Page 33 of Wicked Player

It was a good answer. Not only appropriate but sincere and it was all I wanted to hear. I closed the space between us and my hand went to her hair. It was long, straight tonight, and hung down her back like a sheet of gold. I wrapped my fist around it, tugged lightly so I could bend and press my lips to her jaw.

She smelled like flowers and sunshine, pure beauty and joy. For not the first time I wondered if I could reveal myself to her.

She had as much to lose as I did if our kink was made public. A woman who liked to be spanked and dominated? That wouldn’t go over so well for a female public figure, even if the double standard sucked ass. She’d be ridiculed and shamed and probably lose her job. I’d bring embarrassment to my charities but would probably gain a few thousand female followers on social media.

My lips brushed against her jaw, went right to that soft, gentle flesh beneath her ear. Her breath hitched. She shivered. Even her lids fell closed as I touched her for the first time.

Goddamn. This woman.

A weekend with her in public and only one night of sex with her and already she was screwing with my head.

As I peppered her alabaster throat with kisses, covering her with my scent, I reached up and dragged her zipper down. I moved slowly to draw out the anticipation. It was as much of an exercise in self-control for me.

I wanted her naked. I wanted to sink inside of her and ride her hard and fast, pounding into her until she’d never forget me.

I wanted to imprint on her pussy so she’d never be satisfied with another man taking her like only I could do. I wanted to fuck every good memory of Connor Hopkins out of her body and her brain.

The suddenness of my territorial thoughts jolted me and my hand froze.

“Is it stuck?” she asked.

“No.” I tugged the zipper down the rest of the way, forgoing the exquisite pleasure of taking my time.

Whatever my brain was thinking was definitely in line with my dick.

I’d return to common sense and rationality after I left.

With the zipper undone, I pushed her dress forward, helping her out of the long sleeves and once it drifted to the floor, I helped her step out of it, kicking it to the side.

Her bra went next and while I’d wanted her splayed out on the bed, her mass of golden hair backdrop to the gray coverings, another idea came to mind.

My hands curved over her shoulders and I carefully guided her forward until we were at the dresser at the far end of the room. The drawers held toys and implements and a few more ideas came to mind.

Another time, I decided, before I could realize what I’d already decided.

This woman would be mine. For much longer than most women were.

“We’re at the dresser. Put your hands out and hold on.”

She bent down and my breath left with a forceful whoosh of air as I caught sight of her tight, trim but nicely rounded ass sticking in the air.

She hadn’t been wearing underwear beneath the dress. A disobedience, one I was thankful she was already in position to be punished for.

I reached out, ran the tip of my finger through the crease of her ass. “You didn’t do what I said to,” I said quietly.

I pressed my fingertip to her hidden opening, loving every single one of her tiny reactions to my touch. Her arms quivered and as I slid my finger farther forward to her opening, her head fell. “Ohhhh.”

“Like that?” She was wet, practically dripping. I swirled my fingertip around her already swollen clit. Damn. Hot and soaking wet already.

At least I knew thinking of and anticipating fucking me was as big of a turn on for her as it was me.

Hot damn, she was perfect.

I palmed her ass, warming it and preparing her. “How many spankings do you think you should have for not listening?”

“I tried, John. I tried to listen.”

“But you didn’t?”

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