He said nothing for a long moment, his body taut as a coiled spring beneath hers. Then, at last, he said, “Over my knee, Pandora. Now.”
She was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear. This was another choice she’d made for herself and shit, she wasn’t going to pull back now. She wanted it. She wanted it so badly.
Shifting around, she maneuvered herself over his knees, letting him position her so she lay on her front, her cheek against the leather of the couch. Then he jerked her dress up to her hips and pulled her underwear down and off, leaving her bare butt exposed. The position was sort of humiliating and yet … she was wet, the hot pulse of desire between her thighs.
“You should be careful what you ask for,” he said, the rough heat in his voice making everything inside her turn to liquid. “Especially when you don’t know what it is you’re getting.”
Swallowing, she pressed her forehead against the couch, still shaking as she felt his hand slide over one buttock, squeezing, stroking. Then it lifted. And came down hard.
The pain was sharp, the sound of his smack echoing through the wide empty space of the apartment. But underneath the pain, a weird, burning pleasure. God, it was intense. For a girl who’d spent most of her life without much in the way of sensation, it was almost too much.
Startled tears filled her eyes so she closed them, refusing to let them fall.
His palm descended again. And again.
Her teeth sunk into her lip, but not because it hurt. It was the perverse pleasure of it that was making her breathless. Making her want to cry out. Her skin felt hot and raw and when his hand descended again, she couldn’t stop the sound that escaped her. Because it wasn’t a smack this time but a stroke, a gentle soothing touch that had her squirming in his lap, wanting friction from the hard bulge in his trousers that was pressing against her, anything to relieve the pressure.
He didn’t give it to her. He stroked her over and over—the small of her back, her butt, the backs of her thighs, her calves. Then he brought his palm down on her buttocks again, harder.
Pandora pressed her forehead firmly into the leather of the couch cushions, her eyes filling with more tears. She tasted blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten her lip but she didn’t care. This was what she’d wanted, the intensity of sensation, the wild rush of feeling. It was like flying, like she was a bird finally soaring away, free …
His hand stilled on her hot, sore skin, his breathing as fast as hers. “I’m stopping.”
“But I—”
“I didn’t say it was over.”
Her throat closed as he began the gentle touches again, stroking her, his palm drifting over her stinging skin. Over the curve of her butt and then between her thighs.
Pandora moaned helplessly as his fingers found her slick flesh, circling the entrance of her body in a tantalizingly movement before one finger slid into her. She shivered, lifting her hips, desperate for more but he didn’t give it to her, that maddening finger easing out again, sliding higher to her clit, brushing lightly over it.
“Jax … please.” There were a thousand cracks running through her voice but she didn’t care. “I want … more … ”
His fingers wandered, maddeningly light. “Keep still. You got your pain but this is my punishment. You don’t get to come until I say.”
She wailed as he pinched her clit, moving restlessly on his knees, desperate to ease the ache. “That’s not … fair … ”
“No. It’s not.” His hand came down on her sore butt, a light tap. “What did I say about moving?”
Instantly she stopped moving, but he didn’t, teasing her relentlessly until she was mindless with pleasure, her whole world being the blinding need that built and built inside her, teetering on the edge of release without falling it over it.
And when she thought she couldn’t bear it anymore, his hands gripped her, sitting her up in his lap, her back to his front. He shifted beneath her and she heard the sound of foil ripping, then he was bending her forward as he thrust hard into her, ripping a harsh cry from her throat.
“Don’t you dare come, Snow,” he growled. “I didn’t say you could yet.” And the bastard thrust again, his hand slipping around and between her legs, fingers brushing her clit.
But no matter what he said, the orgasm rushed over her, heavy and inescapable as a freight train, turning her inside out, making her scream.
Then he was moving faster, harder, deeper inside her, his breathing ragged and harsh against the back of her neck. And when he came she felt him tremble, holding on to her so tightly she could barely breathe.