Never Say Never

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "What was that?" Elliott asked, knowing he'd missed something but unable to hear what it was, since he was entirely too vain to use the expensive hearing aids his daughter had forced him to buy that he never, ever wore.

  "I said I've never felt so happy, myself. I can only hope that Stevie feels the same way."

  He squeezed her around her middle so tightly she nearly puked, in what she could only think was some sadistic form of encouragement to continue with this ruse. It was on the tip of her tongue to expose Trent's entire idiotic idea to her father and let the chips fall where they would, but then she got a good look at her father's face.

  She hadn't seen him so overtly happy in more years than she could remember. Since...the realization came to her, along with a painful flood of tears...since before her mother died.

  And, considering what she had learned about him last night, she didn't know how many other opportunities she was going to have to see him that happy again.

  So, although she didn't trust herself to actually say anything, necessarily, she did allow herself a big smile.

  And that seemed to be all either of them needed.

  Her father hugged first Trent, then her – really hugged her – for the first time in a long while. And for the first time in at least that long, she allowed herself to hug him back, shoving aside her misgivings about this deception and trying to remember what Trent had said about wanting to give him some happiness in his final days.

  As much as she wanted – and at the same time didn't want to want – to delve into nights of mind blowing, never ending sex with Trent, the reality of her life was that it was nearing the end of summer vacation. And Stevie was beginning to have to deal with the reality of the fact that she was going to have to go back to school.

  When had it become a chore instead of something she looked forward to each year? she wondered. She certainly enjoyed her time off each summer, but lately, within the past five years or so, her usual enthusiasm for returning to what she had come to think of as "the grind" was conspicuously absent.

  To say nothing of the fact that she was spending all of her time alone, distracted, thinking about him. Not that there was much alone time anymore, now that she was dating – as her father so quaintly put it – Trent.

  Since they'd been essentially caught by her father – and Stevie wasn't at all sure that wasn't because of something Trent had set up – and she was loathe to disabuse the poor man of his notion that they were some kind of happy couple, she'd been roped into pretending to be just that, which was, essentially, exactly what Trent wanted.

  And, somehow, after spending much more time with the man, she had come to have a lot more sympathy for how easily her father had fallen under his spell. He was kind of like a snake, slow moving and mesmerizing. And attentive, almost to a fault.

  He was making it damned near impossible for her not to feel disgustingly content and even, she shuddered to use the word, happy with him.

  The next time they had been able to get together was almost a week later because of his schedule. The company was going through a merger, and his time was not his own, at the moment. But when dawn rolled around, and he finally allowed that she could actually get some sleep without him being at her ten minutes later, he had already learned exactly how she liked to be touched. He'd watched and listened – she'd discovered with deep mortification when, at one point, he'd done a spot on impression of her mid-orgasm that had earned him a hearty smack on the shoulder – to her so avidly that he already knew that she loved to be talked to during sex. Not to be told how beautiful or sexy she was, but more specific things than that.

  He'd become, in a matter of two hot, heavy, unbelievably, annoyingly satisfying evenings, her damned near perfect Dom.

  As far as she could tell, except those few short naps before dawn, she had never really stopped cumming all night long. All he had to do was look at her with sexual intent, and she began to contract again – literally – no exaggeration.

  The man was that potent, that concentrated on her and her pleasure. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it, too, but he seemed to truly get off on getting her off.

  Far be it for her to complain, of course.

  Much, anyway.

  Although, if there was going to be one thing about which she was going to whine, it was the discipline, even though he'd also taken the time, a few weeks ago, to show her, at one point, that spankings didn't have to be all bad.

  She'd been understandably skeptical, but he had arranged himself up against the head of the bed, leaning against three or four pillows, those impossibly long legs extended out in front of him, and had patted his thighs as if she was some kind of lap dog, obviously expecting that she would jump to it.

  Stevie, of course, had remained in the relative safety, well, the illusion of which she clung to valiantly, anyway, of her spot to his right, lying on her side, close to the edge of the bed.

  At the look he gave her when she hesitated to obey him, she moved her top leg back, as if preparing herself for the need to run.

  He'd noticed that, of course, and had tilted his chin down, his lips setting a bit hard, one bushy eyebrow up.

  She knew that look already, and it made her want to clutch her behind, but she, instead, forced herself to lace fingers together that, at least, wanted to fidget nervously in the face of it.

  "I've been giving you a bit of a grace period, honey." Usually, she disliked endearments that she didn't think were genuine in the extreme. But somehow, he managed to make them sound as if he meant every one of them. "I've been much more lenient with you than I was in the past and I will be in the future. You might want to watch your language much more carefully, because I'm not always going to clear my throat to remind you that I'm not going to tolerate profanity from you." His tone lowered ominously. "In fact, warnings should never be expected. Good behavior, however, is."

  "Trent!"

  She knew exactly what he was going to do instead.

  "I would heartily suggest that tonight, in the interest of maintaining the health and happiness of that luscious bottom of yours, and from now on, that you do your best to obey me – the first time, every time." He'd been using that hypnotic, deep tone that made her want to do as he said, until he warned darkly, "Because you have no idea when my patience with you will be exhausted, and you already know you don't like the end result of that."

  "All right, all right," she complained under her breath, but not enough so, apparently.

  Stevie crawled reluctantly over to him on her hands and knees, naked, as he insisted she be, allowing him to guide her over his lap. He'd put a pillow on the other side for her to use in whatever way she might want to, and as soon as she settled over him, the first thing he said was a solicitous question, "What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

  "Let me up?" she returned in a sickly sweet voice.

  "Eventually, in my own time," he answered. "Do you need another pillow anywhere? Can I get you a sip of water? Are you hot or cold or just right?"

  "Just right, thank you," she replied primly, although her voice sounded small. Stevie was nervous. She didn't want him to spank her in any capacity.

  His spankings hurt, and she couldn't imagine that they ever wouldn't.

  "All right then, Goldilocks," he said, adjusting her the way he wanted her, so that he had easy and clear access to all of her bottom – not just the far cheek, which he knew lots of Doms had a tendency to favor unintentionally – and that he could reach the parts of her he was most interested in without straining.

  And the last part to that was actually gaining that access.

  There was no way he couldn't notice just how submitting to him turned her on. She was somewhat reluctant to admit it, not that he was going to let that stop him. She had her safe word, and unless he heard it, he was going to do what he thought was best for her, what he thought she either needed or would enjoy the most, and then what he wanted to do the most.

  "Spread your legs for me, flower," he
commanded in a nonetheless soft cajole, watching her skin flush hot red all over, not unlike as if he had already taken his hand to those rounded cheeks.

  He heard her breath catch at his edict.

  "No, please!"

  She was so shy with him. It was an incredible turn on, as if she'd never been with a man before and he was having to teach her things, not the least of which was to obey him, of course, which, for a submissive, didn't seem to come naturally to her, quite the opposite. He didn't know what, exactly, inspired that in her, but he suspected it was the somewhat unfamiliar Dominant/submissive dynamic that made her feel that way.

  As had been his habit with her so far, he paused quietly.

  After a long moment, she protested, "I can't!" Something about him got her riled, in more ways than one. She wanted to submit to him, she did. She'd fantasized about doing that very thing for so long! But actually doing it – actually splaying herself for him like that – she was suddenly very reluctant to do so, for no reason she could actually put her finger on.

  She just had to assert herself, perhaps to see just how he'd react, not unlike a child testing a parent's resolve.

  What she felt was his huge hand covering her already naked behind and his censorious tone. "Now, I had intended that this be strictly…" He used the word deliberately because he knew it was a powerful one for her, "A lesson in how spankings don't always have to be for punishment. However, since you seem unwilling to do as you're told, and I am unwilling to put up with that kind of disrespectful," he accented the word with a crisp swat that had her yelping in surprise. "Behavior, we're going to have to begin with a punishment spanking." After ten or so more smacks to each cringing cheek that already had her thoroughly regretting not obeying him immediately – and setting her knees as far apart as she could – he prompted, "Won't we, Stevie?"

  "No, you don't have to, see, I did it. I did it!"

  Neither her response nor the fact that she had, actually done as she was told, eventually, earned her any kind of mitigation of what he considered to be her due. By the time he was finished with her, she was panting and weeping piteously, her bottom an angry red and terribly sore looking.

  And before she had even begun to recover, he pressed gently down with the hand that kept those wandering hands in place at the small of her back, reminding her that she no longer had the use of them. Then he used his free hand to follow the natural cleft of her bottom down between legs that had crept a bit closed as she was being disciplined, which prompted him to pinch her inner thighs a bit, his cock jumping at how she yelped in indignation at that tiny punishment.

  But those thighs had quickly assumed the nicely open position they had been in before he'd seriously begun spanking her, easing his access to her deepest recesses.

  And he couldn't suppress a huge smile when he discovered that she was, indeed, as he'd suspected, dripping wet.

  He gathered just a bit of her dew on his fingertips and moved his hand down a bit, stroking them gently over a clit that seemed to him to be perpetually swollen, and he took that as an incredible compliment. Even though her bottom must've been throbbing something fierce, when his fingertips made contact with that swollen, fleshy bud, she moaned and tried to wiggle herself against them.

  "Stay still now, lovely."

  Instant obedience. She was still as a rock.

  "Good girl."

  He gave her a few more teasing swipes, then brought his hand up to her bottom and swatted her, very gently, then instantly began rubbing the spot he'd just insulted.

  "Trent! No more spanking, please! I'll be good!"

  Stevie couldn't believe what had come out of her own mouth. Had she really said that? Pleading with him, begging him, not to spank her? That was her now?

  And the answer, she knew, was that, yes, yes it was.

  Especially when his hand descended again to rudely lodge his thumb inside her, while his fingers flicked her nub back and forth, much less carefully than he had before, more demandingly.

  Stevie tugged at her wrists, but he refused to let her go. Damn, he was killing her with this tormenting; her bottom was already nearly forgotten about.

  At least until he smacked her again. But then he rubbed it better immediately, too, and his hand on her, that big, strong hand touching her intimately, just the thought was enough to make her juices gush out of her.

  "Put your hands above your head. If they move, I'll give you another spanking, and I'll fuck you senseless, but I won't let you cum tonight, my sweet, so you better be on your best behavior for me."

  It was hard enough for her when he had a good tight hold on her wrists. She needed those boundaries to fight against, how was she going to manage to not reach down and try to interfere, especially when he was still spanking her already roasted butt?

  With his other hand free, he implanted two big fingers into her tiny cunny, pumping them in and out of her constantly, twisting and rotating them, rubbing that ultimate spot occasionally, but mostly just laying claim to her, being a big, unpredictable male presence within her.

  The pleasure/pain combination drove Stevie out of her mind. She finally had to lace her fingers together in order to keep herself from reaching down there to bring herself off.

  She couldn't imagine what he'd do to her if she did that.

  Well, she could, but she certainly didn't want to!

  He kept no rhythm at all. She never knew when the pleasure was going to stop and he was going to smack the flat of his fingers – fingers that were wet with her own honey – down onto her already sore bottom. The swats hurt, no matter that he rubbed them away seconds later. They did still hurt, and he took to delivering not just one but several to each cheek, so that she was crying by the time he relented and reclaimed the parts of her that were the most his.

  "If I have to tell you to spread your legs again, I'm going to reach for my belt, baby, I'm sorry," he intoned, and he swore his cock swelled three sizes at her guilty lament as she did her best to spread them even further.

  He did, actually sound regretful, too.

  The bastard, Stevie thought as she threw her legs as far apart as they could go.

  "Tilt your bottom up, that's it. Offer yourself to me. Perfect."

  Her face was red from the deep blush his words inspired, and it only got her hotter. He knew exactly what to say, what to do, to get her absolutely wild.

  And yet, he had told her, that first night, that she was only to cum with his permission, and he could be miserly with that at best. When she came, he wanted to make sure that it was hard. He wanted her to lose her mind, the way she made him lose his.

  He kept her right on the edge, a blink of an eye away. If he had but breathed "Okay" at her, she would have exploded all over his hands.

  But he didn't. Instead, he continued to spank and frig her, to fuck her hard with his fingers at the same time.

  Just when she was about to absolutely implode with need, he gathered her to him, cradling her in his lap with every possible tenderness, kissing her forehead, his arms supporting her since she could no longer do so herself, and as he gazed into her eyes, he let his hand find its way between her legs.

  "Relax and let it happen, baby. You've earned it. You're safe. Let it wash over you, let it – let me – take you there."

  And he did.

  And she did.

  It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It was the hardest orgasm she'd ever had. It made her scream and cry and shout and beg for mercy. And yet he had none, forcing her to ride it through, caressing her continually, holding her, rocking her, bringing her to the absolute ultimate in satisfaction before laying her gently on her back and sliding into her, and simply remaining still until her eyes focused, as best they could, on him.

  Trent brushed a curl out of her eyes as he looked down at her. "I know you won't believe this, and I don't know why I'm saying it, really, except that I've been living with it for so long. I just want to get it out. I love you, Stevie Ophelia Coolidge. An
d I don't expect you to say anything back to me. I know that, despite the fact that you're letting me love you, that it's an aberration, and that you can barely tolerate me being in the same room with you. But I hope that, eventually, you might come to see me as something more than a rival for your father's affections."

  With that, he began to move, then suddenly roll, so that she was on top of him. "Ride me. Cum, if you can, your orgasms are what give me my own." His hands remained buried in her hair as she used him for her own pleasure – amazed that she could after what she'd just been through – and, in doing so, brought him to his own.

  He was much less docile when he finally came, clamping her hips to his, sitting up to wrap an arm around her and hold her so that he could pound himself into her. His other hand tugging not so gently at her hair, forcing her to arch against him as he nipped at the buds she offered him, his final screams so primal they scraped his throat raw, and his voice ended up even deeper and huskier than it usually was.

  As she lay snuggled against him and they both tried to come down from the heights they'd reached together, she heard his voice in the darkness again. "It's true. I wasn't just saying that. I love you. I've loved you as long as I've known you. I know I'm not an easy man, I'm socially awkward, and I'm demanding, and I'm a bit of a workaholic."

  "No!" she feigned great surprise until he tucked her beneath him.

  "I think we should get married."

  Trent felt her stiffen, as if he'd suggested they have a threesome with a porcupine.

  Not the reaction he was hoping for, certainly, but he fell back on the angle he had a good idea might work to get him what he wanted.

  "I think your father kind of expects it."

  Stevie sighed. She was going to have to decide just exactly how far she was willing to go to make her father's last months joyous.

  Eventually.

  For now, she pushed at Trent's chest and was surprised when he let her go. He rarely did that.