The Three Rs (10 page)

“When you lose count, sweetheart, that’s a sure sign it’s time to stop. Bedtime?”

I just about manage a slight smile, but he takes that as the agreement it’s intended to be.

“Stand up, love.” With his hands on my shoulders he gently eases me back into a standing position.

I sway, and he slips his arm around my waist, then suddenly he picks me up in his arms. The fabric of my skirt tightens across my tender bottom and I draw in my breath sharply.

“Is that sore?”

“Not really…” I turn my face into his chest, burying my nose in his T-shirt in a sudden surge of probably belated embarrassment. He tightens his arms around me.

“Liar,” he murmurs into my ear. “Your bottom’s a lovely deep shade of pink. It’s got to smart. Did it feel good though?”

I nod, firmly quashing any pangs of guilt at the naughty brand of pleasure he’s so generously given me. “Yes. It was fabulous. It still is.”

He heads out into the hallway, and there’s no further conversation as he carries me upstairs. He shoulders open the door to his bedroom, and I cling onto his neck when he tries to place me on the bed. He takes the hint and lies down alongside me, responding to my need to cuddle, to just be held right now. I tighten my arms, loving the feel of his palm circling between my shoulder blades, massaging me firmly, soothing, reassuring.

I’m surprised at my reaction. I expected to feel sore probably, embarrassed definitely though I’m managing that pretty well. And maybe a little scared. I’ve been all of those in the last few minutes, but this intense emotional response, this clinginess, has taken me completely unawares. I’m hanging onto Cain as though he’s my lifeline, my anchor, my rock of sanity in a world that just now seems confused and chaotic. And he’s in no hurry to let me go. His soft voice is comforting me, though I’m in no sense distressed. He’s stable and certain and reliable. I need him, I trust him, I’m depending on him and I’m not letting him go.

Chapter Six

“Steadier now?” Cain’s husky voice penetrates my foggy consciousness and I realize I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep. I lift my head, looking around for a clock, but that takes too much energy and I flop back down again. I did see enough to know that I’m in a strange room, one that I’ve not seen before on my tour of the house. I remember that Cain said we’d be in his room later. This must be it. I’m lying in his huge double bed, by the look of things, and using his chest for a pillow. He seems not to have any objection though, as he strokes my hair back out of my eyes.

“How long…?” I mumble my question, it seems to me to have been ages since we were downstairs, in the kitchen, my bottom bared for him to obligingly spank. Wow, did I really do that? Did he?

“Half an hour.”

I screw up my eyes, still struggling to concentrate and make sense of where I am, and what’s been going on. “What happened to me? I remember you carried me upstairs. Have we…”

He laughs. “Hell, no! I like my women to be conscious, and better still—awake—when I fuck them. You were out of it for a while, that’s all. You needed a power nap. Feeling more lively now?”

I push myself into a sitting position, noting the pleasant soreness in my bottom. I didn’t dream this then, he really did spank me. And by the sound of it, I fell asleep straight after. I turn to him, puzzled.

“But, I never sleep during the day. And how could I just drop off when we were in the middle of…well, you know.”

“You mean when I was about to peel off your clothes and fuck you until you scream? Or pass out again?”

I stare at him. Is he serious? Can he really do all that?

He grins broadly, wickedly. “You look to me as though you may be requiring a demonstration, Miss Fischer.” He rolls away from me, his feet planting firmly on the carpet as he gets off the bed. He strolls across the room to the window where the curtains are still open even though it’s now dark outside. He closes them, and turns to face me.

“If you’ve quite finished snoring, I’d rather like you naked. Now.”

My clothes are exactly as they were downstairs, namely I’m fully dressed except for my knickers, which I suppose are still tucked up in Cain’s jeans pocket. I have no serious objection to undressing, especially as my head is clearing fast now. And I distinctly recall he made me some delightful promises which he has yet to deliver on. But I resent the accusation that I snore. On this matter, he will get an argument out of me.

“I do
not
snore!” I fold my arms across my chest as I kneel in the center of the bed, glaring at him defiantly.

He ignores my protests, and his grin is fading now. His expression has become more sensual, more purposeful than playful. The time for small talk is apparently at an end. “Naked. Now. Unless you think we should backtrack to more spanking…”

Maybe not. Not yet anyway.
I’d definitely repeat the spanking if he offers, but the prospect of that fuck-fest is much more attractive just at this moment.

Which is another surprise for me. I’m not ordinarily given to bouts of uninhibited sexual expression. In fact, I’m probably the least sexually active person I know. And I’m about as far from a sex object as you can get. Without doubt, Cain Parrish could do a whole lot better than me. But me is what he’s got, at least for now, so why shouldn’t I take advantage of what’s on offer? Still, I can’t resist one last parting shot of defiance.

“You undress too. I want to see you naked as well.”

His smile now is pure sensuality as he strolls back toward the bed. “Of course, Miss Fischer. My pleasure.”

He removes his T-shirt first, and I can only stare. Cain Parrish is absolutely beautiful, quite magnificent. I wouldn’t normally ogle a man’s pecs, but I have to make an exception for Cain. Years of hard physical work have evidently honed his body, firmed and sculpted it. He is, in my view, quite, quite perfect. His shoulders are wide, and his muscles flex as he reaches for the button on his jeans. He has a sprinkling of chest hair, which narrows to a delectable trail leading past his waistband. His nipples are small and flat, and I experience an unfamiliar urge to lean forward and flick one with my tongue.
I wonder if he’d mind?

Before I have an opportunity to talk myself out of it I’m shuffling on my knees to the edge of the bed and reaching for him. The zip on his jeans is open now. I place my hands on his waist. He stands still as I lean in toward him, and is commendably stoical when I trail the tip of my tongue across his nipples, first the left, then the right. My lips still on him, I raise my eyes to meet his, only to find his eyelids are closed. I take that as a good sign and continue to taste and tease.

“Mmm, that feels good, Abbie. My turn now. And you do still seem over-dressed…”

I peer up at him again, to find he’s watching me now. His expression is amused but determined, and this time he takes my chin in his hand and holds my face still while he leans down to kiss me. This is the first time he’s actually kissed me. Downstairs he asked me to kiss him, and although he reciprocated, I was definitely the initiator. Not now. Now he is all control, all dominance as he places his knees on the bed and presses me backwards. He eases me onto my back, his weight on his elbows, and deepens the kiss. My lips part, his tongue slides between them curling around mine. It feels wonderful, sensual and very, very intimate. I take his tongue tentatively between my teeth, and his low growl suggests I release him immediately. He is definitely not wanting me to take the initiative this time. Not in this. I’m happy to let him lead, and lie still while he continues to explore my mouth.

I lift my body helpfully as he tugs my knitted top over my head. He breaks the kiss to glance down at my bra, possibly matches it in his head to my knickers still secreted in his pocket, and slides his hand behind my back to unsnap the clasp. Moments later he’s admiring my naked breasts.

Well, I hope he’s admiring them. He does seem to be if the growing bulge inside his jeans is any indication. His erection is nudging my stomach, and I suspect he may be feeling rather constricted by now. My helpful mood extends to this matter, and I reach down to push his jeans and boxers aside to release his cock. This is one initiative he seems to not mind from me as I close my hand around the shaft. I try a couple of experimental strokes, sliding my fist down to the bottom then right to the top. His sigh seems to be one of appreciation, so I repeat the gesture, this time pausing to swipe the pad of my thumb across the smooth head. There’s moisture there, his juices ready to mingle with mine.

Or not. I’m sure I had something drilled into me about not mixing body fluids in my sex education lessons at school. This is yet another occasion when I wish I was able to read—I’d have much more idea about how this all works if I’d been able to do some dummy runs through reading those erotic books they stock in supermarkets now. There’s only so much you can glean from suggestive covers.

I shove that problem from my mind for now, sure that Cain will be up to speed, as it were. I continue to pump his cock as he trails his lips across my shoulder then down to my left breast. He takes my nipple between his lips, rather as I did to him a few moments ago, but there the similarity ends.

I definitely did not draw my tongue over his nipple like this, nor did I bite it so gently it almost hurt. And it never would have occurred to me to suck on that flat little nub. Cain does all those things to me, and I arch under him. He caresses the lower curve of my breast with his hand, squeezing and lifting. My grip on his cock relaxes as my attention is focused on the fabulous sensations he is creating. It feels as though some electric current is flowing through me, connecting my nipple directly to my pussy. He seems to be increasing the pressure, and now he’s grazing the sensitive tip with his teeth. I experience a moment of unease as I realize he could hurt me, but I know he won’t—at least, not in a bad way. I’ve learnt a lot already about pain and pleasure, and I’m struggling to separate them entirely now.

He shifts his attention to my right breast. Soon that nipple, too, is quivering and swelling, hardening to a pebble. I’m writhing on the bed, his body still covering mine but not restricting my movement at all. My skirt is now a hindrance and I reach for the button at the side. I unfasten it, unzip it and lift my hips as Cain pulls it down. I kick it away and roll to my side. Cain rolls too, allowing me to shift our positions as he reaches to caress my bottom. The soreness is still there, but only just, reminding me of the erotic prelude to all this.

Cain shifts again, and I’m on my back. This time his knee is between my legs. He releases my nipple briefly as he rolls to his back to finish removing his jeans and boxer shorts. He dumps them on the carpet beside the bed where no doubt the rest of my stuff already is. Then he’s kneeling above me. He runs his eyes all over my body. I’m self-conscious, it’s been a while since I last rolled around naked in a man’s bed—indeed, I’m struggling to recall another time I ever did—but this feels right to me. I like Cain, when he’s not being rude to me, and I know I like the way he’s making me feel just now. So I smile, content to let him look.

“You’re a pretty little thing, under all those prim skirts and old lady tops. I should have undressed you earlier.”

I’m not sure if he’s being rude or not. His remark leaves me vaguely uncomfortable though I’m not sure just why. I decide to let it pass and settle for a stab at humor.

“Who are you calling little?” I jiggle my breasts at him suggestively.

His answering grin is pure lust.
Result!

“Christ, Abbie, you’re fucking gorgeous. So hot.” He takes my nipple in his mouth again, briefly, but this time he’s on a journey south. He nibbles a trail across my stomach, dipping his tongue into my belly button before setting off again. His hands are under my knees as he reaches my mound. I know what happens next, he’s telegraphed his intentions clearly enough. I don’t resist as he gently lifts my knees and spreads my legs. I remain still, open, on display, feeling his eyes on me as he looks his fill again.

“So fucking beautiful. Hot and wet, and very nearly ready.”

I groan, now thrashing my head from side to side. I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. Now! And the moment he does, I just know I’ll detonate. Most of my orgasms to date have been self-induced, and I strongly suspect he’ll be rather more skilled than I am at all this. His approach so far has seemed practiced enough, certainly.

But he doesn’t touch me. I want his hand, his fingers, his tongue, his cock, anything. On me. In me. But still he waits, and looks. I open my eyes, to find his gaze is on me. The slate gray of his eyes is almost gone, they are dark now, with arousal. Mine too, surely. And still he waits. I shift my hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. He smiles.

“Do you want something, Miss Fischer?”

I mouth my reply,
“Please.”

“Please what? What would you like me to do?”

Annoying man!
I shift my hips again.

“I want you to ask me. Tell me. I want to hear the words.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you always this chatty?”

“Mmm, mostly. So, what would you like me to do to you now?”

“Anything. Just—do it. And quickly before I fall asleep again.”

The exasperation in my tone doesn’t seem to faze him, but he clearly doesn’t take too kindly to the words. “Do I need to teach you some good bedroom manners? Miss Fischer? I could. I really could, and it would be such a pleasure…though perhaps not for you.”