I chance a peek at him in the mirror, and his eyes blaze as they meet mine. His nostrils are flared, and the muscles in his arms are rigid. He stares into me as he pulls the brush through my locks, and I can’t help but feel he’s trying to tell me something with that look. No, not tell… ask. Maybe it’s just my hopeful imagination, but it’s as if I can hear that look pleading for permission. To do what, I don’t know, but I answer it with a tiny nod, just in case I’m imagining things.
Clearly, I’m not, because the moment he sees that I granted him permission, his body goes lax for a split second before he takes the half a step forward and wraps his left arm around me, pulling me flush against his giant frame. I sigh in relief at the contact, and a shiver runs through me as he strokes the brush’s bristles down my arm.
His arm bands around my ribs, pushing my breasts even higher in the black bra, and I watch his eyes flare in the mirror as he watches them move with each of my heavy breaths. He shifts to the left slightly, and the flesh he bares of my backside prickles with goose bumps. The bristles are dragged up over my right shoulder then halfway down my back before they stop, and I see his questioning look once more.
I’m not dense. I know Z is into some kinky shit. I’ve overheard Wes picking on him for it. But he didn’t do anything crazy the first time we made love, and he hasn’t tried anything since. So I don’t know exactly what he’s wanting to do to me with my black plastic paddle brush, but I do know I trust him with my life and that he’d never hurt me.
So again, I give him the little nod he’s obviously waiting for.
Moving his left hand upward, he tilts my head to the right, moves my hair out of the way, and buries his face in my neck as he breathes me in, making me shiver in delight as his beard scrapes my sensitive skin there as the bristles of my brush do the same, going lower, and lower still, until he circles my exposed ass cheek. Just as he nips my neck between his perfect white teeth, I squeak and jump as he flips the brush around and swats my butt with the backside.
He glances in the mirror to see my reaction, and all he must see there is my flushed cheeks and the need in my eyes, because as he turns into my neck again, he strikes my ass once more, a little harder this time. I gasp at the sting, but as the prickly, hot sensation spreads up my spine and down my legs, I moan, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls.
“You like that, kitten?” he growls, and the vibration of his voice just adds to the already palpable tension surrounding us.
My whimper and frantic nod isn’t enough. He rumbles, “I need your words, Kayan. I need you to tell me you’re okay with this, and promise me you’ll speak up if you don’t like something.” He circles the right globe of my ass with the brush as he waits for my response, driving my need even higher.
“I promise, Z. Plea—” I cut myself off. He didn’t say he wanted me to beg, just that he wanted my promise. I’ve read enough dirty books and seen all the Fifty Shades movies enough to know not to do more or less than what a Dom specifically asks for, unless you want to be left high and dry, without an orgasm in sight.
But Z must not follow these rules, because he asks, “Please what, kitten? Tell me what you want.”
I meet his eyes, not in the mirror, but by actually turning my head to look him in his gorgeous, chocolate orbs. “You, Z. All of you. I want you to do to me everything you desire. No holding back, worried I won’t like what you do. Because I can guarantee, if you’re the one doing it to me, I’m gonna like it. Like… really, really like it.”
He closes his eyes and groans, and I feel the stinging swat of the brush against my ass cheek one last time before he tosses it in the sink and picks me up, carrying me to my bed.
Z wastes no time. He grasps my thong and tears it down my legs, diving forward and burying his face between my legs. I cry out in shock at the sensation that’s just this side of too much as he sucks my clit between his lips, and he pulls back, looking up at me. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, it’s just… I’m super sensitive,” I confess, my cheeks flaming.