Page 69 of Resilient Love

“You were very bad today,” I taunt, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I’d argue that I was actually verygoodtoday, but go on. I like where this is going,” he says with a wry grin.

I slide a hand up his chest, wrapping it around the base of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs beneath my palm when he swallows.

“And now you’re talking back?” I question, quirking a brow.

He sucks his lips in, poorly hiding his smile.

I release his neck, sitting up to whip my shirt off over my head, tossing it to the floor. Leaning down, I press my chest against his, the coarse, trimmed hairs littering his skin creating a delicious friction over my nipples.

The head of his cock flicks along my seam as I roll my hips, revelling in the sound of his tortured groan. “You know exactly what you’ve got coming tonight, don’t you?” I ask. “I can tell by that little sound you just made.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m afraid I’m in for a night of edging, and I’m suddenly really unhappy with this deal we made,” he admits.

It’s a good thing that I am most certainlynotunhappy.

I climb off of him, shimmying out of my shorts, glad that I’ve been forgoing knickers when with Rafael—it saves on laundry. I take a seat on the last remaining armchair, crossing my right leg over my left knee, and relax into the chair with my fingers curling over the armrests.

“Strip for me,” I tell him.

He rolls out of the bed, tugging his grey sweats down his thick, tanned thighs. I’m momentarily mesmerised by the deep V that points an arrow to his impressive length. He has a faint tan line from the tiny gym shorts the rugby players wear, and that thought only makes me wetter.

A few months ago, I never would’ve believed I could love a sport as much as I love football, but suddenly, rugby is fighting for a tie.

He strokes his cock, but I shake my head. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” And because I’m an asshole and can’t help myself, I look him dead in the eye and add, “And tonight, you’ll call me Mommy.” I have to suck my cheeks in to avoid the snicker trying to slip free.

He groans, dropping his hand to his side.

“On your knees,” I say, nodding my chin at him. He does as he’s told, planting his hands on the smooth wood floors. “Now crawl to me.”

When he’s got his face mere centimetres from my centre, I lift my legs, settling them over his back. “This may be the last meal you’re offered tonight.” I run the pad of my thumb over his plump bottom lip, plucking it from its place between his teeth. “Show me what a good meal I am, Rafa,” I whisper.

My words act as a command, and he obediently dips his head, sweeping his tongue through my seam and swirling it inside my dripping core.

“Oh, god,” I groan, slumping back into the chair.

“Oh, god, is right,” he says, slurping and sucking on my tender flesh, lighting fireworks through me. “You taste so fucking good,Mommy.I could have you for every meal and fuckingthrive.”

I grip the roots of his tousled black hair, tugging tight enough that I know from personal experience it’s got to hurt. He doesn’t seem to mind as he feasts on me.

Just as my vision is becoming hazy and dark spots start to blur the edges, I sit up, pushing his face back.

“That’s enough,” I say, but the words sound breathless as I pant back the building arousal.

“I disagree,” he grumbles, his dark eyes swirling like a black hole ready to suck me into them.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sarcasm oozing from my lips as I cock my head to the side, “did I ask for your opinion?” My brows pinch. “No,I did not. Now, get up.”

Reluctantly, he drags his ass off of the ground.

Standing and sauntering past him, I make my way over to the end of the bed. The soft mattress dips beneath me as I scoot far enough back for what I have planned, my legs still dangling over the side.

“Come here,” I demand, crooking my finger at him.

He heads over to me, a weary look written on his face that makes me smile. His lips are pursed, eyes darting between mine, and I think I fully understand why he enjoys this side of sex, not that I’m doing a great job at the whole “dommy mommy” bit.

I pat my lap, unable to hide the massive grin I’m sporting at the prospect of spanking this thirty-two-year-old man who looks like he wants to cry angry tears.

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