Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  My mind twisted.

  This wasn’t me…

  …Was it?

  I’d never been so wet before. I twisted, tensing my hips. I needed something more than a quick flick of my own wrist. My body craved a darkness only Anthony could give.

  My voice wavered. “I thought you only spanked a girl for being naughty, sir?”

  Simone laughed, a clear and condescending hum. Anthony didn’t shush her. His own smile grew—confident and wicked.

  “Pet, once you submit to me, you’re mine. If it gives me pleasure, then I am free to tease, explore, and fuck as I please.”

  “And…you’d enjoy spanking me?”

  Anthony snaked his arm around my waist to pin me against him. The other teased a path along the back of my thigh. His fingertips grazed my bottom. I braced for an impact, but he held steady.

  A threat.

  “I’ll give you two options.”

  Every part of me ached. I swallowed, afraid to move.

  “First…I’ll put you over that table and spank you. Give you a taste of this life. Hands, crop, flogger, a little bit of everything. A trial by fire, right here.”

  “Here? But everyone...is here.”

  Watching.

  Awaiting the next show.

  “Is that a problem, pet?”

  “What’s option two?”

  “I take you home with me.”

  Words I’d been dying to hear. I nodded too eagerly.

  “Okay.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” His voice laced with darkness. “If we stay here, with everyone watching, I’ll go easy on you. Baby steps. Just a couple little teases.”

  Easy. I liked easy.

  Submissive training wheels.

  But I’d still be learning to ride before an eager audience.

  Shannon grunted. Thomas slipped two fingers inside of her. A few couples murmured their appreciation, applauding the sound of Shannon’s wet slit as he rammed her to a quick and shameful orgasm.

  No way. I couldn’t do this.

  If I couldn’t play piano in front of strangers without screwing up, how could I attempt something sexual? What if I freaked out? Screamed a safe word with the first blow? What if it hurt?

  What if it didn’t?

  What if I came for Anthony even harder than Shannon did, bucking her hips against Thomas’s fingers like she was getting fucked by his cock?

  I shook my head. The new submissive me was brave, but not that brave.

  Not yet.

  “If we’re alone, I won’t be as nice,” Anthony warned. “I’d have you all to myself…free to do as I please…”

  My mouth dried.

  Nothing had ever sounded so delicious.

  I wanted what Shannon had—that absolute trust in her master, even in her most vulnerable of states.

  Anthony waited, patient. His hand tugged at my skirt. He wanted to touch me as badly as I needed to be touched.

  As badly as I craved to be hit.

  Spanked.

  Dominated.

  I didn’t recognize my voice.

  “Let’s go home.”

  10

  Anthony wouldn’t open the door to his penthouse without a specific demand.

  “What is your safe word, Morgan?” he asked.

  “Concerto.”

  It was the first word I’d been able to speak with any confidence since leaving Duchess. I’d squirmed in a flustered, bewildered silence, too terrified to even whisper for fear of the fantasies that would have slipped from my parted lips.

  Anthony had showed me only a sliver of his world, but every piece had been as erotic and deviant as I’d imagined.

  I wanted this.

  I trusted him.

  And he trusted me enough to welcome me inside the only private sanctuary he had—his penthouse. A massive, glamorous home accessible only through a gold-plated private elevator.

  My purse dropped against the imported tile in his entry way. The thud would have made my bank account flinch.

  Did all penthouses have two floors? I silenced my gasp, but not before mentally slapping the floorplan of my family’s home in Ironwood smack dab in the center of his living room.

  I didn’t know they made windows that big, ceilings that high, floors that shiny, or men that rich.

  The heat sapped from my core, and my resolve froze with it.

  I worked in a café. For years, my greatest ambition in life had been to earn enough money playing the violin to pass as a dieting musician instead of a starving artist.

  And this…

  He was…

  Anthony was right. I didn’t belong in Duchess. And I definitely didn’t belong here.

  “Would you like a tour?” Anthony asked.

  I stumbled after him, gawking like a tourist with a fanny-pack. “Do you have a map?”

  “Don’t be intimidated.”

  “Not intimidated—more afraid I’ll lose my way if I don’t start laying down breadcrumbs.”

  Anthony didn’t like the attitude. He grabbed me, curling my hair in his hand as he jerked my head back. Not painfully, just so I listened and listened close.

  The penthouse faded into the darkness of his gaze.

  “Behave, pet. You’re not in Duchess anymore. There’s no one here to save you from me.”

  “Do I need rescuing?”

  His lips brushed mine, but my punishment was denying the kiss. “You should have been rescued a long time ago, pet. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

  My pulse dropped low. Fortunately, Anthony held my hand, keeping me on my feet only to lead me deeper into his penthouse.

  Night fell, but he’d programmed voice activated lights. The LEDs brightened as we approached the first of two living rooms—both contemporary designs with leather furniture and huge windows overlooking the sparkling city. A library nestled off of a separate dining room, and I peeked into a kitchen so full of granite he must have tapped into a quarry to build the counters.

  Anthony led me to his home office. Not the cherry-wood beast I imagined, but a sleek room of electronics and glass fixtures.

  A combined executive desk and bookcase brimming with law and reference books should have been the centerpiece of the room, but a wall-mounted display case stole my attention. Inside, Anthony had placed a beat-up wooden baseball bat. Surrounding that, he’d tucked a variety of baseball memorabilia. A dirty baseball. A well-worn glove. I smiled, touching a framed picture of Anthony sporting a Yale baseball uniform.

  Just as handsome as he was now, but younger, probably taken ten years ago.

  He’d have been my age.

  Weird.

  “I hit my first home run with that bat.” Anthony’s attention was not on the display case.

  “Good. I was worried that was a kinky toy you used on your dates.”

  “A baseball bat?” His eyes blazed a trail over my body. “If that’s what you want, little girl.”

  “No, no, no.” I stepped away from the display case, but a closed door separated the office from the last, hidden room of his penthouse. Only one place to run.

  I swallowed. “The master’s bedroom?”

  Anthony pushed on the door. It slowly creaked open. “After you.”

  Another game.

  Even walking through his house became a coordinated set of rituals. Not that I wanted to be hauled over his shoulder caveman style and thrown onto his bed—though that scenario had potential.

  He needed my consent.

  A lump formed in my throat, and the failed jazz song stuck in my head. I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Anthony’s jaw twitched. He took a kiss before I could speak. Not a sweet, gentle kiss meant to reassure me. His lips pressed hard. Forcing my mouth open. Stroking my tongue with his.

  This kiss stole my breath only to bind me within my last gasp. My back struck the wood of the doorframe, and I braced my hands behind me, clutching the wall.

  His strength stilled my protests. I
groaned, allowing him to grind me against the door. My insides melted. He had me trapped.

  He broke the kiss with a rasped breath.

  “Get inside, pet.”

  I did as I was told.

  His bedroom was more window than wall. So very Anthony.

  Vaulted ceilings and low lighting from two decorative chandeliers framed the poster bed. King sized. He wouldn’t fit anywhere else. The curtains, rugs, and chairs were all white, but the bed posts and comforter matched Anthony’s eyes. Dark and dangerous.

  I couldn’t imagine how many women he took in that bed. I shivered, the tingle hit every delicate spot along the way. What would it be like to be lost under him on that bed?

  I was about to find out.

  He stole another kiss. Slower this time. His room put him at ease. It did the opposite to me. I trespassed in his territory.

  His bedroom. His rules. His plaything.

  Anthony kissed all he wanted from me. I mewed as his tongue sliced against mine. If this was how he punished a misbehaving sub, I’d antagonize Shannon every night from now on.

  “I want to see you,” he said.

  Not a command. Not an order.

  A certainty.

  He demanded, and I surrendered, as easy and perfect as that.

  He gripped my shirt and tugged upwards. I closed my eyes as the material slipped over my head. His fingers drifted over my bare shoulders and arms. Goosebumps prickled where he touched, and every feather light graze electrified me.

  The sensation tightened my nipples. Hard. Quick. The shiver rocked through my body—a reaction different from stepping out of the shower into a winter-cold bathroom. The buds pulsed, painful and needy.

  Anthony pulled on my skirt. I wiggled my hips, helping the material to slip down, lower and lower, until the crest of my panties peeked over the top.

  Every inch of me warmed.

  The skirt dropped to my ankles. I stepped out, fighting the instinct to cover my body. The matching underwear revealed more than the one-piece bathing suit.

  And Anthony studied every inch of my exposed skin, contrasting so fiercely against the innocent white of my bra and panties.

  “You’re too goddamned beautiful, Morgan…”

  Not a compliment but a warning, and one I willingly accepted.

  Anthony reached around my back. One little slip of his fingers, and he’d released by bra. It fell away.

  My nipples hardened even more—dark and shameful, little buds of chocolate waiting for his nip. He knew what that reaction meant. A graze of his hand cast even more prickles over my skin. I couldn’t breathe. He took the opportunity to aim for my panties. I swallowed as he lowered to his knees, kissing a path over my navel.

  He was so tall, and I was so tiny that he still rested just under my breasts.

  He tugged, but the cotton stuck to my wetness.

  “What do we have here?” Anthony’s words humiliated and enthralled me. “You’re enjoying this, pet?”

  “…Yes, sir.”

  “You are completely soaked, little girl.”

  “I…I know.”

  “You must like this…me kneeling here, staring at that perfectly juicy slit.”

  Now I was in trouble. Anthony’s expression had become hungry and expectant, and I bowed my head under his stare. Sure, I could show him my body…but to watch him study it? Devour it?

  It was embarrassing.

  And hot.

  And confusing.

  His eyes memorized every inch of my skin, every curve, every swell, every wet tell. But Anthony made no motion to take off his clothes. The suit might as well have added another foot to his height and hundred pounds of muscle.

  I’d felt tiny before, but, stricken of my modesty, I had no defense.

  If he wanted my submission, he had it. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Every instinct demanded that I cover up. And every swirling wave of desire kept me in place.

  With a sly smile, Anthony pinched one of my nipples between his fingers. He tugged. I gasped, but the motion drew me close to him. He released me as soon as I tossed my arms over his neck. A soothing rub to the injured nipple rewarded my immediate obedience.

  “You look scared, pet.”

  I swallowed, but the words were difficult to form. “I think I am, sir. But I…I like that feeling.”

  “You can stop me at any time. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to trust me.”

  “I do, sir.”

  “I want you to submit to me.”

  I didn’t dare look up. “I thought I did, sir.”

  “Not quite yet…”

  Anthony moved away. The cool air left in his wake caressed my skin. I breathed deep, the first and last breath that would come easily in his bedroom.

  He sat on the bed, pulling me between his legs. Standing, I was eye-level to him.

  But I averted my gaze. Seemed the right thing to do.

  “I thought about putting you on your knees…”

  Anthony stroked my side. Gentle. My body relaxed even as he whispered how he planned to beat me.

  “You’re new to this,” Anthony kept his voice light, like he spoke to a child. “I’ll have to ease you into this sort of punishment. Has anyone ever spanked your bottom, little girl?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Not even when you were a child?”

  I regretted saying it as soon as the words slipped out. “I was always a good girl.”

  It aroused him. Anthony stiffened in more ways than one. His hand caressed my cheek. “Oh, I’m sure you were, my pet.” His thump passed over my lips. I kissed it without even realizing how much it’d please us both. “Just remember…a spanking isn’t always because you’re naughty. I’m doing this to hear you moan. I want your breath to catch. Your groan to echo in this room. I want to see what happens when you hurt, when I strike that perfect ass and you have nowhere to run.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Of course.”

  I bit my lip. Anthony tapped his leg.

  “Over my lap, pet.”

  My eyes widened.

  Thomas had made Shannon stretch over a table. Her presentation was calculated and cold. Formal.

  How could an act so degrading become so intimate?

  “Now, pet.”

  That wasn’t fair. I expected a beating…something violent and humbling. Not comforting. Not guided into place under his gentle hands.

  Anthony stroked my skin, edging my bottom up ever so slightly. I couldn’t see his face. It wasn’t any easier. I didn’t want to imagine what his view looked like. Probably as vulgar as I felt. Even my rudimentary understanding of my body told me every bit of me that mattered to a man was presented under his hand.

  “Good girl…” His touch was a delight. “Christ, I could stare at you for hours.”

  Concerto tempted me. If he’d planned to punish me, he did a fantastic job just edging me over his legs and letting my body fit into such a compromising position.

  I wanted to hide. To kiss him. To run away. To sink closer into his heat.

  My thoughts tangled in hesitance and lust. Was that his game? Confusing me until my body couldn’t tell the difference between abuse and foreplay?

  “You’re doing well.” Anthony rubbed my bottom. I flinched. It was the most skin-to-skin contact we’d had since the pool. “We’ll start slow.”

  I didn’t have a chance to ready myself.

  The first slap bounced off me like a playful nudge. Hardly enough to ring out.

  I gave a little oh of surprise. Not so bad.

  The second was a little harder. A teasing bump to get someone’s attention. I bit my lip.

  I exhaled. Two down, and I was still alive. I shifted over his lap. My back hurt from the strain, and I relaxed, allowing myself to go limp over his legs.

  “That’s a good girl. Get comfortable…” His voice darkened. “As comfortable as you can be.”


  The third slap struck me with more force, but the sudden clap shocked me more than any pain. Anthony paused, his fingers low over my bottom.

  I pinched my eyes shut. I couldn’t hide how wet I’d become.

  Slap.

  I jerked. Whoa. That was harder. Much harder.

  I flinched, nearly toppling from his lap. His arms wrapped over me. “Stay still, Morgan.”

  Stay still? Not a reasonable demand. Most people jumped away from such a resonating sting.

  But I could do it. I’d handle this. Take it.

  Stay still. Stay still. Stay still.

  The next spank was harsh enough to force the air from my lungs. I twisted, but Anthony kept me on my belly, stretched out over his lap.

  “Ouch.” I reached back to rub the sting from my skin.

  He whacked my hand away. “No.”

  My tummy tightened. “Okay…that was fun, but I think—”

  He didn’t let me rise. He gripped my neck and guided me once more into place.

  “Stay. Still.”

  Another spank. Even harder. I yelped this time, and my struggling increased. Anthony’s grip didn’t loosen. My shiver doused me with chills.

  I couldn’t get away.

  Slap.

  Tears prickled my eyes, but was it from the pain, the humiliation, or how he’d reduced me to pure helplessness?

  Another strike. I shrieked like a frightened puppy.

  I couldn’t fight his strength, not from this defenseless position. The spanking continued. Three. Four. Five swift smacks, each alternating sides. My voice warbled. I reached out, searching for anything to offer me a bit of stability.

  My fists wrapped in the leg of Anthony’s slacks.

  And I felt…

  Relieved.

  Well, that was a weird desire. I’d needed to be closer to him, holding onto him. Just that grounded touch granted me a much-needed burst of reassurance.

  Another spank sliced my breath in half. My mind cracked with it.

  Anthony hurt me.

  Anthony held me in place.

  But Anthony was the one I clung to when his next strike elicited a moan.

  Nothing about this pained pleasure made any sense. I should have feared him. Instead, my every instinct called to him, to please him, to prove I could be this new and improved and sexualized Morgan.