Page 17 of Little Death
The next slap comes, followed by another two in rapid succession, switching from cheek to cheek. I forget everything I’m supposed to be feeling other than the constant threat of his palm. I bite into the duvet to keep from screaming—or begging—though I don’t know which. He alternates, never hitting the same place twice, but each is more biting than the next, offering no relief.
I know how many times he’s spanked me only because he’s relentless about calling them out. By the time I moan out, “Eight,” I’m willing to do almost anything for him to touch me, anywhere. I taste blood to keep from begging. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and onto the fabric below me. His mask grinds into me, and I swear to God, maybe I don’t even need his thigh. Perhaps I could come from this, from one hand driving bruises into my skin and the other kneading my ass, spreading it wide enough that I know there’s not a damn thing I can hide from him. Until there’s nothing I want to hide from him.
On the next, my hips tip up to meet the blow, and it causes him to connect lower, practically on my upturned cunt. I moan out my desperation into the duvet, shuddering as unfulfilled spasms wrack my body.
“Nine,” comes a hoarse voice, and I’d be shocked to realize the voice is mine if I weren’t going mad with the demanding, aching emptiness inside me.
“Keep still now.”
I whimper, sucking at the fresh wound on the inside of my cheek, letting the blood coat my tongue, the bitterness distracting me from the impulse to snarl that he fuck me. My mask hangs on for dear life, and I can only hope the knot keeping it secure doesn’t unravel as easily as I have.
It takes all my self-control, but I keep still for the last blow. Without a word, he maneuvers me from across his lap until I’m on my knees at his feet. My feet press into my stinging ass, and I suck in a breath. When I lift my eyes, I find him above me, mask and gun at his side, and his bare, handsome face staring down at me.
Greedily, I drink him in, committing it to memory. The reality of his punishment dulls for a second. Those gray eyes do the same to me, his thumbs coming up to collect my tears on the tips of his fingers, and then he rubs the moisture into his lips as though to drink them in. His brows, a few shades darker than his dirty-blond hair, lower as his gaze sweeps over me. Strong nose, angular cheekbones, a defined jaw. My hands ball into fists so I don’t reach for him. We stare at each other for an eternity until I finally break, and my focus drops to his mouth. Even though his mask hadn’t obscured his lips—his fucking mask—I’ve been thinking about what they’d taste like all night.
My pussy pulses, demanding attention, and my hips grind of their own accord, my ass pressing further into the heels of my feet for stimulation. One of his tattooed hands flies up and makes its home around my throat. My breath catches, and I realize too late that I’ve pressed forward into his grip, needing more of his touch, no matter its origin.
Aiden’s free hand comes to cup my jaw. “I have promises to keep, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Is that what you want? For me to make you come again?” His hand tightens on my throat until I have to stretch to keep my ability to breathe. Blood rushes into my face from how tightly he grips my neck. If I didn’t still have my mask, I’d feel more exposed than I would if we were completely naked.
“Can I—” I nod to the undeniable heaviness between his thighs.
He tugs me impossibly closer and bends down until our lips brush once, twice. “You want to put your mouth on it?” I sigh against his lips, but he evades my attempts to deepen it to a genuine kiss. “Tell me and I might let you.” His voice comes again, softer now, a rasp in the semi-darkness. “Tell me you want it. Please. Give me the words.”
It makes little sense. It’s not rational. No amount of logic can explain why I look into his eyes and say, “I want to. Let me please.”
His hand drops to his buckle. The clink of metal is followed by the rasp of his zipper. He fists his cock and draws it out of black briefs as his pants drop. “You do beg so pretty. Open your mouth and show me what a good girl you can be for me.”
Aiden’s praise fills me with liquid warmth, turning my tense muscles loose and pliant. I move closer between his spread thighs, studying him. His cock is thick and long, beautiful, and adorned with a piercing I can’t identify in the low light.
I don’t have time to be intimidated by his frankly shocking girth because he draws me inexorably forward. I automatically brace my hands on his thighs, opening my mouth to take him inside. When I suck the head, my tongue flicks out to investigate the piercing. It’s heavy and foreign to my tongue, the metal clicking against my teeth.
A groan tears from his throat as I stroke and tease him, and he flexes, driving deeper inside and triggering my gag reflex. I breathe through it, popping off and taking him in one hand as I flick my attention up to where he’s staring down at me. I’ve always had a hard time giving head because I don’t enjoy the sensation. He’s so thick I can barely take him at all without discomfort, but he smells and tastes so good, I hold eye contact as I try my best to ruin him. His earthy scent floods my mouth, filling my nose. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes, and he knuckles them away.
Aiden’s free hand finds its way to my hair, fisting it, but not to force himself any deeper. He uses it as though he needs to ground himself. The only sounds in the room are the lurid, wet slurps I make and the great bellows of his lungs as I finally get him to break his perfectly maintained composure. I draw off to take another breath and lick the underside of his cock, swirling my attention around the tip.
He shudders, thighs tensing around me. I do it again, and his fist tightens in my hair to the point of pain.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with faux sincerity. The head of his cock rubs against my lips with every word. “Am I being too rough with you? Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”
Something shifts behind his eyes, or maybe there’s the slightest softening of his face, an openness that wasn’t present moments before. The tough, brutal man who’d murdered someone in cold blood right in front of me is gone, and the one left behind is staring down at me with liquid eyes, practically begging me to give him more.
“Or do you really want to come?”
He chuckles darkly. “You really are a brat,” he almost snarls.
Instead of denying it, I suck him back inside, trying—and failing—to take him as deep as I’d like. My gag reflex and his girth simply don’t allow it. He tries to choke out a denial, but his response cuts off with a moan. I free a hand to slip it down between my thighs. If he won’t give me an orgasm, then I’ll take one. I’m so wet, my fingers sink in easily, and I groan around him. My hips work, fucking myself, grinding my clit on the heel of my hand as I work his cock with my mouth.
Bliss.
Until he sucks a breath in through his nose and his fists tug me off again. He yanks me until I have to pull out my fingers and rest them on his knee to keep my balance. Evidence of my arousal coats his skin. His gorgeous cock bobs in front of me, and all I can think about is how empty I am and how much I want his delicious length inside me. Stretching me. Filling me. What I’d be willing to let him do to me to get it.
Noticing the sticky residue on his skin, he nods to it and says, “Clean it up.” My mouth drops open. I scoff in my throat, but he’s already pressing my open mouth against his skin. A musky tang coats my tongue. I don’t know why the fuck I find it hot, but I do. And I want his cock more than anything now, so I do as I amI’m told. I lick my salty arousal from his skin, enjoying the way his eyes glint with feverish desire.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Get it all. That pussy is for me to enjoy tonight. You don’t get to take it away from me. If you try that again, I’ll edge you until you black out. Do you understand?”
When he deems it clean enough, he tugs my hair until my attention reluctantly shifts back up to his face. His hold urges me up to my feet. Without another word, he releases me as I stagger, and in seconds, he strips off my dress and rips my flimsy thong from my hips. The material bites into my skin, but I barely feel the sting. Then, I’m naked in front of him.
At his nod, I unbutton his dress shirt with trembling fingers before pushing it off his shoulders, baring his muscular chest and arms to my ravenous gaze. There’s barely any skin visible beneath the multitude of tattoos. They paint nearly every inch of him from what I can see of his abdomen, all the way up to his throat. Skulls. Dragons. Flowers.
