Page 86 of Scarlet Thorns
Instead, it just makes me wetter.
The fifth strike comes harder, and I arch like a bow beneath him. The sting is exquisite, perfect, pushing me toward something I don’t understand but desperately need.
“Five!” My voice breaks on the word.
“Halfway there,” he says, his breathing rougher now. I can hear the strain in his control, feel it in the way his free hand grips my hip with bruising force. “You’re doing so well for me.”
The sixth strike makes me sob his name into the pillow. Not with pain— never with pain— but with overwhelmingsensation that threatens to tear me apart. My skin burns deliciously, and every nerve ending screams for more.
“Six,” I manage, my voice nearly gone.
His hand soothes over my abused flesh, and the gentle touch is almost worse than the strikes. It makes me aware of how sensitive I’ve become, how every caress sends sparks shooting through my system.
“Almost done,” he murmurs, but his voice carries a promise that this is just the beginning.
The seventh strike lands with precision across the fullest part of my ass, and I come undone. My back arches impossibly, and a sound somewhere between a scream and a moan tears from my throat. I’m flying, burning, desperate for something I can’t name.
“Seven!” I choke out, tears of pleasure streaming down my cheeks.
Two more powerful strikes follow in quick succession, each one driving me higher until I’m sobbing with sensation that threatens to overwhelm every rational thought.
“Eight! Nine!”
The final strike lands perfectly, and my world explodes into white-hot pleasure. I scream his name as something inside me shatters, waves of sensation crashing over me with devastating force. My body convulses against his sheets, and I realize with shock that I’m coming— actually climaxing from nothing but his hand on my ass.
“Ten,” I whisper, my voice wrecked.
For a moment, neither of us move. My breathing is ragged, labored, as aftershocks continue to ripple through my oversensitized body. Behind me, I can hear Osip’s harsh breathing, feel the tension radiating from him in waves.
“Krasivyy,”he murmurs, his palm smoothing over my heated skin with infinite gentleness. “So beautiful when you surrender to me.”
The words make me shiver with renewed want. I should be mortified that I came from a spanking, should be demanding explanations or running for the door. Instead, all I can think about is how empty I feel, how desperately I need him inside me.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.
His hands grip my hips again, and I feel the bed dip as he leans over me. His mouth brushes my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“Please what, Ilona? Tell me what you need.”
The command in his voice makes my core pulse with desperate hunger. I know what I need, what I’ve been craving since the moment he kissed me. But saying it out loud feels like crossing a line I can never uncross.
“You,” I breathe, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside me. “I need you.”
His answering growl is pure possession. “Like this?” One finger slides inside me slowly, so slowly I want to scream. The stretch is delicious but not nearly enough.
“More,” I beg shamelessly. “I need more.”
He adds a second finger, but his movements remain torturously slow. Just enough to drive me wild but not enough to push me over the edge I’m desperately climbing toward.
“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, his free hand kneading the reddened skin of my ass. “So wet. All for me.”
His thumb finds my clit, applying just enough pressure to make me cry out before retreating. The pattern continues— building me up only to pull back when I’m on the verge of release.
“Osip, please,” I sob. “I can’t take anymore.”
“Yes, you can.” His voice is steel wrapped in velvet. “You’ll take what I give you and be grateful for it.”
Something about his tone, the authority in his voice, sends recognition flickering through me. Familiar in a way that makes no sense but feels absolutely right.
