Page 17 of No Words
“Turn around. Hands on the counter.”
His order is straightforward. I hesitate only a moment before obeying, sliding off the counter to stand before it, then turning to place my hands flat against the cool marble. The mirror reflects our image: me, small, water beading on my skin; him, towering behind me, all hard muscle and controlled power, his expression a study in focused intensity.
Cole steps closer, his body heat radiating against my back without touching me. “Spread your legs wider.”
I comply, feeling exposed, and inexplicably aroused by this positioning. In the mirror, I watch as he brings the belt forward, trailing the leather along my shoulder, down my spine, across the curve of my hip.
“I’m going to strike you five times,” he says, his voice matter-of-fact. “Not to hurt you. To wake up your nerve endings. To teach your body to respond to me in every way possible.”
My breath comes faster now, shallow and uneven. “And if I say no?”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Then we stop. Immediately.” A pause, then: “Do you want to stop?”
This is the moment to draw a line. But I hear myself say, “No.”
Something flashes across his face: approval, desire, something darker, maybe something feral. “Good. Now, count each one. Out loud.”
The first strike comes without further warning, the flat of the belt landing across the upper curve of my ass with a sound that seems obscenely loud in the enclosed space. It’s not pain, exactly: more of a sharp sensation that turns into warmth, then begins to fade.
“One,” I say, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.
The second falls slightly lower, with marginally more force. The sting is immediate, sharper than before, but followed by a rush of heat that seems to travel directly between my legs.
“Two.”
By strike three, my skin is sensitized and receptive. The belt lands across both cheeks simultaneously, and I jerk forward involuntarily, a small sound escaping my throat.
“Three,” I manage, my voice noticeably less steady.
The fourth catches the underside of my cheeks, where they meet my thighs. This one genuinely stings, and I rise onto my toes, gasping.
“Four,” I say, the word closer to a moan than I intended.
Cole pauses before the final strike, his free hand coming to rest lightly on my heated skin. The contrast between the cool counter beneath my palms and the warmth of his touch creates a dissonance that heightens every sensation.
“Last one,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “This one will be harder. You can take it.”
The final strike lands with precision across the center of my ass, harder than the others, but still controlled. The sound that leaves me is undeniably a moan, my body arching into the sensation rather than away from it.
“Five,” I breathe, trembling not from pain, I don’t think, but from the cocktail of endorphins now flooding my system.
Cole drops the belt and steps forward, pressing himself against me from behind, his cock demanding against my sensitive skin. One hand slides around to cup my breast; the other dips between my legs to find me desperately wet.
“See how your body responds?” he murmurs against my ear. “Pain and pleasure. Fear and arousal. They’re all connected.”
His fingers circle my clit, still swollen and sensitive from the earlier orgasm. The overstimulation borders on too much, yet I push back against his hand, seeking more.
“This is rule five,” he continues, his words punctuated by moving his fingers. “Your responses belong to me. All of them. The pleasure —” he increases the pressure, making me gasp, “— and the pain.” His other hand pinches my nipple hard enough to make me cry out.
The mixed sensations of the lingering heat from the belt and the skilled manipulation of my most sensitive areas, the dominant pressure of his body behind mine, combine into an overwhelming assault on my senses. I lock eyes with myself in the reflection. I hardly recognize myself. Flushed, panting, and my eyes dilated with arousal.
“Look at yourself,” Cole commands, his gaze meeting mine in the reflection. “See what you become when you let go of control?”
I force my eyes to remain open, watching as he positions himself at my entrance. The head of his cock presses against me, thick and insistent. One hand grips my hip; the other winds around my damp hair, pulling my head back to maintain eye contact in the mirror.
“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
“I want this,” I say, the words raw with honesty. “I want you.”
