by Thianna D
He mastered the rest, thrusting his hips, controlling the speed and depth of the plunge. She wasn't fellating him as much as he was fucking her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she worked to please him. After one hard gag-inducing thrust, Harris yanked away. He positioned her on the bed, planted her face against the mattress and raised her bottom. A condom wrapper crinkled. Rubber snapped. Hardness pressed against her entrance and he filled her.
"Ah, Abby," he groaned.
Her teased, spanked pussy clutched at him. Oh to be taken, to ride on the wave of a man's lust. Pleasure in itself, whether she came or not, and she'd already had one orgasm. To be needed, to be used, to be commanded. Bliss and need coiled.
Abby gasped against the sheet as he fucked her fast and hard.
Harris snaked a hand over her hip. His touch, rough and insistent, manipulated her clit. Demanded a response. Pleasure cycled through her. Burned a path from clit to womb.
"Now, Abby, you may come," he said.
Arrogant bastard. But she obeyed, her body shuddering. Harris followed seconds later, pumping into her with a jerk and a hoarse cry. She panted, still in the throes of climax. When passion cooled, Harris caressed her back and her inflamed ass. "Sweet Abby," he said.
Shh! She thought and sighed with contentment.
Chapter 8
Abby blinked when she found Dale waiting. "You made it!"
He pecked her cheek before pulling out her chair. She settled into it, imagining she could smell his familiar aftershave from the brief contact. As casually as she could, she scrubbed her skin. She had rejected meeting him at La Comida at first because she considered the restaurant hers and Harris's place, but then Dale suggested Amore next and that was their place too. There weren't many restaurants in Corbin's Bend yet, and she and Harris had been to nearly all of them.
The problem wasn't the venue but the company. She didn't want to see Dale.
"Of course I made it— I invited you," he chided.
By 'made it' she'd meant on time. She'd expected to arrive first, for Dale to be late as always. "Something important, you said?" She arched her eyebrows.
"Let's order first, okay?" Dale motioned to the waitress.
Abby sighed. So much for listening, then leaving. But she supposed she had to eat. "I'll have a taco salad," she told the waitress. "Just water to drink."
"Chicken enchiladas," Dale said. "And water will be fine."
Abby unrolled her silverware from her napkin, and placed the paper over her lap. She spread her hands. "So?"
"You were the first girl I ever kissed. I had a crush on you long before I ever got the nerve to ask you out."
Old news. Their history had meant something once. But now? "Why are you bringing that up?"
"I don't want to lose you. Give me the chance to fix what I did. Love doesn't wither and die, Abby, does it?" he gazed at her with a pleading light in his eyes.
Why force her to throw his professed love back in his face? He'd crushed her, but she disliked hurting him. Why did he put her in the position of doing so? Dale had failed at many things, but he had succeeded masterfully in making her feel guilty. Playing the victim, assigning her the role of hard ass, unsupportive spouse, nagging bitch. That wasn't what she wanted to be. Wasn't who she really was. But she'd become that during their marriage.
A spark of anger ignited and flared under the breadth of her emotions. Her love hadn't withered and died, it had been battered and then finished off with a good stomping.
Abby tossed her napkin aside and sprang to her feet. "I'm done, Dale. I've told you. I'm not going to replay old times."
"Abby wait!" He grabbed her wrist. "I'm sorry. That's not what I came here to say. I have something to show you." He tugged on her arm. "Give me one minute. Then you can leave."
She glanced at his hand on her wrist. He opened his fingers and released her. Because of that she nodded. "One minute," she agreed. Time starts now. She sat.
Dale extracted a bank book from his windbreaker pocket and nudged it toward her. "This is yours."
Bank of Colorado, it said. She frowned.
"Open it," he urged.
Abby flipped up the cover. Dated a week ago, the beginning balance read $20,000. She jerked her gaze to his face.
"A deposit toward what I owe you for what I did."
"You've saved that kind of money moving furniture and delivering pizza?" She blurted out before waving her hand. "It doesn't matter. I can't accept it." She handed him the passbook. Cash would not bring back granny's house, and she'd moved beyond her past. She had a new man and a new lifestyle to explore.
Domestic discipline. Shivery remembrances quaked through her. The whoosh and snap, the sting, even the smell of leather. Calling him sir. Obeying his rules. No shushing. No sir. She stifled a smile. Funny, but in her marriage, she'd been the one to try to control, to keep Dale on the straight and narrow, wringing her hands over his job losses, managing money that never stretched far enough because it drained out the other end to pay for his gambling. She'd often felt more like Dale's beleaguered mommy than his wife. How liberating to relinquish the burden of being in charge, to let somebody else do it—a sexy somebody who did it so well.
"The bank gave me a signature card so I can add your name to the account," Dale continued as if he hadn't heard her. As if he hadn't already toasted her credit rating during their marriage. It would take years to restore her FICO score. Allow him to put her name on the account? Not going to happen in this life.
But she wished to avoid demoralizing him. When Dale got discouraged—he gambled to pick himself up. Working two jobs, socking away a nest egg—she should and would encourage those efforts.
She motioned to the passbook. "That's quite an accomplishment. You should be proud. I'm proud of you." She paused to choose her next words, but saw his face had lit up.
Abby cringed. Damn it. He'd woven hope of reconciliation out of her praise. Stiffening her spine, she forged ahead. "But the changes you've made won't alter anything between us. Our marriage is over."
"Is there somebody else?"
"That would have nothing to do with us."
"There is, isn't there?" His chest puffed out, and his face reddened.
Abby gaped at him. "We're divorced. You have no reason to be jealous over who I may or may not be seeing."
He slumped, deflating right before her eyes.
Shit. Meeting him had been a bad idea. Bad. But she refused to accept the monkey of guilt onto her back. She hadn't led him on. A court of law had dissolved their marriage at her petition. How much plainer could she make it? Abby gathered up her handbag. "I'd better go." She pulled a ten and two singles from her wallet.
"For God's sake, I can buy your lunch!" he said.
"All right." She replaced the bills. She fidgeted, uncertain how to part. "Well, bye. Take care of yourself." She stepped toward the doors.
"Abs!"
Abby half turned, and Dale grabbed her in a bear hug. His heart thudded against her. Only a few inches taller than she, he pressed his lips to her ear. "He'd better take good care of you, Abby. Or he'll answer to me."
She nodded. "He will." Without another word or a look back, she left the restaurant.
Dale gulped his water. His wife's abrupt departure represented a minor setback, but he would prevail. He'd been dismayed when Abby had moved so far from Denver, but he'd come to view the relocation as advantageous. Living all the way to hell and gone again she would be unlikely to meet somebody who could usurp his place. The Corbin's Bend guy he'd spotted her with didn't worry him a bit. He was some spanko who worked at a car wash. When the guy attempted to blister Abby's behind—she'd run back to him then.
Dale tapped the passbook on the table, glad that part of the plan had come off as intended. He'd wanted to impress her, but had counted on Abby rejecting the money because technically he didn't have twenty grand anymore. He'd lost half of it in a poker game three nights after he'd won it. No worries. Tomorrow night he'd win it back a
nd then some. He rode a lucky streak. He couldn't lose. And once he'd won enough to recover Abby's house, she'd forgive him, they'd remarry, and then he'd stop gambling.
"Be careful the plate is hot." The waitress set a platter of chicken enchiladas in front of Dale, and a taco salad next to Abby's empty place. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No, that will be fine," he said.
"New in town or passing through?" The waitress topped off his water glass.
"Visiting my wife."
An odd expression rippled across the woman's face, and Dale realized she'd probably recognized Abby and had seen her here with him. Car wash guy.
"My future wife," he amended for Abby's benefit. Corbin's Bend was a small community. No doubt gossip ran rampant here, and damaging Abby's reputation would only make her mad.
"Oh," she said. "Well, good luck with that."
On the sidewalk outside La Comida, Harris took several breaths and wrestled his emotions under control. His gut knotted as he watched Abby embrace some guy. On his way to lunch, Harris had recognized her car and decided to pop in and join her.
He didn't like seeing Abby with another man one bit, but had no one to blame but himself. They hadn't discussed exclusivity. Instead, he'd gone to great lengths to impart he was commitment averse. But now he had a strong urge to punch the guy out and then paddle her behind.
Abby stomped out of the restaurant, her obvious irritation reassuring him of his place in her life, until jealousy conjured up a lover's spat potentially followed by makeup sex. But then she spotted him, and pleasure supplanted her scowl. "Harris!" she smiled.
Innocent. He exhaled his tension. Whatever she'd been doing, it didn't involve dating somebody else. He felt almost giddy with relief, but he still deserved an explanation. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
She twisted her mouth and gave a little shake of her head. "Meeting my ex-husband."
Harris glanced into the restaurant. He could only see the back of the guy's blond head. He jerked his gaze to Abby. "You two have contact?"
"Not normally," she replied. "But he showed up a few weeks ago and again today."
Corbin's Bend was too out-of-the-way for it to be happenstance. "What does he want?" He schooled his tone to feign casual curiosity. Given the terms of their relationship, it really was none of his business.
"To win me back."
Like hell. Harris's facial muscles went rigid. He blew out a huff of air. "How do you feel about that?"
"It pisses me off!" Her eyes flashed.
Good. But not great. Not the reassurance he would have preferred. The opposite of love wasn't hate, it was indifference. If her ex could rile her emotions, warm and fuzzy feelings might still exist. Harris' stomach churned. She doesn't owe you anything.
Abby adjusted her purse on her shoulder. "Do you want to go somewhere?" she asked. "I'd rather not hang around in case Dale comes out. Maybe we could grab some lunch?"
"You haven't eaten?"
She shook her head. "No, I left before the food arrived."
"Let's go then." He cupped her elbow and steered her toward his car.
"Dale thinks he can buy me back," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I won't talk about him anymore. You don't want to hear about my ex."
He didn't want him in the game at all. But he needed to know the players. With a zap of his key fob, Harris unlocked his car and seated Abby on the passenger side.
"How is he trying to buy you?" he asked as he pulled away from the curb. What had the interloper promised her?
"He tried to give me money."
An outright bribe? Harris expelled a bark of humorless laughter. "Seriously?"
Abby combed her fingers through her hair. "Ridiculous, right?" She sighed. "I loved him once. But that's all gone now, and he can't accept it. I feel sorry for him, but I want him to leave me alone. I've moved on." Her last sentence combined with a shy, but glowing look that tamed his green-eyed monster. But still, Harris disliked hearing of loving another man—even in past tense.
He rubbed his jaw and considered his next move. He parked outside New Dehli Deli, an Indian restaurant and cut the engine. "I think, Abigail, we should amend our agreement.
"I would never tell you who you could or couldn't see, but I would like to make our relationship exclusive. No dating other people—for either of us."
The light in her eyes erased all his doubts. "I would like that—sir."
Harris exited his car and bounded around the vehicle with a light, excited step. As he helped Abby out, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Prepare to be spanked this evening."
Her worried gaze flew to his face. "Am I in trouble?"
Harris tapped her nose. "So much trouble."
Her grin said she understood. "I'll be ready then." She trailed her fingers over his forearm before sashaying toward the restaurant, adding an extra little shimmy in her walk for his benefit.
He'd make her ass wiggle all right. Harris chuckled.
Chapter 9
Abby tugged to test the strength of the fur-lined cuffs binding her to the spanking bench. Strong. Her tummy, resting on the padded seat, fluttered with excitement. She knelt on the lower ledge, her legs spread and secured by more straps. She could shift sideways a little, but she couldn't go anywhere until Harris released her or she used her safeword.
Though the house was warm, goose bumps of anticipation erupted on her naked skin.
After securing her to the bench, Harris had instructed her to reflect on their relationship, and then disappeared out of sight. Had he left the room? For such a large man, he had an extraordinary ability to move quietly. Was he staring at her? Enjoying a private peep show for his personal entertainment? She clenched her dripping pussy.
He was diabolical. He hadn't even touched her yet, but he lit her body on fire.
The itch began first as a slight niggle. She tried to ignore it, but it worsened. She wiggled her nose, scrunched her face, and crossed her eyes to no avail. Frustrating. Maddening. She tugged at the restraints and mewled in frustration.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
Abby would have jumped except for the leather tethers. He was in the room.
"No, sir," she answered. "My nose itches."
He chuckled. "Can't have that." He moved in front. She saw khaki slacks, bare feet. Damn, the man even had sexy toes. "Where?" he asked.
"Left side." Abby lifted her head as much as she could and stared straight at the enormous bulge in Harris's pants, the entire length of his erect cock outlined by the fabric. Lucky pants. Itch forgotten, she signaled him with telepathic messages to unzip, grab her by the hair and force her to fellate him.
Instead, he scratched the crease next to her nose. She wasn't a good telepath. Or else he didn't take orders from her. Or both. "How's that?" he asked.
"A little higher." He moved his finger upwards. "Ah. Good. That's it. Thank you, sir."
Harris had relieved the itch only to stoke a more insistent one. Hungry for his touch, Abby rubbed her cheek against his hand. For a moment, he surrendered to the caress, responded with his own, grazing her cheekbone with his thumb, but then recovered his control.
He disappeared in a flash. A second later, he stung her ass. "Did I say you could touch me?"
"No, sir."
Another swat seared her rump.
Abby would have raised her hips to meet the blows, but he'd prevented all but incremental movement. She was at his mercy. His sizzling hot mercy. She sucked in her breath and expelled it in a hiss.
"Ten spanks," he announced her punishment for unauthorized touching.
He didn't spank hard, but he didn't go light either as he warmed her bottom. After the tenth slap, he rubbed her flesh, pinched and kneaded her cheeks. "How quickly you blush," he murmured.
Cupping her hip, Harris ran his hand from her ass down the outside of one thigh and then up the inside to stroke her sex. He dragged a fingertip through her slit. Back and forth. He flicked her clit with a feather to
uch and descended through her wetness to her entrance. A brief foray inside, but only to the knuckle. Abby squirmed, straining against the restraints to take him deeper.
He chuckled; she whimpered.
Back and forth he drew his finger, making her wetter. Crazy.
"Such a naughty girl," he chided. "How am I supposed to punish you if spanking turns you on?"
She didn't answer, certain he joked.
Pain splintered across her ass. The hand that had teased, now punished. Thwack. Thwack! Abby yelped.
"When I ask you a question, Abigail, I expect an answer."
"I don't know, sir."
He tsked. "Perhaps I shouldn't spank you at all. Perhaps I should have you stand in the corner all evening as your punishment."
"No!" she burst out, afraid he'd make good on his threat, and she wouldn't get the paddling she yearned for. "I mean, no, sir."
"No, you shouldn't be spanked? Or no, you shouldn't stand in the corner?"
Oh God, he messed with her. He had a mean streak to tease her this way. His hearty chuckle proved it. But even the timbre of his mocking laugh made her hot. She squirmed on the bench.
"I plan to punish you, but we'll get to your discipline in a moment." Moving to her side, he placed his hand atop the small of her back, then swatted each cheek twice. Then dipped his fingers into her wetness and stroked. Then slapped each cheek four times, each one ringing out with a loud crack, the sound mixing with her pants and whimpers. He eased one finger deep into her pussy, followed it with a second. She moaned, enjoying the pressure, but wishing for his cock.
He removed his hand and she braced for another spank, but it never came. Instead, she heard rustling. A crinkle like a package ripping. Condom? Her stomach fluttered and her aching pussy clenched. She wanted to be spanked, but she needed to be fucked, to be filled fast and hard. Possessed. Used.