“Being a good girl is overrated.”
“Guess I’ll have to teach you some manners,” he says softly, so softly I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself. “Until you learn to behave properly. Not bend over and flash your pussy at the first person to walk through the door.” He eases my panties down to the lower curve of my ass.
I can’t quite draw in a full breath. This is both a game and intensely serious. If I were smart, I’d bend for him, would promise to be a good girl and obedient. The thought sends a bolt of heat through me, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling when I imagine pushing back. Play the brat, which doesn’t feel much like playing at all. I lick my lips. “If someone else walked through that door, they’d already have their tongue in my pussy.”
He tsks. “You’re just proving my point.” Devan digs his thumbs into the soft flesh where my ass meets my thighs and spreads me. I don’t know how much he can see in the low light, but I feel exposed when the cold air touches my center.
Abruptly, he releases me and steps back. Dazed, I watch him in the reflection as he strides to the empty chair and sinks onto it. “Come here, birthday girl.”
I slowly straighten. My brain is buzzing so hard, it’s a wonder I’m able to move at all. After a brief debate, I pull my panties back into place. He’s teasing me, and while I can appreciate a good edging should it come to that, it’s not in my nature to make things the least bit easy.
I put a little swing in my step as I cross to him. God, the way this man watches me. He drinks in the sight of me like I’m the best kind of scotch, expensive and meant to savor.
I don’t want to be savored.
I want to be fucking railed.
Devan holds out a hand, a clear command. I reluctantly set mine in his. I barely have a chance to register his grip tightening when he yanks me forward to sprawl face-down across his lap. I shriek and flail, but he plants one large hand across the small of my back, easily pinning me in place.
“What the fuck?”
“Exactly, Hazel. What the fuck?” He palms my ass again. Apparently, Devan is an ass man. Either that, or he’s just touching the part of me most easily accessible. I honestly can’t be certain of anything when it comes to him. He grips the back of my panties and pulls them back to the exact spot they were earlier. “I didn’t give you permission to cover up again.”
“Fuck off.” I wiggle, mostly to test him, and his thighs tense beneath me, shifting so that I’m high-centered and even more helpless than before.
“Good girls get rewards. Do you know what bad girls get?”
I shiver, my instinct to fight battling with my desire for whatever comes next. “What?”
“Birthday spankings.” He brings his hand down on my bare ass before I can brace for it.
I shriek and flail harder. Rationally, I’m more than aware that he’s not spanking me that hard. I had a girlfriend who was really into spanking and she could leave me bruised for days. Devan is nowhere near that level of impact. Yet.
None of that matters, though. “Stop.”
“Stop doesn’t mean stop. Red means stop.” He doesn’t spank me again, though. I belatedly realize that he’s giving me time to react. “Do you want to use red, Hazel?”
Of course not. The struggle is as much part of this game as anything. Humiliation lashes me. I don’t want to admit that I want it. I want to fight it and tell him no and have him overpower me. This is just another layer of the game, though. A game that he’s as invested in as I am. The evidence of his desire is there, pressed up against my stomach.
I drag in a rough breath. “No, you absolute asshole. I don’t want to use red. Or yellow.”
“Mmmm.” He waits a beat more. Apparently satisfied, Devan says, “You’re twenty-five tonight. That was one. Can you handle twenty-four more?”
Jesus. “Only one way to find out.”
“You’ll keep count.” His hand descends again. “Forget your place and we start over.”
This time, I don’t shriek. I just grind out, “Two.”
And so we go. He alternates the strength and placement of each contact, until my entire ass and upper thighs feel like they’re on fire. Until tears run down my face and I’m sobbing out each number. Until my pussy is throbbing with every beat of my heart.
“Twenty-five!”
Devan doesn’t hesitate. He plunges a single finger into me. “What a little slut,” he murmurs. “Punishments are meant to be endured, not enjoyed.”
“Am I being punished for turning twenty-five?” I rasp.
“Yes.” He wedges another blunt finger into me. He’s just as big here as he is everywhere else and the fit is tight. “You turning twenty-five means I have no claim to you anymore.”
I can’t move, can’t spread my legs because of my panties keeping them trapped together, can’t see through the fall of my hair, can’t do more than take what he’s giving me. “You never did anything with the claim you had on me before now.”
Devan twists his wrist and then he’s stroking the tips of his fingers against my G-spot. I whimper, the pain radiating from my ass only making me hotter, wetter. “What should I have done, Hazel?” His voice is low, serious. “Should I have ripped off that bikini when you were nineteen and licked your pussy until you came all over my face? Should I have fucked you in the backseat last year? Fucked you every year?”
“Yes,” I moan. “That’s what I wanted. All I wanted.” No matter what else is true, this chemistry between us isn’t a new thing. “Isn’t
