Page 53 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

His features harden, mocking. “You’ll get my cock when I think you’ve earned it. Not a moment sooner.”

Nudging my shin with his boot, he wordlessly orders me to get moving. Reading his steel expression, I realize there’s no swaying his tight-knit control.

Twisting back into position, I crawl up the staircase, fighting tears of frustration.

“Good little slave.”

I almost come on the spot, about to slump when his arm breaks my fall at lightning speed. Hauling me into his chest, he climbs the rest of the way while peppering soothing kisses on my neck and shoulder.

A glimpse of the obsessed man, not my master.

Shoving open my bedroom door, he throws me onto the king-sized bed.

“All fours.”

I’m thrilled that he’s finally going to fuck me, but instead, he has other scandalous ideas.

“Lay your face down and tilt your ass up,” he orders, on his way over to my closet where I’ve hung my clothes. “Spreadthose legs until I can see every inch of your wet pussy and tight asshole.”

Not daring to disobey him, I grab a pillow and expose myself for him. I’m brought to the knife’s edge—like him—when he returns after several long, tortuous minutes.

A dark red ribbed V-neck dress hangs off his arms, along with a pair of black stockings, which he lays on the chaise in the corner of the bedroom. It’s like he read my mind about what I wanted to wear tonight.

I forget about his instincts when he prowls straight for me like a dark panther. His gaze alight with lust at my obedience.

Caressing my buttocks with his large palm, he stands behind me. Moving my head sideways, I look over my shoulder at him to see him admiring my dripping cunt. I’m turned on beyond words, my arousal creating a damp spot on the sheets.

My clit throbs when I catch him licking his lips.

Almost like he’s become addicted to my taste.

“Touch me,” I murmur. It turns into a shout. “Oh God!”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack!

“I’ll need to gag you to stop you from speaking out of turn.”

I scratch and pull at the sheets when he stretches my ass cheeks obscenely wide and gives a delicious thrust. His erection causes friction against my folds. Holding me still, he dry humps me with wild abandon.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Shutting me up with a punishing spank, he asks, “Has anyone played with your ass, Twinkle?”

“Yes.” My cheeks burn.

“Fucked it?”

He already knows the answer. “No, King.”

“What about you? Have you ever played with your ass, Twinkle?” His thumb circles the rim. I tense, but he keeps massaging the sensitive spot there. “Put a toy or a finger inside?”

I hesitate, closing my eyes.

“Don’t be shy,” he coaxes.

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