He slapped her rump, hard, jarring her, and she squeaked. “A little one, for starters.”
Another slap landed, then he grabbed her hair and levered back her head, and kissed her, grinding his mouth on hers, until she was sure she was lacking air judging by how severely she panted.
He smacked her again, spanking her, and the pain altered, transformed, the fire shifting into her pussy. Another hard slam of his hand spiked more pain. Through it all, the hold on her hair and his milder caresses of her skin, the casual brush of his fingers along her slit, those kept her spinning. Desire and pain. A princess should not like this.
Should not.
Another spank, another, and she found she was both squeaking and gasping, with a low moan escaping… Not her.
“Good girl.” More words were spoken but she was busy trying to be unaffected and failing. That this man dared to—
Whack! She yelped and shut her eyes, assimilating for the umpteenth time that strange aftereffect.
“Mine. This ass is mine. Last one.” A final smack jolted her flesh, buzzed her nerve endings. It was worth lying still for. She almost wanted more.
She definitely wanted his hands on her, his fingers in her. His teeth.
Maybe if she squirmed?
But not here.
“Up.” He stood, set her on unsteady feet, helped her dress.
The last she saw of the banquet audience was a blur of faces, for she could not look at them, nor meet their eyes. Not after that.
Her butt was stinging as they exited. The dress whispered on her sore flesh, reminding her of the spanking, and he held her wrist in the circle of his hand as if he truly possessed her.
“You are very quiet, princess.”
She side-eyed him, said nothing. The walk was surreal, detached, as if she were in a fantasy world.
Her panties were back on the banquet table, she realized, aghast. Minus them and knowing she was naked underneath, and with all that manhandling that had somehow made her exquisitely sensitive… between her legs throbbed. Every step she took with John holding her wrist made her wish for him to do something more to her, anything, anything sexual.
More, please. Thoughts did not help.
But she could not ask. That would be absolutely wrong.
At the wagon, John helped her in and then followed. “I’ll put this rolled blanket in the middle. Go to sleep. In the morning I will check your ass for bruises.”
That was it? Stunned she watched him roll over. Within a few minutes, he was breathing like one who has slipped into sleep. She nearly pinched him but instead she lay down on her side and stared at the back of his head. Too dark in here to see much detail. The pillows smelled of horses. And she dearly wanted to put her hand on herself and make herself orgasm.
No.
No. He might wake and catch her in the middle of touching herself. For some strange reason, that terrified her. She shut her eyes, and fell asleep dreaming of John looking at her butt and tsking as he smoothed his hand lower…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
woke to feel the sheets slipping from her body, going a long way down, until a breeze riffled across her skin. Her face was stuffed into her pillow. She turned her head, popped open one eye and saw bleary brightness.
Morning then.
“Good morning,” John sang, but soft and low, as if he feared waking her, but she was awake, and he was…
Po swallowed, shut her eye. He was pulling down her underwear, the ones she’d dressed in late last night, after she’d walked back here nude and craving him.
“What are you doing?” she edged out through a constricting throat. As if she didn’t know.
“Checking your pretty ass for bruises.” He sighed and laid his large hand on one cheek, then he lifted his palm and trailed fingers across her skin, livening her, creating flurries of gorgeous feathery bliss.
She wriggled, just the smallest amount, sure he would see but unable to stop—it pressed her clit against the bedding, and for the first time she was glad of the firmness of the mattress.
“There are some small ones,” he added matter-of-factly. “Beautiful.”
She wasn’t sure if that compliment was for her ass or the bruises but didn’t care. Knowing he stared at her down there was doing all the right and wrong things to her.
Her legs were together so he wouldn’t see much. What if she opened them a smidgen? That would be obscene.
Sex. She hadn’t really done it.
She needed to. And lacked the right language. A princess did not ask a stranger to fuck her, and John was still that in many ways.
To fuck. She inhaled and held the breath in for a long while, as she rolled that word around in her mind. Her body felt alive.
If only he would do something without her asking. She did not protest. Was that not enough?
His fingers trailed to the other side of her butt, shifting her night shift higher, exposing her more. He drew a line down the divide of her ass, only to stop before delving toward her sex.
Po let out a small noise of exasperation.
He laughed, quietly. “Want something, girl?”
Girl. She blinked against her pillow.
“You want something, you have to say it. Just once, and I will take it from there. Flowers.” He pinched her ass, moved on and pinched again, travelling closer to her intimate place. “A walk in the rain.” Pinch.
She groaned into the pillow and did, actually, part her legs, just a little, enough that he must see what she did. Why could he not just do it?!
