The Institute, Daddy Issues(93)

I could just ima­gine try­ing to ar­rest a sus­pect and be­ing re­cog­nized as the cop who got screwed by her part­ner while she was high on Please. It would be hard for Salt too but he was a man—he would sur­vive it. Me, on the other hand—well, I would be fucked. Both lit­er­ally and fig­ur­at­ively.

But none of that seemed to mat­ter now. All I wanted was to feel Salt’s thick­ness in­side me. All I wanted was his big, hard body cov­er­ing mine, tak­ing me, mak­ing me his. All I wanted was to be filled.

“Salt, please,” I begged, reach­ing for him again. “I can’t stand it—I need you so much!”

“This is not what you need—you only think you need it,” Salt pro­tested.

“I know I need it.” I was sink­ing to the car­pet now. My body felt like it had some­how ac­quired a black hole—a suck­ing de­sire that ec­lipsed everything else in the world. That hole in­side me needed to be filled. If it wasn’t, I had the feel­ing that I would col­lapse in on my­self—that I would cease to ex­ist. I slumped to my side and felt the thick car­pet against my face.

“Andi? Andi!” Salt soun­ded pan­icked now. He picked me up off the floor as though I weighed no more than a rag doll and car­ried me to one of the oxblood leather couches. “Andi!” he said again, shak­ing me.

“Please,” I whispered, the need still ra­ging in­side me. “Please, Salt, I’ll die if you don’t give it to me. I know I will.”

His face grew grim. “Then I will give you what you need—but not what you want.”

“What…what are you talk­ing about?” It was an ef­fort to get the words out but be­fore I could ask any­more, Salt was flip­ping me over and bend­ing me across his knee.

Be­fore I could protest, he had pushed up my skirt, ripped down my panties and was rain­ing a vol­ley of hard, open-handed blows down on my bare ass.

“Ow…ow!” I gasped. “What the hell are you do­ing?”

“Giv­ing you what you need.” Salt’s voice was harsh as he con­tin­ued to spank me. Smack…smack…smack… went his big hand against my na­ked bot­tom. “Is the de­sire be­gin­ning to be less?” he de­man­ded.

It was in­cred­ibly hard to think through the thick haze of lust and the over­whelm­ing drug-in­duced de­sire but I made a real ef­fort and fi­nally un­der­stood what my part­ner was do­ing. He was sav­ing my ass—lit­er­ally—by beat­ing it. And it was ac­tu­ally help­ing—some.

“More,” I begged him, wig­gling on his lap, though the rough spank­ing was already mak­ing my ass sting and the tears come to my eyes. “Salt, if you’re go­ing to spank me you have to do it more—harder.”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he pro­tested.

“You have to.” I wriggled in his grip, press­ing my ass up to meet the pun­ish­ing blows. The void in­side me had shrunk a little when Salt had first star­ted spank­ing me but now I felt it ex­pand­ing again, threat­en­ing to eat me whole if I didn’t get enough sen­sa­tion. Pleas­ure or pain or both—that black hole in­side me didn’t care as long as it got fed. “More!” I in­sisted, dig­ging my fin­ger­nails into his thigh. “Please, I need more!”

“You want more? Very well—I will give you more.”

Salt stood ab­ruptly, spill­ing me out of his lap and onto the floor. With quick, jerky mo­tions he began un­buck­ling his belt.

At first I thought he was go­ing to fuck me after all and my heart leapt in my chest. Fi­nally, whispered a little voice in­side me. Fi­nally you’ll get what you’ve been want­ing for so long.

I didn’t just mean since my Please over­dose, either. If I was be­ing truly hon­est with my­self—and in that brief mo­ment, I was—I had to ad­mit that I had wanted Salt for years. From the mo­ment he came into my life and re­fused to back down no mat­ter what I threw at him. At work, even Cap­tain Douglas backed off when I got ag­gress­ive enough. But not Salt. He was un­mov­able, loyal, de­pend­able, and pro­tect­ive. All that made me want him, with or without the Please in my sys­tem.

But my an­ti­cip­a­tion was short lived. In­stead of open­ing his trousers, my part­ner pulled his belt off com­pletely and wrapped the buckle end around one big hand. The rest dangled from his fist limply like a sleepy snake.