Page 22 of The List
I nod, too mind-whacked to form words. But he wants more.
“Say it,” he says.
I crane my neck and throw an insolent look over my shoulder. “Simon says fuck me.”
The smack lands hard on my right cheek, just like I hoped it would. I cry out, more pleasure than pain, though I’m realizing what a delicious combination the two can be.
I also realize Simon’s poised to grant my wish, since I caught a glimpse of a condom in his hand when I turned to look. Sure enough, he plants his palms on my ass and pushes me forward, spreading me open as he does.
“So fucking beautiful,” he grinds out as his dick glides against my slippery folds. “And so goddamn wet.”
I am wet. I’ve never been this wet before, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t slide inside me right here, right now.
Sensing my need, he grabs a fistful of my hair again and gives a light tug. I feel my back arching and my ass tipping up to give him the perfect angle. He takes it.
In one easy stroke, he buries himself to the hilt. I cry out, filled to my breaking point with pleasure. He’s still tugging my hair, but I feel his grip loosen as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “How do you want it?” he murmurs. “Slow and deep, or hard and fast?”
“Yes, to all of it,” I pant, feeling like a kid in a candy shop. I want everything. Gummy bears and chocolate nibs and salt licorice and Simon pounding into me over and over again until I come my brains out.
He laughs, and for a second I think he’s read my thoughts. But he’s read my eagerness instead, and he seems happy to indulge me. He sets the spatula down on the counter and grabs my hips with both hands. “Very well.”
He starts out slow, letting me feel the full length of him sliding all the way in, then back out again until he’s almost pulled out completely. The walls of my sex clutch him with greedy need as he pushes in again, impossibly deep this time. I groan and grip the edge of the counter with one hand, slipping my fingers between my legs.
“That’s it,” he urges. “Touch your clit.”
I hardly need permission, but I’m thrilled to know he wants me to. That it might actually turn him on. I had a boyfriend once who felt threatened by it. Who thought it was some sort of threat to his manhood if I touched myself in bed.
But Simon knows how female anatomy works. Good God, does he ever.
I can feel the orgasm building inside me. The bone-deep kind, the kind that goes on for endless, breathless seconds and leaves you feeling the aftershocks days later. I cry out when the first wave hits me.
Smack!
It’s my left cheek this time, and he smacked it with an open palm. It stings like holy hell, but oh-my-fucking-God the pleasure. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, raw and throbbing with every nerve in my body screaming.
I’m still coming, harder than I’ve ever come in my life, and this time I feel his palm land hard on my right cheek. The smack of skin on skin sends another blast of pleasure through me, and I cry out again.
“Cassie,” he groans, and I realize he’s close, too. As I ride every last wave of this orgasm, it dawns on me that I’m not the only one feeling out of control here. He moans in my ear, and I can feel his cock pulsing inside me as he thrusts into me again and again.
My skin is still humming when he goes still. Slowly, he slides his hand off my ass. He pulls out of me, and I straighten up and turn around. He kisses me on the mouth, surprisingly tender after the paddling he just gave my backside.
As he slips into the bathroom to get rid of the condom, I tug my skirt down and glance around for my top. Simon comes back from the bathroom and flashes me a grin that’s almost sheepish.
“You okay?”
Something twists in my heart at the thought that he’s concerned with my well-being. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t want me to call the cops, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.
“I’m great.” I’m trying for upbeat and cool, but I sound a little breathless. I hop off the barstool and smooth the front of my skirt with my palms. Where did my shirt go?
“Here.” He finds it under my dining room table and hands it to me, and I pull it on. Why does getting dressed after sex always feel more intimate than getting undressed before it?
Simon pulls on his boxer briefs and jeans, but leaves his shirt off. I’m fully dressed again, and I pat my hair down and meet his gaze. He smiles and steps forward to take me into his arms. I hug back, surprised by how familiar this feels.
Even more familiar than having him inside me. My whole body is purring, and I think I could die right now and be happy.
“That was incredible,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Unreal,” I agree.
