reasons I can’t explain, having him ask me that, having to answer while he watches feels more vulnerable than lying across his lap. But I don’t pull away, nor do I play coy. “Yes. Yes, I liked it.”

A mix of heat and satisfaction flares in his eyes, but there is more of that tenderness there, too, that I don’t try to understand.

I lean in again and press my mouth to his.

He cups my head and claims my kiss, devouring my mouth, greedy and hungry, and I like it.

I rock against him, and we’re all over each other.

Touching. Kissing. Swaying. Every inhibition I’ve ever owned has been devoured by the heat between us, and we’re both clinging to every second, slowing down.

Speeding up. More rocking, pumping, fucking each other, and at times it feels deeper.

As if we’re making love.

But it’s here; it’s time. Passion consumes us, and so does the end.

My body curls into his, shaking against his with the intensity of my release, and the low guttural groan that follows from him leads us to total collapse.

We melt into each other, and my face is buried in his neck.

I’m not sure how it happens, but one minute I’m hyper-focused on his hand on my back, and the next a waterfall of emotions rushes over me.

Tears are all but bursting from me, and Ethan is going to think I’m a freak or that he hurt me.

Or both.

“Bathroom,” I manage to say, and when I try to move away, he holds me tighter.

“It’s normal, baby. It’s the endorphins. Just let it happen.”

“I don’t… I don’t want…” It’s too late. I explode into tears, my body quaking to such a degree that I barely know when he shifts us and lays us down, pulling my back to his front, his big body encasing mine from behind, his hand stroking my hair.

Time stands still, and I don’t even know why I’m crying.

It’s as if everything I’ve bottled up for a lifetime is out and wreaking havoc on me and him.

When, finally, it calms, he hands me tissue, and I press my hands to my face.

“I need to go to the bathroom and blow my nose, and I never thought I’d say that right after sex to any man, let alone you.” This time when I move away, he lets me escape.

I rush to my bedroom, into the bathroom, and shut the door, going to sit on the toilet where I cry some more and blow my nose.

Oh yeah, and I pee. I’m just one big beautiful mess right now.

By the time I’ve pulled on a robe, washed my hands, and taken off the make-up that is now in all the wrong places, this emotional ride is fully over, and exhaustion is starting to slide over me.

There’s a knock on the door, and I don’t hesitate.

I walk over and open it to find Ethan standing there in only his pants, looking like a poster for hot men and temptation, the kind that wouldn’t want to be with a blubbering idiot.

But that’s not how he acts at all. He captures my hand and walks me to him, his hand settling on my lower back. “You okay?”

“Why didn’t you warn me? Asshole,” I add weakly, only half teasing.

“It doesn’t happen to everyone, and you needed it. Clearly. And it probably won’t happen next time.”

“Probably?”

He cups my face and tilts my gaze to his. “It’s about healing. And I hope we’re doing that together.”

“I hope so, too,” I whisper, but in the back of my mind, I think we’re just so wounded, we’re almost like wild animals, always fighting for survival. Never able to find true peace.