Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) (5 page)

His face inches from her naked pussy, he tenderly took hold of her labia and spread them wider, then glanced up at her with a demanding glare so stern it was nearly feral. “Don’t you dare come.”

Then he licked her.

Her hips leapt and he growled. In pleasure or reprimand, she didn’t know. She held still, panting out the tension, and he licked her again, slowly, gently. And again.

It was unbearable.

Tension crawled up her calves to her straining thighs, her nipples swelling against the clamps. Her clit strained against the alligator clip, feeling like it might burst with each lick and nibble, with each tender kiss. His tongue did wicked things to her and she could not resist.

“Miguel,” she gritted out, as if unclenching her throat would break the thread of will that barely kept the orgasm in check.

“Yes, dear?” He paused and looked up at her, like a politely inquiring husband. She wanted to smack him. She needed to come. She told him so.

He gave her a little shrug, all innocence, then stretched her wider. “Do what you need to do.” His mouth clamped on her then, fierce and hot, his teeth scraping the clip away so that her clit exploded.

She shattered with it, his head clamped between her thighs, while she sobbed out her release and relief. His mouth never stopped working her, however, and she’d barely started descending from the crest when she felt the tension begin to rebuild.

“Oh no,” she moaned, pushing weakly at his head, still buried between her shaking thighs. He looked up at her, sliding his hands down to her knees, spreading her wide again.

“Oh yes, Roo. Over and over. Mark my words.” He took out the remote, thumbed it to the highest setting and sent it skittering across the floor. She convulsed under his hands. “Hold still. Don’t make me tie you up.”

And he resumed the gentle, insistent stimulation of her feverish tissues.

She came twice more that way, with his diabolical lips and tongue driving her to madness and beyond. She lost all track of time, all coherent thought. Riding the rolling waves of ecstasy, she became a pliant vessel of sheer pleasure.

When he lifted her into his arms and carried her, naked and wet into the warm Caribbean evening, her body still thrumming with arousal that seemed to only increase with each orgasm, she barely noticed the change in position. Then he bent her over the balustrade, so she looked out at the moonlit ocean.

Miguel pressed into her back and she registered that he was naked now, too. He filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her clamped and throbbing nipples. She cried out his name, begging him for something she could no longer put words to.

“Good,” he murmured. “Exactly like that, only louder.”

He pulled back and she heard the crinkle of condom foil. She waited, legs spread and thighs taut in the high heels, gripping the stone rail. His fingers slipped into her and she moaned, pushing back so the bullet slipped out. Her vaginal walls pulsed, reaching for its now familiar weight, then welcomed in his cock, huge and hard, filling her in a way the toy never could. She cried out his name and Miguel slammed into her, hard hands on her breasts, breath hot on her neck.

He pumped in and out of her and she urged him on, harder, faster. He pinched her clamped nipples and she begged for more, some unhinged, unraveled version of herself who could not be sated.

When the climax took her, it took her down hard. Blackness rimmed the edges of her vision and she barely registered Miguel’s ecstatic shout of triumph as he followed her up and crashing over into oblivion. She did know, however, when he arched her back to take her mouth with his, in a deep quenching kiss.

December 28
Fourth Day of Christmas
Four Calling Birds

When she awoke in the strange bed, floor-to-ceiling windows open to an endless ocean view, she had no idea where she was.

Then it all flooded back with startling clarity. She groaned and stretched, feeling the ache in every crevice from the best sex she’d had in her life. Miguel padded into the room, wearing nothing but white silk pajama bottoms. And a smile. A sexy, warm and sated smile that spoke of an amazing evening.

“Sleeping beauty awakes.” He leaned over to give her a lingering kiss, then handed her a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar, yes?”

She scooted up and sipped. Sighed. “Oh yes.”

“How do you feel this morning?”

“Ravished.”

“And ravishing.” He kissed her again. “Bathroom is through there. Take your time. I’m having breakfast outside. We’re alone, so you don’t need to wear anything.”

“You’re wearing something.”

“Yes, but you look prettier naked than I do.”

“I could argue with that.”

“Never argue with a lawyer.” He flashed her a charming smile and left her to her privacy.

In truth, she had little choice. Her bikini was missing and there was no robe to put on. Not even the top to those pajamas Miguel had been wearing, which defied logic. So, freshly showered and sunscreened, she walked barefoot and bare naked out to the rooftop deck.

At least she would get an all-over tan.

Four calling birds, today. She really wondered what that would be. Miguel put down his paper when she sat down and passed her a plate of chocolate croissants. “Where’s my bikini?” she asked.

“Getting cleaned. I thought you wouldn’t need it today.”

She raised her eyebrows. “But I can’t go without my turtledoves.”

He gave her a speculative look. “Day four shall be different. We’ll forgo the gifts of the first three days and concentrate on something else.”

The chocolate croissant was sheer bliss, buttery, flaky, piercing sweet chocolate. “Like what?”

“Unless you are bored, I thought we’d stay here today. Swim, sun, eat, make love. I want to saturate myself with your company.”

“Sounds marvelous. But what about the four calling birds?”

“We’ll do that, too.”

“Do I get to know?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, laced his fingers together and propped his chin on them. “You came four times last night—without my permission.”

She nearly choked on the croissant. “You made me!”

He smiled, tremendously pleased. “This is true. But I also told you not to. It’s gratifying that my powers of persuasion convinced you otherwise, especially when you knew what the punishment would be.”

The vinyl seat grew slick under her naked bottom. “You’re not really going to...spank me? Are you?”

“Yes. Four times, to be exact. Evenly spaced throughout the day. Don’t look so stricken. You’ll enjoy it far more than you think.”

“When will they happen?”

“After breakfast—so, soon. Then after lunch. Again late afternoon—maybe for sunset. Then before bed.”

“Oh.” She picked at her croissant, both anxious and so aroused already she almost couldn’t sit still. Could she really go through with this? Yes, because she had to. She’d signed up.

“You can back out of this, Roo.” He told her softly. “Don’t agree to something you don’t truly want to experience.”

She held up a hand to stop him. “No—don’t give me an out. I want you to make me do this. To do all these things I wouldn’t dare do on my own.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers, eyes bright with excitement. “It’s like you were made for me. But if we do this, you need a safe word.”

“I don’t want—”

“I know you feel you want to be made to do this, but I need to know that you’re okay. The games we’ve played have been mild so far. If I’m going to really push you, then you need a way to stop it, just in case it gets to be too much.”

That made sense. “What word?”

“It’s better if it’s something unusual—not a part of daily conversation.”

“Kanga.”

He laughed. “Apt indeed. Now finish your breakfast. I’m itching to feel your ass heat under my hand. As compensation, you have free rein to come as often as you wish today.”

“With frequent spankings, I doubt that will happen,” she grumbled.

“You will be surprised, Roo.”

* * *

She could hardly eat after that, especially with his smoking stare across the table. Her heart thudded, seeming to climb into her throat. Finally she drank down the dregs of her coffee. “Let’s get this over with,” she declared.

His eyes gleamed, but he didn’t comment, simply gestured inside. He followed her in and she knew he watched her naked bottom with anticipation.

“Where?”

Miguel sat on the white couch. “Lay across my lap, arms stretched above your head to grasp the edge of the cushion.”

She followed his direction, aware of the fine trembling in her muscles. He adjusted her hips so they were held high by one lean thigh. His large hand smoothed her bottom then urged her thighs apart.

“This will be the easiest position for you. The most relaxed and comforting. You are able to hide your face and cry into the cushion. The most basic rule is not to fight me. If you move your hands or feet to stop me, I will tie them. Otherwise, you should know I’ll spank you as long as I want to—no matter how much you cry.”

She turned her face. “I won’t cry.”

“Ah,
querida
.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yes, you will. And that’s all right.” The hand on her bottom delved between her thighs, finding her slick and hot. “Just like it’s all right to be aroused by this.”

She buried her face in the couch cushions, unable to stop herself from moving with his hand. “I don’t know why I am.”

“I do. Now, lie still like a good girl.”

He placed a firm hand between her shoulder blades and removed the one from between her slick thighs. She braced herself, waiting, feeling so oddly young draped across her lover’s lap. The first smack startled her. The second stung, fierce and shocking. It hurt more than she’d thought. The next few came rapid fire, shattering her composure. She found herself squirming, trying to get away from the slaps that fell one after another, burning more. Kicking her feet against the couch, she cried out into the cushion, gripping the edge tight, fighting not to put her hands back to stop him.

At each moment, she thought he might stop, but he didn’t. The pain and shock built until she broke, sobbing into the pillow, her hips rising and falling with each stinging blow. The burn built into more rising tension. She throbbed with it, crying it out, pleading incoherently.

Then his hand was between her thighs again and she came, pumping against it. She was still coming when he pulled her into his lap, hand still deep inside her. He kissed her, deeply and she returned the kiss with a kind of innocent vulnerability she hadn’t felt since she was a girl.

Comfort blazed into desire and she pulled the pajama bottoms off his narrow hips, bending over to take his hard cock in her mouth, wanting to taste all of him. He urged her up. “Condoms—on the table.”

She found the pile and ripped open the package, rolling the condom over him with haste and then straddling and sinking onto him. The sheer pleasure of being filled and stretched by him overwhelmed her. He dug his hands into her tender bottom and kissed the tears from her face, muttering endearments in Spanish. Holding his face in her hands, she kissed him as she rode, full of inexplicable emotion. Riding their climaxes to glory.

* * *

After that, they took a swim. She laughed when he suggested it, then headed into the bathroom to compose herself and clean up. Surprisingly, her rear end looked only a little pink—nothing to show for how much it had turned her inside-out. She felt ragged and torn open, like she wore new skin. Nothing had ever affected her like that.

And she had three more to go.

So it turned out that swimming in the cool water with her laughing lover was just the thing to restore a sense of peace. They wrestled in the water, playing like otters. Then they sunbathed in the lounge chairs and Miguel slathered her with sunscreen, meticulously coating every crevice, making her feel worshipped and cherished.

She fell asleep in the warm sun, waking only when Miguel traced a gentle hand down her arm, to tell her lunch was served. Her languid mood dissipated as her sun-soaked brain caught up to the significance. Another spanking would follow lunch. Miguel caressed her cheek and kissed her forehead.

“Remember how good it felt after.” And he helped her up from the lounge chair to sit at the umbrella table.

She ate slowly this time, savoring the rice and seafood dish. They drank icy cold white wine, though Miguel said they shouldn’t have too much, given their planned activities. He said she should take some time to digest, too. Perhaps a light swim, as the next position would be more strenuous.

Taking his advice, she did laps in the pool, though really it was stalling. The emotional charge built up, a kind of excited dread that nevertheless translated to arousal, as all of this did. From brief glimpses of Miguel’s activities, it appeared he had assembled some things for the next session.

More strenuous, he’d said.

As before, the anticipation seemed nearly worse than getting to it. Had he done that on purpose, told her the schedule so she’d think about it? All part of his cornering of her.

“It’s time, Roo.” Miguel stood at the edge of the pool wearing an old pair of khaki shorts. She happened to know he wore nothing beneath. He hadn’t shaved today, so he looked ever more wild—like someone she’d expect to find wielding a machete in the jungle. A guerilla who captured white women, tied them up and ravished them. The fact that he held a length of rope in his hand only intensified the effect. He radiated male sexuality, the thrust of his cock against the worn shorts showing his excitement at the thought of what he was about to do to her. He held out a preemptory hand. “Out of the pool. Now.”

The demand thrilled her. If she ran, would he chase her down? Tackle her and truss her up? She’d never really gotten the whole forced-seduction fantasy thing, but now...oh yes. She climbed the steps, water sheeting off her naked body, acting more reluctant than she felt. His eyes glittered and he took her wrist roughly, spinning her and tightly tying her wrists together. She struggled and his hand smacked her on the ass, stinging.

“Behave,” he snarled. Then he knelt and lashed her ankles together.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered, getting into the game. The safe-word thing made sense now. She could pretend to struggle and protest and he would know she didn’t mean it unless she said that silly, out-of-context word. It was liberating to enact the forbidden fantasy and yet be safe. “Please, sir, I’ll do anything!”

“Yes, you will.” He bit her on the neck and squeezed one breast hard, the other hand pushing roughly between her closed thighs, penetrating her slick heat. She cried out in protest, knowing that he was making sure she was enjoying herself. “In fact, you can prove your willingness to me. Kneel down.”

He steadied her while she knelt on the edge of the pool, then unzipped his shorts and held his cock for her. “Please me and perhaps things won’t go badly for you.”

Taking him in her mouth, she used every trick she knew, though not being able to use her hands made it more difficult. It also added to the sense of being helplessly out of control. The hot sun beat down, drying her skin, but she focused entirely on his cock in her mouth, on pleasing her captor.

Relaxing her throat, she swallowed him in as far as she could, driving him hard and fast. Miguel threw back his head, hands clenched, the veins standing out on his muscular forearms. With a sense of power, she pushed him over the edge, drinking in his hoarse shout of pleasure as he bucked in her mouth.

She held him there while he softened, coming back to himself.

“Enough.” He wrapped a fist in her hair to pull her off him. He kept his face creased in mean, aggressive lines, but he breathed heavily, clearly affected. Tucking his gleaming cock away, he rebuttoned his shorts. “You please me well enough to keep you for my own. But you need a bit of discipline to teach you your place.”

He tied another length of rope around her neck in a loose collar, leaving a length free for a leash. Then he pulled a knife from his belt sheath and cut the ties on her wrists and ankles. “Hands and knees, pet.”

She crawled along the poolside as he tugged lightly on the leash. Her breasts hung down heavy and the sensation of being his captive pet blew her mind. Though it was only a game, the surpassing urge to please him suffused her body like oxygen. She thought if he touched her again, she might climax immediately.

Leading her to the end of one of the lounge chairs, he brusquely ordered her to lie on it with her upper body, knees on the smooth Caribbean-blue pool tiles. With more rope, he tied her wrists to the arms of the chair and her knees to its feet. The bonds weren’t tight, giving her room to wriggle, which he seemed to like.

“Struggle all you like, pet. You will never escape me. Soon you will beg for my discipline...and my cock.” A stinging blow, more painful than any before, shocked the breath from her body. Before she could catch it again, another slap landed. This wasn’t his hand, but something harder. She began struggling against her bonds, frantically keening, while he spanked her again and again.

This was so much better than trying to keep still on her own.

She cried out to him, begging and pleading, a catharsis of tension that climaxed with him tossing aside the paddle in a clatter and plunging into her, shouting out that she belonged to him. His fingers dug into her hips while she urged him to fuck her. Fuck her harder. Fuck her forever.

Their voices twined into a duet of passion, crying out to the clear blue sky and the sun, hanging like an orb of gold in the center.

* * *

As wrung out as she felt this time, Miguel lay collapsed over her back, a hot, slick weight. She made a noise of protest when he withdrew from her and he murmured shushing sounds, stroking her back. He cut the ropes, including the one around her neck, and helped her to lie on her stomach on the lounge.