The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series)

by JS Taylor

“Now.” His hand moves the brush bristles to caress a lazy trail, from the small of my back to the full arc of my buttocks. I feel the skin quiver.

  “Bend over.” He says the words as barely more than a whisper. But there’s so much force in them. Even so, I hesitate. Being put over his knee. It’s… different to what we’ve done previously.

  “Isabella,” growls James. “Are you going to bend over for your punishment? Or am I going to have to put you over my knee?”

  “I…”

  I’m still uncertain. “Put me over,” I whisper, closing my eyes to hide my embarrassment. I want him to do this so badly. I’ve given up questioning where the urges have come from.

  “Very well.” I feel the force of his hand at the back of my legs and a grip at the base of my neck. And then I tumble forward, so I’m bent at the waist over James’s knee.

  Over his knee. This is so demeaning.

  His leg is positioned over the backs of my knees, pinning me firmly in place.

  I feel his hands unshackle the bikini bottoms, and there’s a heavy thud as they drop to the floor. A fiery thrill of raw lust courses through my entire body.

  Every fibre of my being is strained in anticipation of the spanking.

  This is so hot.

  “I’m going to enjoy spanking you,” says James. “And I’m going to enjoy fucking you afterwards.”

  My eyes close again. And I feel the bristles stroke over my naked buttocks with the softest feather-light touch.

  “Arrgh!” The sensation is maddeningly, crazily sexy. As though he’s setting every inch of my skin alight.

  “Are you ready?” he asks. His voice is soft and dangerous.

  I make a fractional movement of my head to indicate that I want him to spank me.

  And then, wham! The back of the hairbrush comes down on my upper thigh.

  The flat shape smacks squarely against my skin, causing a bolt of pleasure-pain. I feel my body writhe against his knee, and his hand comes down, securing me more firmly.

  I am pinned over his knee as he paddles me.

  Smack! The hairbrush hits my upper thigh again.

  Mmmm. It’s not painful. In fact, I am convulsing with the thrill of it. The sensation of being struck, so perfectly hits the borders of pleasure and pain, that it creates an incredible new feeling all of its own.

  Do it again!

  My body is begging for him.

  The hairbrush smacks down again, and I feel myself leap upwards from his thigh.

  I’m bent over his knee, my fists balled up tight, as he wields the hairbrush again and again over my behind.

  It’s a sharp, firm sensation, and I can feel the authority in his grip on my body.

  I moan aloud, and James turns the brush and runs the hard bristles over the newly sensitised area.

  “This is your lower thigh,” he murmurs. “I’m just getting you used to the feeling. When I move up to your ass, it will get much more intense.”

  As if to illustrate his point, James swipes the bristle side of the brush quickly across my ass.

  “Ahhh!” I moan aloud. With all the other hot feelings in my body, my buttocks have become super-sensitive, and even the brush stroke is an intense sensation.

  He swipes again, and I bite my lip, pushing my face down further against his leg.

  “I’m going to paddle your ass now,” he whispers. “You won’t be able to take much of this. But I won’t give you more than you can handle.”

  Mired in deep pulsing lust, his words are only half registering.

  And then the flat of the hairbrush strikes my ass. And I feel an electric shock of sensation strike my buttocks and explode across my entire lower half.

  “Arrgh!” I’m hardly aware of what I’m saying as the brush comes again, bringing another tidal wave of sensation. “James!” I’m biting my lip and digging my fingers into his calves.

  “Keep still,” he murmurs. “Or I’ll do it harder.”

  I will my body to freeze as the brush strikes again. But I jolt forwards, unable to stop my body.

  “Ahhhh!”

  Another stroke comes, harder this time. And another. And I am transported up into a different world which is alive with writhing feelings.

  He’s spanking me. And I’m enjoying it.

  There’s no time to analyse this. I just let myself go. I’m bent over James’s knee, and he’s disciplining me. Hard.

  Then, just when I think it could be too much, I feel his fingers dusting over the super-sensitised skin. Stroking and caressing.

  My entire body is like a tight stretched wire, begging for relief. I hear James replace the hairbrush and pick up the bottle. And then, without warning, his fingers plunge deep into my ass.

  Oh!

  I feel my ass yield and then tighten around his fingers as they work me from the inside.

  His fingers are in my ass! I’m still working to get to grips with what is happening, in the riot of pleasure which is hitting my body.

  Ordinarily, the idea of something there would be too disconcerting. But right now, all I can concentrate on is the desire pulsing through my body. I want this. I want him to take me, body and soul, everywhere.

  James’s fingers pump deeper into my ass, forcing me to surrender.

  “Let me take you baby,” he whispers. “Don’t resist me. I promise you, it will be worth it.”

  I moan, collapsing further forwards onto him, and I feel him push deeper. And now he’s pulsing his hand rapidly, working me, opening me.

  How can something feel so wrong and so good at the same time?

  “Mmmmm.” The noise escapes my lips without me realising it. The feeling of having my ass invaded by his fingers. The humiliation of being put over his knee.

  I like this. The realisation bolts through me.

  “Isabella,” says James. “Your body is very open to me right now.”

  He means my ass.

  James pauses. “If you wanted me to,” he says, “I could fuck your ass. I’ve worked you open enough to take me.”

  His words cause a sudden tumult of uncertainty, and his fingers slow, moving in tantalising circles inside me.

  It feels so good. But… him? There? I don’t know about that.

  “Would you like me to?” he asks.

  Mr Old-Fashioned is asking my opinion? Do I want him there? His fingers are moving softly now, pleasuring me.

  Mmmmm. I feel my ass pulsing against his touch, and I know he’s working me deliberately. Seducing me. There.

  Part of me, a dark private part, wants him to do whatever he wants with me. But I don’t know if I can take more right now.

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I whisper.

  Gently, James slides his fingers out of me.

  “Very well,” he says.

  I feel a rush of disappointment. Was I hoping he would push the issue? My ass is pulsing from his touch.

  “I’ll have you deep then,” he decides. James pauses for a moment, and then flips me over so I’m facing him.

  “I think you’re going to like this,” he says with a smile. “I’m putting you in control.”

  He moves me to sit next to him on the bed.

  “You are?”

  He is?

  James nods. “It’s time I let you be in charge.”

  Me? Calling the shots?

  “You want me to be in charge,” I repeat, the idea of it growing in appeal.

  “Yes, I do,” he says. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

  It takes a full beat to let the role reversal sink in. But once it’s in place, I realise this is a completely thrilling thought. I stare at his muscular body, which is suddenly opening before me in endless possibilities.

  Where do I start?

  I run my hands experimentally along over his T-shirt, across his abs and down to his belly. James makes a faint moan of pleasure, and I am suddenly drunk with power.

  My ass is still stinging from the hairbrush
, but I am more than ready to take charge.

  I tug up his T-shirt, eager to see underneath. And then I unbutton his jeans and pull them down over his thighs and over his feet.

  I discard them with a flourish and move back to pull his boxers over the sizeable offering underneath.

  “Nice,” I say as he springs free.

  James smiles back. “I think I like you in control,” he says.

  “Lie down,” I reply. “I’ve got plans for you.”

  James raises an eyebrow and lies flat on the bed.

  Using my flexibility, I pirouette my leg over his head, moving myself to straddle his hips.

  Then I settle myself, teasingly against his hardness.

  “Issy,” he groans, “that’s not fair.”

  “Oh?” I say innocently. “But I have no intention of playing fair. Surely you know that?”

  I’m repeating his words from The Met Bar, and he regards me lazily.

  “Be careful, Ms Green,” he warns. “You may be in control now, but I’m an old-fashioned man. You may find me compelled to bring the hairbrush to the party.”

  Just the mention of the hairbrush sends a pelt of desire straight to my groin.

  I grind into him more firmly, letting him feel my wetness slide against him.

  He groans again, and his eyes flutter upwards.

  I feel so powerful, sat astride him, gazing down at his face. Is this how he feels when he’s pleasuring me?

  I lean forward, brush my lips against his. He pushes up, drawing me in to a deep kiss.

  Mmmmm.

  “Condom?” I ask.

  “In the bedside drawer,” he groans. His hand points. “There.”

  I reach across quickly, sensing his urgency, and pull out a foil package.

  “Shall I put this on you?” I ask.

  He nods, his jaw tight.

  I unwrap the condom and begin rolling it onto him. Even the first contact of my hands makes him moan with pleasure, and as I roll the condom fully down, his breath is coming hard and fast.

  I slide my thighs down the sides of his body, positioning him under me. And then, using my hand, I push him up fractionally so he can feel where I’ll be moving him next.

  My plan is to keep him here a little longer, playing with him. But in an expert thrust of his hips, James jolts me back and enters me.

  I gasp as he stretches me open, filling me up.

  “That’s. Not. Fair.” I manage, my words coming in breathy fragments.

  He moves his hands to grip my ass and begins thrusting firmly up into me, driving my hips firmly down.

  This is so deep.

  “I have no intention of playing fair,” he whispers as his thrusts begin to quicken.

  He pushes a closed fist tight against my clitoris.

  Oh. Wow.

  He’s positioned his hand in exactly the right place that I can grind against him. Straddling him like this, I feel more womanly than I have ever felt. Any shyness I might have felt vanishes. And I push forward against his fist, moving my wetness against the ridges of his fingers.

  “Ahhh!”

  I am rocking my hips back and forth, taking him deep, grinding myself against him. The freedom to dictate the speed and firmness of the contact is pushing me fast to orgasm.

  “You look so good up there,” says James, gazing at the full length of my body as I rock and grind. “I love looking at you pleasure yourself.”

  I’m close now, but I slow, taking in the subtle movements of his face. I can see his pleasure building, and the tiny twitches of his jaw and neck as he begins to lose control. It’s so incredibly sexy to watch.

  I love it up here.

  James’s lips part slightly, and he lets out a low moan.

  Unable to help myself, I move faster, pushing myself against him. And then I erupt in hot sexy waves of pleasure, deep in the rush of controlling the pace.

  “Ahhhh!” Underneath me, I feel James come, and I roll rhythmically with him, extracting every ounce of pleasure from his body.

  “Issy!” moans James. “Don’t stop!”

  I continue moving, rocking and pushing myself down onto him. I feel him slow beneath me, spent. And then I collapse forward in a juddering heap, my mouth on his.

  He kisses me, in long languid movements.

  “That was just incredible,” he murmurs. “Will you ever stop surprising me?”

  “I could say the same thing for you,” I retort, thinking of the hairbrush.

  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his warm body.

  I breathe in, taking the smell of him deep into my lungs.

  “Did you like it?” I ask tentatively. “Me being in control?”

  Maybe Mr Old-Fashioned is taking a break.

  His mouth widens in a predatory grin.

  “Let’s just say, we could try it out more often.”

  I grin back. His face says it all.

  “Then you don’t mind if I’m not submissive?” I ask.

  To my surprise, he looks shocked.

  “When are you ever submissive?”

  I look at him in confusion. “When we… you know.” I blush.

  He grins again. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you are weak and submissive,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. “I fell in love with you because you are so strong.”

  Oh.

  “And what we do when we’re having sex,” he adds, “isn’t a reflection of our relationship outside the bedroom.”

  Isn’t it? This is something for me to think about.

  “Now, Princess Leia,” says James with a wicked glint in his eye, “we’d better get you dressed. We don’t want to be late for the party.”

  Chapter 22

  The party is held in one of the studios – an enormous building which contains the full ballroom set.

  I raise an eyebrow at James as he escorts me to the main entrance. Two burning braziers have been set up, giving the plain studio entrance a dramatic look. And catering staff wait at the door, handing out glasses of Champagne to arriving guests.

  “Isn’t this a bit much?” I ask. “It’s only the cast and crew.” By my reckoning, the full guest list only amounts to fifty people.

  “They can bring guests,” says James. “And besides, I’ve let everyone loose on my costume department. It would be a shame not to showcase the outfits.”

  I smile at him.

  “Trust you to put on such a fancy event.”

  He grins at me. “You haven’t seen inside yet.”

  James rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the entrance. And it occurs to me that we haven’t discussed how to play this. Are we arriving as a couple? James is certainly acting like we are.

  In the warm pride of having him at my side, the last thing I want to do is contradict him.

  We enter the main studio, and as the interior comes into view, our dynamics are temporarily forgotten. I make a little thrilled gasp.

  Whoa!

  “It’s a casino!” I turn to James in delight.

  The last time I saw inside this studio, it was an elaborate ballroom set. Now it’s a vision of glitzy Vegas glamour.

  I stare out, taking in the array of glittering additions. The ballroom set is still evident, and the art deco set comprises the main décor.

  But above, the ceiling has been draped with dark fabric, pinpricked with white lights, giving the impression of an endless starry sky. And on the dance floor are roulette, craps and card gaming tables set in plush green baize.

  Smartly dressed croupiers stand at each table, sliding gaming chips and conducting skilled three deck shuffling.

  “How did you do this?” My smile is threatening to split my face.

  “I didn’t,” says James modestly. “I just know the right people to delegate to.”

  Most of the cast and crew are already here, and I take in the array of colourful outfits. There’s every imaginable kind of dress, from James Bond suits to sorceresses. And
because they’ve been plundered from the costume department, they’re good enough quality to make the event seem slightly surreal.

  I spot a cowboy in heavy, worn-in leather chaps, rough linen shirt, and a very genuine-looking gun attached to his holster. He’s talking to a wicked witch in a scarily realistic prosthesis and hand-made hobnail boots.

  “People are certainly adventurous with their outfits at studio parties,” I observe as an Aztec king walks past with a gold headdress.

  “That’s showbiz for you,” says James. “When you’re in an industry which attracts show-offs, everyone goes all out for fancy dress.”

  How right he is.

  To my relief, there are a fair few people in even more revealing outfits than me. There’s a Spartan warrior in a loin cloth, a tanned girl in a Baywatch bikini, and I spot a Playboy bunny cheering over a double six dice throw.

  Everyone is talking excitedly and getting stuck in to the gaming tables. I notice Kristy, with her huge princess dress and Cinderella wig, and wave my hand.

  James’s arm drops away, and he steps back a little. So we’re walking side by side. Like friends.

  My eyes turn to him questioningly.

  “I’ll make the announcement when everyone arrives,” he says. “In the meantime, we probably shouldn’t give too much away.”

  I smile uncertainly, though I feel uneasy at the thought of being publicly announced. The idea of everyone’s eyes on me, knowing James and I are romantically involved, is too embarrassing for words.

  Remember Issy. It’s for James you’re doing this.

  The thought brings a new degree of calm. I would do so much for this man. A little public awkwardness is nothing in comparison.

  A waitress offers us drinks from a tray, and James hands me a glass of Champagne.

  I take a breath and a steadying sip.

  My eyes sweep the room, looking for familiar faces. Kristy has seen me now, and I see her eyes widen.

  Her mouth moves in the shape of my name, and then she heads towards us.

  “My goodness,” she says as she closes in. Her make-up is perfect Disney Cinderella, complete with a heart-shaped pink pout and little dashes of permanently-surprised eyebrows. “Let me guess,” she adds, “Natalie talked you into this outfit?”

  I laugh. “Exactly right.”

  “You look great,” says Kristy. “And you fit right in now, Issy. As you can see, showbiz folk take no prisoners when it comes to making an exhibition of ourselves.”