Breaking Through

by A. M. Hartnett

He tucked his hand between them and took possession of hers. He rubbed her whole hand against her cunt, laughing at her as she shook from head to toe before bucking him. With the wet heat he had collected on her palm, he closed his fist around hers.

  ‘I’d rather be fucking your mouth, but since you’re such a bitch about your lipstick I’ll just use you to wank off.’

  ‘Make fun of my lipstick now, but you’re going to develop an appreciation for it later on.’

  His hand was firm around her fist, and beneath her palm and her fingers his cock was a marvel, hard and soft at once, wider than she could wrap her hand around. He didn’t lead completely. As he directed the motion along his shaft, Miranda squeezed down and felt the soft, slippery skin moving over the iron beneath.

  She touched her tongue to her upper lip. She wanted him in her mouth as much as he wanted to be there, but she wanted to pace herself. Too much too soon and their night, their first full night together, would be over. Only an hour had passed, and even though she’d be cranky from lack of sleep in the morning and for the rest of the day, she wanted to indulge in every minute of privacy they had together.

  Looking up at him, Miranda raised a brow. ‘Maybe I’ll even let you take a home movie on your phone you can wake up to in the morning.’

  His cock throbbed in her hand. He returned her look, his grin spreading on his face.

  ‘Have you ever been a movie star before?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, but I figure, since I have the face for it tonight, I might as well go all the way.’

  ‘You’re killing me,’ he said with a laugh, then grunted. In an instant the amusement on his face vanished and he pushed and pulled her hand faster over his dick.

  ‘It’s a good thing you talked me out of my dress,’ she teased. ‘My sister would have had a fit if I brought it home in less than pristine condition.’

  A line appeared between his eyes as his cock twitched. She suspected he would have liked to spar a little, do that tango of words with her until they were twisted up in one another, but his body had taken over.

  She used it against him as she slipped her other hand between his legs and cupped his balls. ‘Too bad it’s a one of a kind, otherwise I’d just make you replace it. My tits looked great in that dress, didn’t they?’

  ‘Christ, yes,’ he whispered.

  He was close …

  ‘Wouldn’t you just love to come on my tits while I’m in that dress?’ she coaxed. ‘Do you want to come on my tits right now?’

  Simon exploded, energy spewing out of him in the curses that rained all around Miranda as milky fluid erupted, landing in streaks on her belly and smearing both his hand and hers. He released her and threw his weight onto his hands along either side of her.

  Miranda bit her lip to keep from giggling as she continued to milk him, until he began to shake and retreated from her.

  She flopped back, arms stretched out and fingers curled into her palms, as she watched Simon struggle back into his trembling body. It was such a beautiful thing to watch him in the aftermath of his orgasm, red-faced and heavy-lidded. He lost his battle with gravity, bowed down over her and buried his face against her shoulder.

  After a moment he lifted his head and gave her a sleepy yet impish look. ‘You’ve got a dirty mouth, you know that?’

  Miranda ran her tongue between her lips, blew him a kiss, and grinned. ‘Nope. Still perfect.’

  Chapter Five

  Determined to preserve her make-up for a while longer, Miranda took a quick bath in Simon’s tub, then followed the sound of dishes being rinsed in the kitchen. Supper had been spread out on the dining table. Miranda wore a pyjama top of Simon’s and the man himself just the bottoms.

  As they picked away at the spread of Thai, Simon let her leaf through the photo albums he kept tucked at the bottom of his lone squat bookcase. He offered commentary about the faded square photographs: a chubby, miniature version of Simon in a diaper stuffing fragments of an enormous Sesame Street cake into his mouth; two boys standing before a grizzled old man as he offered them s’mores next to a campfire. She watched the boys morph into teenagers and recognised the other as Jacques Taureau, the subject of the documentary she had watched online. First came the teenagers shirtless and showing off by the pool, and then she saw a wretched transformation into bleary-eyed young men posing with giant bottles of booze or in bars before an altar of half-empty highball glasses and beer bottles.

  Then, like a whole part of his life had been erased, the last pages of the newest album banished the blue-haired demon and brought back the man who lounged next to her: wearing a silly cone party hat while his mother stood aside laughing, and stretched on the beach, oblivious to the little girl standing over him with a pail of water.

  She carried the album into the kitchen nook where he loaded the dishwasher and she pointed to the last picture of Simon, once more by a fireside with his friend.

  ‘Never mind the pictures of the ocean you wanted me to paint, this is what you should have on the wall: one from the old days, and one from more recently.’

  He shot her a dubious look. ‘I’m not really a portrait kind of guy.’

  ‘I know you think your lone painting of red and yellow squares is the height of fine art, but your apartment looks like a fake room in a furniture store. It needs some personality, something that says, “Simon lives here.” It needs to show who you are.’

  ‘If I had known you would go all Martha Stewart on my apartment, I would have locked you in the bathroom. I suppose all your glasses have bar logos on them.’

  ‘I get my glasses from the dollar store.’ She shut the album and padded into the kitchen area. ‘I like your place. I like your bed.’

  He returned her grin and wiped his hands dry on a brown tea towel. ‘I like you in my bed. I like the idea of getting you back in my bed soon.’

  Miranda leaned against the countertop. ‘Let me do the portraits. It won’t take me more than a few days, and if you hate them then you can send them to your friend.’

  ‘I suppose next you’ll say I need a potted plant, maybe an afghan on my sofa, maybe a cat.’ Narrowing his eyes in a conspiratorial way, Simon leaned closer to her. ‘This is probably going to crush your young, idealistic spirit, but even at my age I have no idea who I really am. Nothing you put on my wall is going to reveal a hell of a lot about me. If I figure it out by the time I’m eating puréed meat in the old folks’ home, I’ll let you do whatever you want to my half of the room.’

  ‘Like I wouldn’t have traded you in for a twenty-year-old with a perpetual hard-on by then,’ she countered with a flip of her hair, and eyed him as he bent low and reached into the package of dishwasher tablets. She waited for him to unwrap the tablet and bend again to drop it into the soap compartment, and as quickly as she could she plucked a plastic spatula from its canister and gave him a whack on the ass.

  He gave a slight flinch, but looked at her calmly enough.

  ‘What was that?’

  Miranda sighed, letting go of the burn of that initial thrill and her disappointment. ‘That was a real let-down. I was expecting to be instantly turned into a nymphomaniac.’

  When he crossed his arms over his chest, Simon was an impressive sight. Miranda tapped the spatula on her palm, the sting keeping her from running her hands over his shoulders and down his back to inspect the impression she’d made on him, or the lack of an impression.

  He raised his brows. ‘So which one of us was that supposed to turn on?’

  ‘That’s cold. You’re hurting my feelings.’ She held up the spatula between them. ‘Nothing at all?’

  He shrugged and half-turned. ‘If you want to try again –’

  Without waiting for the remainder of his challenge, Miranda gave him a second smack.

  It was about as effective as the first, and she rolled her eyes. ‘So, what am I doing wrong?’

  ‘For one, you’re coming at me with a plastic spatula.’

  He plucked the ut
ensil from her hands and Miranda squeaked as he pushed her down until her tits were squashed against the marble. The spatula came down three times on the meat of her ass. While it did give her a tingle, Miranda found the sting more annoying than arousing.

  Rubbing her ass, she righted herself and scowled at him. ‘Christ.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He tossed the spatula back into the canister and took her by the hand. ‘Come on, if you’re going to give me a tap on the ass I’ll give you something more substantial than a piece of plastic to do it with.’

  With every slap of their bare feet along the laminate floor, Miranda’s nerves rattled a little more. She had the feeling that she’d written a cheque she couldn’t cash, and worried that the next sexual episode of her life would involve putting his cock in a cage.

  She bounced on the bed and watched him go to the closet, then let out a relieved sigh as he produced nothing more menacing than a paddle.

  He twisted it back and forth in his hand, then settled next to her. ‘See how this feels.’

  Miranda took it from him and ran her hand across the smooth surface. ‘Is this real leather?’

  ‘It is.’

  She glanced at him and a thrill went through her at the interest on his face. His focus wasn’t on the slapper she handled, but upon her, like he was looking for her reaction. As she returned her attention to the paddle, Simon slipped his hand across her belly.

  ‘Is this what made the marks I saw on you?’

  ‘That was a leather strap.’

  Miranda felt faint. The paddle wasn’t imposing in the least, but the idea of a leather strap made her squeamish.

  ‘OK, so how does this do anything for your ass once you’ve had a strap?’

  ‘I already told you; it depends on who’s got the power. When it comes to playing, I’m not that big on pain. A little slap here or there is good, but I get the biggest kick from being tied down.’

  ‘Really?’

  She was immediately surprised that tying him down hadn’t occurred to her. In those smothering, feverish moments when he pressed her wrists into the bedding and threw his weight against her, she got off on the thought of him binding her to the headboard but hadn’t mustered the courage to ask for some experimentation.

  Her biggest worry was that it was all in her head, and that once she asked him – a man who paid someone to hit him hard enough to leave bruises – to give it to her a little rough, she’d discover she didn’t like it.

  She flexed her fingers around the handle and gave herself a light tap on the thigh. Much like the spatula, the result was merely irritating, and so she drew her knee close to her and aimed for the meat close to her ass.

  ‘Oh.’

  The sting was much more substantial, and much more pleasant. It lingered, heating her skin and leaving an itch under the surface.

  Simon reached lower and cupped her sex in his warm palm. ‘Was that a good “oh” or a bad “oh” for me?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She transferred the paddle to her left hand and rubbed the prickling spot on her thigh. ‘I might need another.’

  She turned towards him, moaning as he slipped his fingers beneath her panties. He fucked in and out of her damp entrance, his gaze never leaving her face as he went deeper.

  ‘Can I trust you?’ she asked quietly, and ran the paddle down his arm. The hair stood up in her wake, gooseflesh rising from wrist to elbow.

  ‘I’ll treat you like the newb you are,’ he promised, then grinned. ‘I thought it was my ass you wanted to paddle and not the other way around. That was what that display in the kitchen was all about, wasn’t it?’

  Closing her legs and trapping him, she gave him a light tap on the bicep. ‘You seem to be getting cosy.’

  ‘I’m just keeping you warm.’

  He pulled her closer, and Miranda turned ticklish as he buried his face in her neck. She giggled and squirmed out of his clutches, up onto her knees, and gave him a quick smack on the thigh.

  ‘You first,’ she said. He groaned and sank back on his elbows, and Miranda gave him another crack. ‘Come on, you insisted on getting this thing out. Let me give it a try and then you can use it on me.’

  Still groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and sprawled his legs out. The pyjama bottoms came about halfway down his hips, tempting her to tug them down even further over the lovely hump of his ass. He gave her a challenging look over his shoulder, then pushed up onto his hands and knees and shoved his bottoms down.

  ‘Well?’

  She didn’t care for his tone, and once she slapped leather against flesh she realised he had goaded her.

  As she watched the red splotch appear on the plump curve, he laughed, low and taunting.

  ‘Is that it?’

  She gave him two in quick succession, one on each cheek. He didn’t even flinch, and it infuriated her. His pose was relaxed and casual, like he was waiting for a massage to begin.

  ‘Has anyone ever broken any bones while doing this to you?’

  ‘You think you’ve got that much of a swing?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking about doing it deliberately. I don’t care for your attitude.’

  He laughed again and rolled from the bed, then kicked off his bottoms. ‘All right, if you’re really serious, I’ll indulge you.’

  ‘Humour me, you mean.’

  He moved along the bed to the nightstand and grasped its edges. The shudder of his muscles going taut seemed to send a ripple through the atmosphere. He transformed, body straight and legs sprawled out. He lowered his head and his fingers went white at the edge of the dresser.

  ‘Use it backhanded,’ he told her, ‘like you’re playing racquetball. Give me five on each cheek, right at the curve.’

  He meant business all of a sudden, and Miranda suddenly felt meek and foolish. She didn’t really want to spank this big, gorgeous man, did she?

  She wasn’t sure, and she knew there was only one way to find out.

  She took her place off to his side and did what he had instructed.

  He didn’t flinch, but the contents of the dresser rattled a little with each blow. She kept her eyes on her mark, fascinated as the scarlet bloom appeared, and when she moved to the other side to begin on the other cheek she was weak in the knees.

  When she was done, Simon stood up. He rolled his shoulders and gave her a questioning look.

  ‘Feel like a nympho yet?’

  ‘A little,’ she said quietly.

  She buzzed with energy that centred between her legs, but she suspected that it had more to do with having done something new and daring than with actually giving him a red ass.

  Simon slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, the fingers of his other hand returning between her thighs. ‘You’re wetter than you were. You’re soaking through your panties.’

  ‘It was … different,’ she confessed, rising to her toes as his fingers found their mark once more. ‘You’re a big guy. It was kind of a turn-on to watch your ass getting redder. Did it hurt?’

  ‘You gave me a nice sting. Still, you’re kind of a weakling. Maybe with a different tool, and if we were both in the right headspace, we could take it further. In the meantime, I believe it’s your turn.’

  Miranda shook her head. ‘I’m chickening out.’

  Simon stepped back and reclaimed the paddle. His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes shone with his enjoyment. He watched for her reaction while he twirled the paddle back and forth in his palm.

  Her nerves turned electric. She wanted it. Even if it hurt like hell, she wanted the experience of bending over and thrusting her ass up for him. It was a compulsion made worse when he lowered his arm and tapped the paddle against his thigh, making that rich slapping sound.

  She couldn’t do it. She shook her head. ‘No, I can’t. Not yet.’

  Simon looked unconvinced as he tossed the paddle aside. As soon as it was out of his hands, Miranda’s bravado rushed back up in a wave of regret. Before she could stop herself,
she spoke what was on her mind.

  ‘You could use your hand.’

  No surprise flashed at her, but satisfaction crept across his mouth as he cocked his head.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Ooooh.

  Miranda curled her toes. There was just the right amount of menace in those words to make her want to take back her suggestion, but he was being playful enough to keep her thirsty.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

  Simon chewed on his lip, and even though he was looking at her there before him, he wasn’t seeing her. He was seeing beyond her, she realised, plucking scenarios out of nowhere and playing them out, then discarding them one by one.

  Finally he strolled around her and went to the bedside table. Miranda tilted to one side, hoping to see around him, but his breadth blocked her.

  He gave her a glance over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just getting an old favourite.’

  Miranda snickered as he drew out the cordless wand vibrator. ‘I’m not sure I want to think about how many women you’ve used that on.’

  ‘None. This is my personal vibrator. Women aren’t the only ones giving this all those rave reviews. Five minutes rolling this marvel over the head while I’m jerking off and I go off like a volcano.’

  ‘I think I might have to experience that first-hand,’ she muttered.

  Simon turned the vibe on, and the whirring ran up and down Miranda’s spine.

  ‘Maybe later. Right now this is your something to ride. Time to get on your knees.’

  Miranda did as he asked. She didn’t take off his pyjama shirt and was relieved when he didn’t ask her to. It was silly, but she wanted the soft warmth wrapped around her while he spanked her, a reminder of the big, brawny teddy bear who had done up the buttons and given her a quick kiss when he had finished.

  Once she was on her hands and knees, he gave a push between her shoulder blades, and Miranda went face-down. He said nothing as he knelt beside her. He placed his hand on her right cheek, curling his fingers just enough to get a handful, and touched the head of the vibe where her thighs met.

  Compared to other times when he used his weight and his strength to push her around and impress his virility upon her, Simon just kept that contact on the curve of her ass. It made her light-headed, more so than the strong vibrations that pulsed through her entire pussy. The message was clear: she didn’t need him to force her down to assert himself. Just a touch worked.