Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“We’re debriefing.”
“Debriefing?” Sounds official, very military, but I have no idea what that means.
“Mmm hmm. First I’m going to check you for injuries,” he rumbles.“Then I’m going to punish you for putting yourself in danger.”
“Excuse me?” Unfortunately, my words come out quavery and excited rather than assertive.
He slides down my skirt, unwrapping me like a present. My clothing falls to the floor, and Rafe goes still as a hunter sighting a deer, taking me in.
I lick my lips. I didn’t think Rafe would ever see my garter belt and stockings, but that didn't stop me from fantasizing something like this moment when I put them on this morning.
“Fate help me,” he murmurs as he strokes his warm palms up my thighs. It’s an odd turn of phrase, but Rafe is a singular man. “Did you wear this for me?” His hand skims up my leg.
“No,” I shoot back, albeit a little breathlessly. “I wear lingerie like this all the time.” It’s true. My mémère believed a woman would be more confident if she wore silk and satin and lace and nice things against her skin. A secret luxury for her and only her–and maybe a partner if she so chose. And so a portion of my paycheck has always gone to making sure I have beautiful bras and camisoles and panties and, yes, even garter belts.
“You mean to tell me you wear stuff like this under your clothes all this time?” Rafe looks almost angry. Or is he frustrated?
“Of course,” I give a little shrug and lean back a little to show off my body. The garter belt’s straps skim down my legs to clip to silk stockings. The ensemble frames my pussy perfectly.
Rafe growls a little as he explores me. His touch is even lighter than I imagined it would be, his hands rough but so gentle.
I bite my lip. I lied. I don't always wear garter belts. When I put it on this morning, I imagined Rafe holding my waist just as he is now.
He kneels in front of me, his face right where I need him, so I find any protests I might have produced melt away like snowflakes on warm skin. He presses a kiss against the front of my panties, right at the apex of my slit.
I catch the back of his head and hold him there. He opens his mouth, and I squirm against the sensation of his hot breath through the thin fabric. He nips my nether lips through the panties, and I moan.
“You disobeyed me, princess.” His voice is seductive, not bossy. His teeth nip my inner thigh, and I yelp. Then his tongue swirls over the same spot he bit, and it feels amazing. “Now you’re going to find out what it’s like to be punished by me.”
“Oh yeah?” I say because this is what we do. We spar. Back and forth in our verbal tennis match. “What is it like?” I’m genuinely curious. Rafe punishing me? It shouldn’t be hot, but my insides curl.
He starts to stand. I try to push his shoulders back down, but it’s no use. The guy is like a truck. That smile is on his face again, which thrills me more than anything. He’s like a different person when he smiles—even more devastatingly handsome but also youthful and open.
“I should turn you over my knee.” His big hands glide over my skin to my bottom, and squeeze. Hard.
“So why don't you?” I challenge. I try to sound coy, but my voice comes out eager. Breathy.
He scoops under my knees and carries me to the bed where he lowers me to my feet and spins me around.
A strangled giggle comes out of my mouth as he pushes my torso down over the bed and slaps my ass.
I jerk at the shock of contact, but he immediately massages the sting away. “Mmm.”
Maybe this was what I was resisting about Rafe being the boss of me. This sexual dominance that leaves me shivery and soft.
Surrendered.
Maybe I knew on some level how much I’d love it because I want it so badly now it terrifies me. I don’t like to be needy with anyone. Especially not a guy like Rafe.
He slaps my ass again, a crisp, business-like smack that makes me cream my panties. After he rubs away the sting, he slips his fingers into the waistband of my panties and jerks outward, ripping them. “I’ll replace these.” He tosses the ruined panties away.
“Oh God,” I murmur. Why is that so hot?
His hand rests on the back of my leg, and I gasp when he snaps one of the garter belt straps. “You can call me Sarge.”
I laugh because it’s too late to take offense to any of his high-handedness. This is something else now.
This is sex, pure and simple. And I love the way he plays the game.