Page 11 of Wanting What’s Wrong

I nip my lip before setting the words free. “I want to learn. But I need you to teach me.”

“I’m going to give you what you need. So that next time you do what you’re told.”

Next time. I’m too shocked, too aroused to form words right now. I nod into his pinched fingers, feeling the strength of his grip pushing the insides of my cheeks against my teeth.

The buzzing between us is alive and something inside me shifts. Somehow, I know he is testing me.

“Then give me what you think I need,” I say, each word its own little challenge.

His eyes soften, his brow loosens, but that air of pure cockiness remains. His strong hands move down my body, guiding me to the side. He takes a seat on the bed. Even seated, he’s almost as tall as me. Sparks ignite over my skin, turning into rivers of temptation wherever he touches.

His deep blue eyes lock onto mine. A part of me says run. But another part of me says to push him down and ride him like the mechanical bull at the country bar across from where I work.

“We’re family…” It’s a fact and a problem.

“You’re fucking right about that. So get over my knee, little girl. Daddy’s got something for you. ”

He guides my body down and every muscle tightens as I realize what he is planning never mind trying to process that he just referred to himself as Daddy.

“Oh come on, ” I stutter, a little angry now. “It was just a kiss, Trent. Just a kiss. We can forget it ever happened.”

“That’s not going to work and you know it. So be a good fucking girl and bend over.”

My whole body is washed with molten hot desire. My whole mind is spinning with fantasies and visions I’m sure are illegal somewhere.

I’m shaking as he pulls me down, laying me over the hardness of his thigh muscle. There’s a low buzzing in my ears as the weight of a firm, lethal hand holds the back of my neck, pushing my cheek into the bedding. The tightness of his grip spins me into a panic and it fuels my urge to run.

But the other part of me, that other urge, it’s stronger. The need to stay overpowers the need to flee.

“You’re a naughty little girl, Kitty Kat. And naughty girls will be corrected.”

Trent raises the hem of my dress and fire erupts over my skin once more. There’s the dance of fabric tracing up the backs of my thighs then over my panties as I hear him growl, as his cock firms beneath my belly and I squeeze those inner muscles, urging the pleasure forward.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking perfect. Your hot, greedy little pussy is going to wreck me. I know it already.”

Oh my god. I let my head drop as I give in to the forbidden desire for the boy who slept just on the other side of the wall from me growing up. I growl against the side of the bed.

“Trent. Please.”

“There you go,” his voice is soothing but stern. “Naughty girls get punished. Good girls get to feel good. Which one are you?”

Through my haze and need, I see us together there. Brother and sister. Me over his knee. Alone in the bedroom. With his cock pressing unmercifully into my stomach. I feel the ridge through his pants against my belly button and my pussy starts to gush.

“Good, I’m good but we… we can’t. We just…”

“Have I ever fucking let you down? Have I ever not taken care of you?” His deep voice melts through me from above, as his rough finger hooks the elastic of my panties, slipping them over ass.

A wave of goosebumps tickles the back of my thighs and I suddenly become painfully aware of my softness, my plumpness, against this hard marble-like body.

Suddenly, all the years of insecurity, every nasty catcall from Henry Weaver floods back to me.

A storm of pain and hurt. Trent could have any woman he wants.

Any woman in the world. The thin ones, the beautiful ones.

All of them. I wriggle away, trying to reach behind myself to pull the hem of my dress back down.

He slaps my hand away, hard. “Don’t you fucking dare. But you get one chance, right now. You hear me? If you don’t want this, this is the last fucking opportunity you’ll ever have to tell me. Once we go here, there is no coming back . ”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I stare at the cream-colored carpet.

The tops of his boots. I feel his strength and power and my heart tumbles inside out.

My mind stops and starts, trying to find the words, so unsure of what to say, what to do as Trent’s hands begin to caress my flesh, coiling my belly into a tangle of emotions, a burst of butterflies.

Do I want this?

All those years while he was away, and even all those years before he left, he was and has always been the only man I ever wanted. The only person I ever needed.

I am too nervous to answer. Instead, I move my hand down from my skirt, letting myself be exposed, and lower it onto the solidness of his thigh. I rub the rough seam of the fabric beneath my fingertips. The heat of his quad against my palm.

I give him a little squeeze. Of consent. Of willingness. Of yes.

“Good girl, ” he growls. “Take your punishment and I promise I’ll take care of you like you never dreamed possible. I’ll make you feel good baby. So good.” His voice doesn’t just speak, it rolls, like an avalanche coming down the mountain onto me.

The warm weight of his hand is suddenly gone and in that sweet, sickening moment, as I feel his body shift, I try to remember if I’ve ever been spanked before.

The smack of the first strike fills the room before my nerves catch up. Then, a microsecond later, the pain, the searing hot pain tears through me as I silently scream, panting in staccato breaths.

“Oh shit, ” I finally choke into his leg, burying my face and sinking my teeth into the desert camo as millions of invisible needles radiate out from the point of impact.

Another strike, before my senses can truly comprehend the pain of the first, this one harder. Then another, and another, and the hotness of the pain turns cold as ice.

And again. And again.

His hand comes down faster still, each layer of white-hot pain rippling outward, layering on top of the last, combining into a blaze of heat so intense that I bite down on my lip, until I taste the tinge of blood on my tongue.

“Trent, oh my God,” I beg, wiggling side to side, rolling my hips, applying pressure downward onto my toes.

Another. And another. I try frantically to draw in a full breath between the blows, but each strike expels all the air outward, leaving me gasping and gulping and shaking and drooling.

Yes, I’m drooling.

The pain simmers into a cauldron of emotions; dark, sensual, primal, forbidden. No and yes and why me, why this ?

“You like that, Kitty Kat? You like taking a spanking from your big brother?”

The only word in my head is yes. But the pain steals my breath. And I don’t want to speak—a quick, dark thought passes through my head that this is a joke. He’s trying to embarrass me. But it couldn’t be true. He was the only one who always stood by me. Never wavered. Never turned away.

“Yes,” I whisper into his leg, so soft I’m not even sure I’ve said it out loud.

Another. And another. He moves them around as if he knows how much I can take.

When I think I can’t take another strike in the same spot, he moves his target until I’m sure my entire backside is ripe and red from where my thighs meet my round cheeks to where my tan line from my bikini bottoms makes a stripe across my back.

“ Owww,” I cry out, my voice echoing in the cathedral ceilings of the massive bedroom.

My skin is a minefield. Every touch, every whisper of air exploding the nerve endings into raw pain and sharp agony. I’m kicking at the floor, pushing the tips of my toes against it, raising myself, shifting, wiggling, praying I can take more.

For him.

But then, his touch changes. The punishment stops. It’s over. I can tell it from the way his huge warm palms rest on my screaming, tender flesh. His rough palms heavy on the hot skin. Long fingers curling gently as if to say, this is mine .

I draw a deep breath, warmth gathering down low, radiating from the inside out.

“Goddamn it, Kat, you’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful…” His deep voice is calm, almost pained. Strong and clear. Grounding and anchoring.

The ache in my belly, in my bones—it is almost unbearable. Every primal cell in my body needs to see him, to touch him and for him to touch me in return .

My mind swirls, thoughts of tracing my fingers over each hard, sculpted muscle of his chest, that deep indent that leads down from his belly. His cock. His balls. His thighs.

“You okay, baby girl?” he asks in a way that feels so intimate my eyes start to burn.

The flutter in my belly returns and brings me back to earth.

“Yes. I’m… I’m okay.” Even through the outrageous pain he just delivered, I am so much more than okay. So much more okay than I ever dreamed I could be.

With a firm, guiding grip, he lifts me off his lap onto my wobbly legs.

I steady myself on his shoulder as he pulls me between his open knees and his fingers trace the straps of my sundress, easing them off my shoulders.

Instinct moves my arms to cover myself, to prevent him from seeing my naked body underneath.

“Stop it,” he says, with a firm grip of my wrist. “Look at me.”

I lift my eyes to trace the lines of his face. His hard jaw. His beautiful self. And I feel so… unworthy. “I’m embarrassed for you to see me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t see what I see babygirl.”

“No.”

“So get the fuck over it and let me worship you like you deserve.”

A blush makes my face feel hot, vulnerable. “I’ve never…”

He takes my hand and puts it on the hard length in his lap, making me cup it through his pants. It is huge. Intimidating.

“See what you do to me? You’re the only one that doesn’t see it, Kat. You’re blind to yourself.”

A slow quivering breath fills my lungs and I study his eyes for any hint of teasing. There’s none. Only warmth. Only desire. Only Trent and the protective fire that’s always been there.

I lower my arms to my sides and my dress falls with them. The little spaghetti straps flutter down and the fabric falls around my feet .

Again his cock flexes, and I can see a spot of wetness on the front of his pants. “I am so fucking hard for you, Kitty Kat. And I’m about to lose my motherfucking mind knowing I’m going to get to make you mine.”

His words hit me like hammer in the center of my chest.

Rough fingers meet the softness of my hips.

Inch by inch, he eases my panties lower and I close my eyes as he drags them all the way to my ankles.

Then, tapping the top of each of my feet, telling me to lift.

I do as he silently commands. The wetness on the fabric is clear as he brings them to his face, eyes closed, covering his mouth and nose.

He stays like that for what seems like hours, my heart racing, skin prickling, the sound of his deep breaths making me slick now where my thighs touch.

When I think I’m about to faint, he finally drops them next to where my dress is heaped on the carpet.

“Fucking Jesus ,” he whispers. He pulls me forward, nestling his chin between my breasts. The thick sharp hairs of his stubble perk up my nipples as frozen fire races down my spine and into my toes.

I slide my hands over his shoulders, hugging him as I’ve done thousands of times, keeping him close and warm. And for the first time, I let myself accept that he really is safe. Truly safe. And in my arms, too. “God, I missed you.”

“I’ve waited so fucking long, Kat. You have no idea how much I have wanted you. No fucking idea.” He turns his face to kiss my belly, my curves, the softest places on my full hips. His hands swoop up my back, unclasp my bra then tug it down my arms.

He reaches upward to take the weight of each of my breasts, and he softly kisses a line underneath them while low, desperate groans rasp in his throat.

His forehead rests on my sternum, his face again buried in my flesh as he presses my breasts against his cheeks .

He stays like that for a few breaths, my heart breaking for him. The way he stays there, silent, like he’s finally home, speaks to me in the deepest parts of my soul.

Looking down, he eases back and I watch him trace my belly button, my tummy, his eyes looking up to meet mine. The strain in his brow telling of his restraint—it almost scares me.

“I know how you felt. All those years,” I whisper. “Wanting what we couldn’t have.” And then I pull him close, slipping my fingers over his close-cropped hair, as he takes my nipple in his warm, greedy mouth, making me hiss and arch into the joy of it all.

His eyes close as he suckles me with a deep urgency. His need seems endless. All that longing, coming into focus now.