Page 39 of Jealous Boss

The rough demand of my conscience doesn’t impinge. I stare at her heart-shaped ass and my mouth waters so hard I have to swallow twice and work my jaw to speak. “Yeah. Like that is fine.”

She nods, then looks over her shoulder, studying my face with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Will it hurt?”

My bark of laughter is rough as fuck. “Too late to chicken out now, baby. You should’ve asked that before you drove me to this. I’m going to give you a clean dozen. Make sure to count each one or I’ll start again. Understood?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, and fuck me, I wish she’d said that in French.

With zero warning, I raise my hand.

And spank Pia Hyde’s bare ass.

She shrieks. “Merde!”

There it is. And yeah, I didn’t hold back.

My dick jumps and I have to shut my eyes to claw back control. “Count. And watch that fucking mouth.”Or I’ll wash it out with buckets of cum I didn’t even know I was saving for you.

I’m tempted to go in even harder, spank her hard enough to both put the idea of sex out of her mind forever and for putting it in my head in the first place.

The image of her on her knees, my cum dripping down her chin because it’s too much for her to swallow quickly enough is burned so hard in my retinas, I know I won’t get rid of it this side of the millennia.

She’s killing me.

But delivering pain over pleasure isn’t my thing. A healthy balance of both produces the best sexual experience. If both sides agree to it. If not, I would choose pleasure all day long.

So I temper the next smack.

She still tenses, but her whimper is softer. Calmer when I take a minute to soothe the sting.

The third is halfway between the first and second. Her cheek jiggles beautifully and my mouth waters as she counts it off with a tiny moan.

I’m transfixed by her reddening skin.

The fourth bears my hand’s imprint and I can’t help myself. I caress my hand over her plump flesh and she moves, nudging back into my touch.

My already hardened dick turns to steel.

There’s no way Pia can’t feel me against her hip. But I don’t care anymore. She knew what she was letting herself in for. She pushed me to this.

To… widening my legs so hers widens a fraction too.

To… glancing between her butt cheeks to see if the fabric wedged there is?—

Fuck. It’s damp. And with her squirming I catch a small glimpse of her outer lips.

Sweat slides down my temple. And that makes me angry.

My fifth smack is as hard as the first. But she doesn’t swear or shriek.

She. Fucking. Moans.

I deliver the next six in quick succession, partly fueled by irritation and partly because I want this torture to be over. I want—no, need—to bury myself in the nearest warm pussy and since it can’t be hers, I need the next best thing. Which is to jack off in the privacy of my bathroom.

Silence rings in the room with the last smack of hand on flesh.

It takes a moment to realize… she’s quivering.

Fuck. Is she… is she crying?

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