"Harder," she said. "Please."
He slapped her harder and felt her sigh. She lifted and waited for the
next blow. Soon she was whimpering and breathing harder, crying out
when he struck. As he spanked her, the cries became more intense. He
began to want them; he felt as though they were his--or theirs. When
she collapsed, weeping, he stopped and lifted her from his knees. He
stood and carried her to the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and lay
next to her, caressing her slowly.
Her face became calm. "So good to me," she said without opening her
eyes. He took off his clothes and hovered over her. Her mouth was
partly open, expectant. He couldn't think any more. He plunged down and
into her. She quivered and took him, let him fuck her as hard as he
wanted, arched under his bite, and held him while he made her his.
"Are you all right?" Oliver asked, ten minutes later.
"Does the Pope wear funny hats?"
"Suzanne?"
She rolled against him, her breasts soft on his upper arm. "Yes?"
"God, Suzanne. That was different." She put her hand on his chest and
rubbed slow circles, the way she'd done when he'd had a headache. "I've
been on the receiving end--a while back.
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