He struck again, twice.
“Three—four!” she shouted.
“One more. You’re doing so well.”
His praise helped her, even though she didn’t know how one could be spanked well.
He brought the belt down one last time, a little harder.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to recover her voice. “Five,” she said, her voice wobbling.
He dropped the belt and stroked his large hand up and down the length of her arched back. “Very good, Chloe.” He leaned over and gripped her hair, putting his mouth by her ear. “I love it when you obey me.”
Those words should not turn her on, but clearly they did, the fire on her backside eclipsed by the one in her center core, her body trembling to be fully taken by him. If she’d had any concern about his stamina as an older man, it disappeared when she caught sight of his cock, fully erect once more. She gave a pleading bray, hollowing her back to offer her pussy to him.
He brought his fingers to her sex, sliding them over her wet folds. “I know,” he said softly. “You’re ready for your reward.”
“Ohhh,” she moaned, letting him know he was definitely on the right track.
His finger stroked along her opening seemingly without agenda, despite the urgency she felt.
“Please?” she tried.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, doctor?”
He gripped her hair again, lifting her head. “I love it when you talk dirty, little slut.”
She shuddered at his use of the term, which normally she would consider an insult. Somehow, in this situation it came as the highest praise. Her pussy gushed in response, her insides quivering as much as her legs, her ass still toasty from his delicious display of dominance. “Please?” she asked again.
“Yes,” he drawled. “Tonight I will indulge you. Sometimes I will make you work harder for it.”
She lifted her head. “A blowjob and a whipping aren’t considered work?”
He slapped her ass. “Do not get sassy, or you will be kneeling in the corner with a vibrator up your ass until I decide it’s time for you to come,” he said sharply.
“Ooh.” She couldn’t even pretend not to love that idea.
He chuckled. “I can think of a number of embarrassing medical procedures I could subject you to, as well.”
She didn’t have a chance to consider what he might mean because he chose that moment to push into her. Her pussy took him in like a long lost friend, stretching wide to accommodate his girth, hungry for his full length. “Oh yes, please,” she whispered.
He kept his fist in her hair, lifting her head again. “Look at yourself,” he commanded as his hips bumped hers.
She opened her eyes to see her breasts swaying with the movement, her face already twisted into the expression of desperate desire that precedes orgasm. She squeezed her lids closed again, embarrassed.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
This time she looked for him, found the handsome planes of his face set with the same dark passion, the chiseled muscles of his chest straining. He slammed into her harder, his balls slapping against her clit, sending her careening over the edge with just a few strokes.
“Oh yes!” she gasped.
“Not yet,” he growled, never stopping the hard fucking he delivered with each firm instroke.
“Darren,” she whimpered, begging.
“You come on command,” he reminded her, his voice harsh and roughened.
“Yes!” she gasped, her hands growing slippery on the mirror from their heat, her legs shaking with the effort to remain in position and accept his aggressive plundering.
She panted, distracting herself from her own need to release by squeezing the walls of her vagina each time he pushed in.
“Chloe!” he exclaimed, the sound of shocked pleasure echoing through the room.
Encouraged, she kept at it, until he gave a desperate, “Oh God!”
Abruptly her attention returned to the feel of his hard cock moving inside her, every sensation heightened tenfold. She smelled her own arousal, tasted the salty reminder of his cum still on her tongue. The sound of flesh slapping flesh as his pelvis smacked against hers, his balls pleasuring her most sensitive nerve-endings. He pulled her hair back even further, pounding into her with a ferocity that satisfied every last need within her.
“God, yes!” she screamed through clenched teeth.
“Come, Chloe!” he barked, and she shattered, losing control as a tidal wave tossed her over the edge and her muscles contracted around his cock, spasming on and on, longer than she had ever orgasmed in her life.
Then, just as it passed and she thought she might collapse, Darren pulled out and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed where he settled her. Switching off the light, he climbed over her and covered her body with his own, kissing her with the tenderness absent in their love-making.
He kissed her until her lips felt bruised and her heart seemed it would explode with fullness. Then he settled beside her and pulled her against his chest, where he cradled her head on his shoulder. She tossed a leg over him, snuggling in, the sound of his heartbeat lulling her toward sleep.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“Hot sex. Helping with Jen. Being my hero.”
He kissed her temple. “Thank you for letting me be your hero.”
She almost slipped into sleep when he said into the darkness, “I’m excited about you. About us.”
She shivered, goosebumps standing up on her arms, the thrill of possibility dancing in her chest. “Me too,” she whispered, floating in happiness.
Keep reading for a special excerpt from Darling Adam’s upcoming BDSM paranormal Loose Morals (http://www.amazon.com/Loose-Morals-Darling-Adams-ebook/dp/B00NRIEGAW)
Loose Morals
Chapter One
Sasha exited the Tucson Center for Developmentally Disabled at midnight, exhausted from her shift. She scanned the dark downtown streets for anyone she ought to avoid on her five block walk to her duplex. Downtown should lend comfort in numbers, but unless it was a weekend, the only people who roamed Congress Street after midnight were looking for trouble.
A man approached and while he didn’t look menacing, she held her keys pointed through her knuckles the way she’d learned in her self-defense class, then added her own self-devised protection--imagining a giant ball of light surrounding her.
The moment she pictured it, the man stopped in his tracks, staring as if he could see it. Her breath froze in her chest, heart pounding.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Is this for me?” he drawled in a faint British accent.
Vampire.
She didn’t know how she could tell, but the word had entered her mind clearly.
His grin broadened, showing sharp canines. “Yes,” he purred as if she’d spoken the word aloud. “And you are…what? A witchling? He cocked his head to the side, “Priestess?” He extended his fingertips in the air, touching what would be the edge of her ball of light and suddenly she could see it, too--a shimmering white wall of protection that rippled and repelled his touch.
Even in the streetlights she could tell he was beautiful--dark hair that fell to his collar, a square jaw with pork chop style side burns. Deep dimples crinkled now as he looked at her creation with apparent fascination. He turned the glittering gaze on her, locking eyes.
Energy shifted within her and she felt the sensation of her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right. Her bubble of light vanished. Gasping, she tensed to run, and he smiled wider.
“Oh yes, do run, little witchling. I so love a good chase.”
She stumbled backward. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a witch or a priestess. I’m nobody. I’m just a counselor at the School for the Disabled.”
He walked casually forward as she continued backing away. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
/>
“What? The bubble?” She shook her head. “I don’t know--I just invented it, I guess.”
“Powerful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Do you do other magic?”
She shook her head, looking around for anyone who might help her. “No, sir.” She didn’t know where the “sir” came from, but it amused him and he beamed another toothy grin, his fangs seeming to lengthen before her eyes.
It had been the eye contact that had burst the bubble. All she had to do was avoid eye contact. She threw another bubble up around her and took off running as fast as she could. She heard his laughter behind her, but did not hear his footsteps in pursuit. Still, the hairs on her head stood up, warning her of something. She ran the seven blocks to her duplex and jabbed her key into the lock. Once inside, she checked the latches on the doors and windows, trying to catch her breath.
A stake through the heart. That was how you killed a vampire. And garlic. She looked around wildly for any kind of wooden stick. There--the dowel in her little wall hanging. It might work. It was three quarter inches thick and 18 inches long. She brought it to the kitchen and began frantically carving the end into a crude point.
She almost screamed when she heard a knock on the door, but then her neighbor’s voice called out, “Hey, Sasha, you got any smokes?”
“No, Jane! I don’t smoke, remember?” she called back.
“Well, can I come in?” Jane asked.
Crap.
She went to the door, sharpened stake in hand, and opened it. Somehow, she was not at all surprised to see the vampire leaning in the door frame.
“Go back to your side,” he said softly to Jane, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. She trotted obediently away, clearly hypnotized by the vampire.
Even as her brain processed it, her eyes slid to his and she was lost in the liquid brown pools, her belly moving to the left as her chest moved to the right.
“Come in,” she heard herself say.
He grinned broadly and pushed past her into the apartment.
The moment their gaze broke, her wits returned and she launched herself at him, aiming for the middle of his upper back with the sharpened dowel.
He whirled and caught her wrist so quickly she didn’t see it happen, but the outrage on his features registered clearly, fangs elongating as he hissed. Wrestling the dowel from her, he snatched her up around the waist and carried her, kicking and squirming to her living room. She panicked, wishing she had eaten garlic or had some other defense against getting drained by a hungry leech. To her surprise, he plopped down on her sofa and pulled her ass-up over his lap.
She almost giggled when he began to spank her with the flat of his hand, her relief at not becoming vamp-food so immediate. But then, he might be just getting his jollies before he bit her vein. As this new fear set in, she struggled against his hold, but his arm around her waist was like steel. Well, duh--he probably had superhuman strength.
He began to strike harder and she wriggled against the sting, though it was thankfully muffled by her jeans. In some bizarre coping mechanism, she began to count the slaps. By thirty-five, her butt was on fire, the pain growing exponentially with each new smack.
“Ow! Stop it!” she protested, but he continued to punish her without answering.
The absurdity of laying over a vampire’s lap for a spanking struck her and she began to giggle out loud, her shock and stress coming out in a rush of sobbing laughs.
He stopped and she sagged in relief, thinking it was over only to realize his hand was at the button of her jeans. He hauled her to her feet and held her legs, looking up into her eyes. The fury was gone from his expression and the fangs had receded. Now he held only amused, if not arrogant command. “Pull down your pants.”
He must not have used the glamour, because she did not feel the odd pulling sensation. “What?” she cried in outrage. “No way!”
The corner of his lips lifted and he unbuttoned them for her, shoving her hands away and slowly pulling both her jeans and her panties down. She tried to catch them, twisting her hips to and fro, but he gave one yank and they arrived mid-thigh, her lady parts clearly exposed to his satisfied gaze. She held her shirt down, trying to cover her bare cleft as she stood in the humiliating position. Her legs trembled and she cast her mind about for any ideas about how to escape this obviously deranged creature.
“Defiance will earn you extra strokes, my dear,” he said with the same predatory smile he’d given when she’d been ready to run out on the street. As if he were a cat and she was his mouse. Oh yes, do run, little witchling. I so love a good chase. She realized he was just playing with his food.
A fresh wave of terror flooded her as he picked up the wooden dowel she’d used to try to kill him and bent her back over his knee. One smack with it and she howled, wishing she’d never pulled it from the wall-hanging. She twisted, trying to cover her naked ass with her hand, but he caught her wrist and bent her arm behind her back. He began to spank her in earnest with the implement.
“Ooomph. Ow!” she yelped, squeezing her eyes shut. The stake stung on her bare flesh. She kicked her legs, which made him chuckle. He beat a steady rhythm, as if the dowel were a drumstick and her flinching bottom were the drum. “Ooh. Ouch! Stop it!”
“You’re getting a spanking, my dear,” he said. “You’ve earned it. There’s nothing you can do to stop it now.”
On and on he spanked while she bobbed and wriggled to no avail. Her entire bottom blazing and certain she couldn’t take any more, she cried, “All right! All right, vampire...I’m sorry.”
“Ah,” he said, pausing in his assault on her lovely cheeks, then giving her three more spanks in quick succession. “Magic words. Say it like you mean it,” he purred. The pleasure of having a lovely girl over his knee sent the familiar sense of arousal and power coursing through his body. His momentary irritation with her attempt on his life had long since been eclipsed by the enjoyment of bringing her to heel.
“I--I’m sorry, vampire,” she cried in a rush, obviously reaching the limits of her pain threshold. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you with a stake. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
He chuckled and gave her another swift volley of spanks. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He had delivered a sound spanking by this point, and the hue of her firm, round buttocks had turned from pink to plum. He was surprised, but not disappointed, she had not shed any tears yet. For him the pleasure was not in breaking a girl, but in the dance of taming her. He preferred a woman with pluck, and clearly this one had taken her cues from Buffy, The Vampire Slayer.
“Owww,” she whined. “Please, vampire. I’m sorry.” She still sounded more pissed off than sorry, but he stopped anyway. He had proven his point.
He broke off the sharp tip of the wooden stake, then snapped it in half, dropping the pieces on the floor. “That’s probably the best you can give me for now,” he mused, running a cool hand over her bare cheeks, the heat delicious. As he continued to make lazy circles over her swollen bottom, his cock, already hard from spanking her, twitched against her hip.
She stiffened.
“No, little witch,” he said, lifting her to stand and pulling her jeans and panties up as she winced and tried to rub. He batted her hands away and guided her onto his lap. “That’s not what I want from you.”
She squirmed, her bottom obviously too chafed to be comfortable on his hard thighs, but he held her firmly in place. Her hand slid to cover the alluring artery at her throat.
“I didn’t come for that, either.”
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“For your magic, my dear.”
A look of confusion shadowed her youthful face. “I don’t have any magic.”
“Ah, but you do, and it is quite powerful. Your protection spell out there dazzled. I’ll need you to learn to use your skill, because there’s a curse that needs undoing.”
She shook her head. “I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re ta
lking about.” Her expression held defiance, but he detected a look of panic beneath it.
He stroked a wisp of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I need your power, witchling. You may not even realize you have it, but you do, and I’m not going to leave you alone until you’ve solved my dilemma.”
She began to blink rapidly, her chest moving rapidly with shallow breaths.
“Ah,” he said, softening his expression. “There are the tears.”
“I’m not crying!” she glared but her brave expression crumpled, and a choked sob erupted from her throat.
He didn’t want her to crumble. Though he knew comfort from him would not be welcome, he pulled her against his chest, tucking her head in against his neck and stroking her back like a kitten. She smelled fresh and sweet, like wild strawberries.
She wrestled against his embrace but he held her fast, not allowing her to pull away.
She gave up her struggle and surprised him by letting out one giggle and then another, though he could still smell the salt of her tears. “And I can’t believe you spanked me!”
He smirked. “Yes, well, I’m a bit old-fashioned when it comes to ladies. I come from a different era.”
She laughed again. “No, I mean, I tried to kill you with a wooden stake, and you pulled down my panties and spanked me.”
He chuckled. “Yes. Well, you were afraid when you went Buffy on me,” he said, thumbing the moisture from her lovely cheeks. “I can’t really blame you for that, can I?”
She studied him with big brown eyes flecked with gold, her copper-colored hair falling in her face again. This one was special--even if he hadn’t seen the bubble of light she’d cast on the street, he could feel it now in her presence. He hoped he could get her to cooperate, because it would be a shame to have to truly frighten her. He cupped her cheek, stroking her lower lip with his thumb. “Lovely mortal. Sasha, was it?”
She didn’t pull away from his touch, reading him with the same amount of attention he paid her. “Yes. So what era are you from?”
Yes, Doctor Page 8