Page 37 of Pucked Up

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fulfilling my promise,” I told him. “You have a smart-ass mouth, and I think we need to take care of that.”

“Shit,” he gasped as I tugged his pants down to his knees. They caught on the tops of his orthotics and hung there. His cock was fat, half-erect, and wet at the tip. The head was pushing hard against his foreskin.

It took everything in me not to take him in my grasp and stroke him until he was begging again.

“Tell me to stop.”

His head whipped to the side. “What did you say?”

I eyed his hearing aids, then leaned forward. “Tell me to stop.”

“Is that what you want?” He looked almost afraid of my answer.

My mouth went dry, and my dick throbbed in my pants. I wasn’t going to let him leave tonight without emptying my balls. That was also a promise I’d made. “If this is too much?—”

“I’m not a fucking coward. I can take whatever you think you can give me.” He might as well have been on his knees, begging me to paint his ass red.

Gripping his chin with my free hand, I forced him to look me in the eye. “If I think for a second you’re lying and don’t want this, I will never touch you again.”

He swallowed heavily, then let his crutch handles go, pressing his palms to the door.

“Can you stand like that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to move your crutches?”

“Not too far,” he said. His voice was full of nerves and tension, and I understood why. Without them, he was physically vulnerable.

I carefully detached the cuffs, then set them within reach. Stepping back, I could see his legs holding strong. The round globes of his ass were clenched, as though he was anticipating my strike, and God, I’d had no idea how bad I’d wanted this until right at that moment.

It had never been like that with Reid. It had been kind, and tender, and sometimes a little rough. But never this. Never quenching a thirst I hadn’t realizedI was feeling. I’d played like this a few times in my youth when I was young and nowhere near in love.

I’d given up a lot for Reid.

The thought I could get any of it back was laughable, and yet, Boden existed. He was here, pressed against my office door, waiting.

Wanting.

Needing.

The first slap was a test. He jumped and groaned, his dick knocking against the wood. I kneaded his ass gently, then pulled back and did it again. Harder this time. He sucked his breath in with the sting.

“That’s all you’ve got?” He let out a tight laugh.

He wasn’t going to upset me. He was trying, but I knew better. The only reason I would do this was because my head was clear and level. It was laser focused. I was calm. And I was happy. I smiled as I spanked him a third time, and he jumped again.

His skin was sensitive and immediately pinked.

“Gorgeous,” I murmured. “Mon petit feu, you turn such lovely colors.”

“Fucking weirdo,” he ground out.

I smiled wider. “What does that make you, liking it so much?” A fourth blow, and the second cheek went rosy. The fifth, and his breathing evened out.

The sixth, and he was starting to lose strength in his legs. I hadn’t hit him hard. He’d lose the sensation by morning. But even if I didn’t leave marks for longer than a few hours, he would never forget.

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