Waiting for Him Read Online Free PDF Page B

non-studded side to give her a flat, rigid slap to her arse cheek. About to protest, Shara was stunned into silence as, on the upswing, he flipped the paddle around then swung it down again, stud side on skin. She held back a scream through fear he’d think she was crying out from the pain being too harsh, and dug her top teeth into her lower lip. She gave in to the experience, seeing him repeat the motions—flat side, stud side, flat side—knowing he would continue now, his hair swinging along with his arm, his eyes flickering to check her face for signs of any distress.
    It hurt. Pain unlike any other streaked from the landing sites and echoed throughout her body. Homed in on her soul and squeezed, twisting and ripping, urging her to let go, to admit that it was too much. But, God, it was more than she’d imagined. Better. Fulfilling. The vibrations created were horrendous yet beautiful, the splashes of pure hot stinging a tortured delight. She struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to see what he was doing yet wishing she could just drift away. There she was, one foot outside that outer circle, the other in. It would only take a second to float to the place where she could hover above herself, watching, seeing, but not feeling the pain as starkly as it was now. He continued slapping, his movements a blur, his breathing ragged, his grunts loud, and at last the thrumming in her clit began. With each strike her cunt buzzed, and she pressed herself to the table, gyrating so her hard nipples gained some friction. She licked her lips, a scream flowing between them soon after, and then her knees gave way.
    She sank to the floor as she’d imagined she would. John tossed the paddle aside and went down on his knees beside her, cradling her to him and murmuring that she would be all right.
    “I’ve got you, pet. I’ve got you…”
    The heels of her feet grazed the tender flesh of her arse, producing a fresh zing of pleasure in her clit. She rested her brow on his shoulder, shifting so she straddled him. Quickly, she unpopped the button of his trousers then drew down his zip, impatient to release his cock. It jutted out, a beckoning temptation she wanted to lick, to suck into her mouth until the head bumped the back of her throat, but her cunt was too needy—she was too needy. Being filled was uppermost on her mind. She positioned him at her entrance, gripping his shoulders, then lifted her head.
    As she lowered onto him, the burn of his girth stretching her wet and greedy hole, her gaze fixed on his eyes, she whispered, “ Renoncer …”
    He didn’t respond with anything except crushing her to him and pressing his mouth to hers, giving her a spine-tingling, toe-curling kiss where he seemed to infuse her with his love. Tendrils of it spiralled in search of her soul, her heart, and touched her there with tender, wonderful fingers. Liberation sped through her veins, leached out of her body and onto the surface of her skin, spreading everywhere to envelop her in the safety freedom provided. She held back a sob as they kissed, raising one hand to grip his long hair and fist it. She started a frantic up-and-down rhythm, the width of him growing, the stretch of her cunt exquisite. Each time she lowered and her sore arse cheek met with the material of his trousers, it reminded her of what she had discovered.
    “I understand, pet. Believe me, I understand.”
    John broke their kiss and Shara leant back to look into his lust-darkened eyes.
    He stared at her for a moment, blinking several times. “Good girl,” he whispered, the words permeated with a breathy quality, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak any louder. Glancing down, he murmured, “Look at that, pet. Look at the way your cunt lips move. Look at that wet ring of flesh around my cock.”
    She did as he’d instructed, what he’d said encouraging a flourish of desire to flood her system. The sight of him inside her uncoiled the built-up excitement in her