Page 188 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

Summer Jones isn’t Savannah Wilder. But also, more importantly, Savannah Wilder isn’t Summer Jones. The more I followed her around, the more I saw the differences, and now I don’t even know what made me think they were so alike.

It’s as if Savannah, on her cloud in Heaven, had had it with my moping and threw Summer in my path, casting a spell so I’d stop and look.

Well, I did. And now I can’t have enough.

Summer

The summer gets hotter, and the moist air in the dense, intense forest feels like breathing under water.

I’ve never been outside this much in my life before. I’m trekking. A whole lot. It’s my only outlet for all this frustration. I walk, and I walk, and I walk. I walk deeper into the woods than I think anyone around here has ever been.

And I read.

He has me reading one book after another. Some bore me to death, but I don’t dare to skim them since he has me retelling them while he lazily strokes every little patch of my skin, my every crevice and ridge.

I’m lying on his couch, a book in my hand, a hand that can’t stop shaking because he fiddles between my legs, so, so close to pushing his fingers inside me, but still he never does, and it’s a slow, torturous path to my early demise.

He’s a man, and what a man he is. How does he restrain himself with me? He’s nothing like I thought he would be.

A horrible thought strikes me, and my heart sinks from the gutting disappointment. He’s getting his somewhere else. Of course, he is. He’s just playing me and never intends to progress past this feverish, unbearable state.

I throw the book at him, making him jerk hard and stop his caresses. My pussy weeps with need for more, and screw it, I’m gonna get it. He is a man after all, and men have urges.

“What was that for? Keep reading.” He picks the book up from the floor and holds it up for me to take it back.

“Shut up.” I pull up my knees, moving away from him, then get to my feet. I hold his gaze as I grab the hem of my T-shirt—my more ‘sensible’ garment for long days in the woods—and yank it up and over my head.

I don’t wear a bra.

His eyes widen, and he sits still as a statue. Only his chest rises and falls. I pull down my skirt—a skirt I put on against his orders, but pants are so restricting I just can’t with them—and let it fall to the floor. Without hesitation I then allow the last little piece of fabric to fall, too. I toss my braids to one side and stand straight and proud.

He wants me. I know it. No matter if he goes elsewhere, he wants me, and oh, how I want him.

“Take me,” I say. “Take me, or I’m not coming here again. I won’t play your stupid games no more.”

I twitch and back a step as he darts to his feet and moves in on me. His hands are clenched into fists, his eyes roam my body, and when he towers over me, a guttural hum in his chest, I don’t feel so cocky anymore. I see him. I see the beast in him, the one he’s protected me from. I’ve awakened it, and it can’t be put down now. I poked it, and now it’s ride or die.

Possibly both.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he growls. He looks positively feral.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I shake with fearful apprehension, but I am doing this.

“Get on the table, bunny.” He nods at the sofa table next to us. “Sit on the edge, spread your legs for me. Let’s see how ready you really are.”

His voice is deeper, huskier, and the damp heat between my legs increases tenfold.

I move over and sit, slowly, slowly spreading my legs wide, displaying my pussy, my every virginal crevice for him to see. I inhale, taking in his unabashedly hungry eyes, let my gaze travel to his sizable bulge, always hidden in jeans, then toss my head back and jut out my chest. My braids fall over my shoulders, the weight of them a whispering caress, sensual, primitive. My nipples tighten and oh, how they tingle.

I close my eyes when I feel his hands on my thighs. He spreads them wider, and then something soft and hot touches my already over-sensitized clit. I gasp, then whimper as his tongue turns into a soft-hard spear and he begins to devour me.

When he adds a finger that he slowly pushes inside me, his first intrusion ever, I can’t hold it together anymore. My nethers quiver, on the verge of an eruption of cosmic proportions.

“I’m gonna come,” I moan.

He’s never let me. Not in all this time. I’ll take the punishment because the wave has already been set in motion.

“Come for me, bunny,” he says. As if it needed to be said.

---