Brock circled her. He deliberately taunted her, inching closer to observe her from behind then placing more distance between them when he returned to her front.
Trixie held her head high. “I won’t do this out here in the open.”
“You will, sub,” Brock said, his lips mere inches from her own. “And you will enjoy it.”
“I won’t,” she quickly told him, shaking her head.
“We’ll see.” He yanked her body against his.
Before she could anticipate what was next, he slipped his free hand under her shirt. His fingers traveled up and down, tracing her torso as if he were counting her ribs one by one. “I have plans for us, sugar. Adventuresome ideas designed to make you more than willing.”
“Brock—”
“Silence, sub!” With his mouth to her ear, he said, “Being back here is like coming home. There’s so much I want to show you, so much I never had the opportunity to teach you.”
A zip of wantonness shot through her body, leaving her quivering against him. She gasped as his fingers walked back and forth, sliding right below the lining of her bra.
“Maybe I should take you back to the island and do the sort of things I should’ve done the first night we spent together.”
“Like what?” she asked, her arousal heightened, her desire kicking her blasted ass.
“Don’t speak until I ask you to reply.” Brock slapped her bottom with a firm hand.
“Ouch!” She jerked and tried to turn.
He held her still tighter, steadfast in his grip. Drawing her bra over her breasts, he dragged his thumb across an extended nipple, painfully slow in the movements he exerted.
“God, baby, I remember everything about our first night.” Brock nuzzled her cheek. “How much I wanted to teach you, how much I longed to show you who and what I was, who and what I wanted to be with you.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, still incredibly hurt to know he had withheld a side of himself, locked away a part of himself that she’d never seen before.
He pinched her nipple. She yelped. He pinched again.
“Shh, sub,” he rasped, rolling the point between his finger and thumb. “I have the floor, Trixie. Listen to my voice. Let me tell you a little story.”
She was motionless. Was this why her fathers were able to keep her mother in line? Was this why Vicky McKay acted as if she would die without Patrick, Joshua, and Aspen? Was she submissive because of the advantages found in the rewards? If so, did she crave the punishments, too?
At that particular moment, Trixie yearned to push Brock. She wanted him to punish her.
“Tell me, Brock,” she taunted him. “Tell me what I need to know.”
A guttural growl fell from his lips. Before she could contemplate what would happen next, he grabbed her arm, took a seat on the ground, and pulled her over his lap. At the same time, he yanked down her panties, and set her ass on fire with a multitude of strikes against her flesh.
“Brock!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “It hurts!”
“Want me to stop, lover?”
“No, Sir,” she whispered, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him to continue.
Another smack landed against her ass. The effects shot straight through her backside to her front. Her pussy wept. Her bottom throbbed.
A cool morning breeze left her shivering. Brock delivered another spanking. This time it was brutal and erotic, forceful and addictive. And she wanted more. She was afraid of what she’d miss if she asked for less.
He continued the repetitive slaps. Her skin heated. Her pussy pulsed. A lustful burn set her inner walls afire. “Have you had enough?”
“Yes!”
“Say it,” he demanded, his voice low and dark. “You know what your safe word is. Use it.”
“Pudding,” she whispered, recalling the safe word she’d chosen years ago. “Pudding. Pudding. Pudding.”
Because of the way Brock had taken his seat on the ground, her fingers were trapped under her body. At the moment, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do more than finger herself, but unless he shifted his weight, she wouldn’t be able to tuck her fingers inside her cunt and pleasure herself in the way she desired.
Brock ran his large hand across her bottom, stroking her skin, caressing her ass with attentive fingers. “I will always honor you, Trixie.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she rubbed her cheek against his denim-clad leg, wishing he would let her have him, let her see him stretching for her, reaching for her. He shifted his weight and patted her bottom.
A soothing sensation washed across her. The moisture gathered around her intimate folds and she reached for her clit, spreading her legs at the same time.