“I’m going to fuck your ass now, Emma. And you’re going to take it, you’re going to let me fuck your ass and you’re not going to come until I tell you. Do you understand?”
“Yes…Master,” she begged, the thick head stretching her well-lubricated asshole, hurting her. But all she wanted was more. “Fuck me,” she said, arching her back.
“Push against my cock.” She did. “Good girl, just like that. Oh fuck, yes, just like that. Give me your tight little asshole,” he said. He filled her, then retreated, again and again, slowly claiming inch after inch. It hurt and it felt so good. Her muscles were already tensing around his thick cock and she wanted to come so badly.
“Let me come,” she begged.
“I knew you’d like this,” he said, making a sound as he pushed once, harder than he had before. “I’m in Emma, I’m all the way in,” he said, slowly pulling out and pressing in again, just as slowly. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want…aahhh, fuck me, Master. Fuck me hard. Please, I need it.”
“Good girl,” he said, drawing almost all the way out. “You can come, as many times as you like,” he said, and he thrust his cock deep and fast in and out of her asshole.
“Master,” she called out even while her body lurched forward and she cried out as orgasm took her, lost in a world of sensation, of pain and pleasure, of darkness and light. “Master.” And she knew, as another orgasm followed on the heels of the first and the second, that she loved this man. That he, Luke Roark, was her Master. It would only ever be him.
Chapter Ten
“I don’t want a bath,” she said. “It hurts.”
“You need a bath, Emma. Kneel,” he said, “I’ll wash you quickly and it probably feels better than sitting down.”
She knelt, her bottom and thighs throbbing and swollen. He ran warm water and, with the manual showerhead, washed her body and hair before shampooing. They didn’t speak while he worked, his hands, slippery with suds, sliding easily all over her.
“Lean forward,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate, putting her hands on the edge of the tub while he gently cleaned her most private parts. She trusted him; he was as sure of that as he was of the sun rising each morning. She trusted him enough to ask him to punish her.
“Are you sore here?” he asked, his finger hovering over her anus.
“A little.”
“And here?” he asked, his hands a little rougher when he cupped a buttock.
“Ow. Yes.”
“Good, then I hope you learn a lesson and don’t make me chase you across the country again.”
She didn’t say anything, didn’t have a response.
Luke drained the water from the tub before wrapping her in a thick white towel. Once he was finished patting her dry, they walked to his bedroom, a very masculine space, all gray and white.
“Lie down on your stomach,” he instructed, pulling the covers back.
She dropped the towel and lay on the bed. He went into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a jar.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked when he sat down and traced some of the welts.
“Yes,” he said. He opened the jar and scooped some of the ointment onto his fingers. “This will sting at first.”
She flinched and tensed her buttocks and thighs at his first touch. “No.”
“Relax. I promise it will feel better afterwards.” He imagined the throbbing heat she felt and kept his touch as light as possible. He remembered well the pain of a beating, but that was years and years ago. And what he did with Emma was something different entirely. He started at her ankles and rubbed the ointment over her calves, kneading the muscles there before moving higher, his touch softer over the tender flesh he’d whipped. She parted her legs when he probed, his thumbs circling the ointment over her buttocks and sliding into the cleft between. He smiled. She was ready for him again. She wanted him again. But now wasn’t the time.
Replacing the lid on the jar, he set it on the nightstand, slipped into the bed, and pulled the thick comforter over them. Their faces were inches from one another, her eyes soft with sleep.
“Emma,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Why did you run away from me?” he asked.
She studied him for a moment. “It wasn’t you. I would have run from anyone.”
“I’m not anyone.” The words tripped off his tongue while she listened.
“No, you’re not.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and when his hand touched her cheek, she turned to kiss his palm. “Thank you.”