N is for... (Checklist Book 14) by L DuBois (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

She stepped wide, now in a standard and undeniably submissive posture—arms up and out of the way, feet wide apart.

“On second thought, I’m going to use all three words, depending on my mood. Sometimes I’ll be kind, and you’ll be my pet. When you’re writhing and desperate for me to fuck you, you’ll be my needy little slut.”

He added the faintest hint of a sneer to the words, and carefully watched her expression. It didn’t change. She didn’t flinch or jerk.

“And when you’re so submissive that you’ll do anything I ask, let me do anything I want to your body…then I’ll call you ‘whore’.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hips rocking.

“Talk to me. What are you thinking, pet?”

“I’m thinking I shouldn’t be turned on by this.”

“But you are.”

She nodded, though he hadn’t actually asked a question.

“It should freak me out even more to hear you say those words, use them, after we talked.” Her gaze, which had been focused on his chest, rose to meet his. “But I’m not. I even…I want it.”

“Want to be my pet? My slut?” He drew designs on her inner thighs with the tip of one finger and watched her leg muscles clench in reaction.

“I don’t have a degradation kink.” Her voice was almost pleading.

“No, I don’t think you do. But I think you have let fear limit your play, because you didn’t feel safe.”

“I trust and respect the men I’ve scened wi—”

Her words cut off on a gasp as he cupped her pussy. Using his middle finger he pressed the satin between her labia. The wet fabric molded to the inside of her sweet cleft. He stroked that same finger over the bump of her clit and her whole body jerked in response.

He ran his nail over her clit, as if he were scratching it, knowing that the fabric would protect her enough to keep the sensation from veering too far into the pain section of that particular gauge.

“Holy fuckidy shit,” she whimpered, thighs twitching.

His lips quirked with amusement and pleasure. Pleasure that in this moment she was still the woman who’d boldly referred to the checklist game as “bat-shit” crazy. He wanted it all from her. Wanted the sass coupled with submission.

He scratched her clit again, and her whole body jerked. She dropped her hands, grabbing his shoulders to keep herself up.

When he did it a third time she whimpered and started to close her legs.

“No, slut.” He punctuated the reprimand with a vicious pinch to her nipple.

She sucked in air between her teeth, then let it out as a low, aroused moan.

“Arms up. Show off your tits.”

Eyes half closed, she obeyed. He ran his thumbs over the pale flesh on the underside of each breast.

“I like your arms up, elbows bent, because it lifts your breasts.” His own patience was nearing a breaking point, so he leaned in and licked each nipple, wetting the skin. “Right now you’re presenting your tits to me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re my needy slut, aren’t you?”

She whimpered, her eyes opening enough that she could look down at him.

“You like showing off your lovely breasts. Like making it easy for me to pinch and hurt them.”

She took a deep, bracing breath. “Yes, Sir.”

“And why do you like that?”

“Don’t make me say it…”

He slapped her tits, spanking them right on the nipple. Four strikes on each breast, alternating. She cried out and hunched her shoulders a little, but her hips rolled forward and back in a needy undulation.

“Why do you like it when I pinch your nipples and slap your breasts?”

There was no right answer, only her answer. What her answer was would tell him where he needed to take the scene next.

“I like it because I’m your slut.”

There was a slight stress on the word ‘your’. He gave himself a minute to process that, quickly running through potential next moves, before cupping her tits and massaging them.

“That’s right. You’re my slut.”

It was that possessive phrasing, coupled with a cool, accepting tone, that had turned a word she’d run from before into one that visibly aroused her.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit down so hard that her skin turned pale. She was looking for more stimulus.

He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her forward. She shuffled her feet, managing to maintain her balance. His knees were now between her thighs, her tight nipples inches from his face. His cock was diamond-hard in his pants.

She wasn’t the only one affected by the possessive phrase. Every dominant urge in his body roared in triumph. She was his. This complex, complicated woman who was scared but courageous, hated her own needs but indulged in them with gusto.

Daniel buried his face between her breasts, taking a deep breath. Her skin smelled like lotion, talcum powder, and her own unique scent.

Turning his head to the side, he nipped her breast, pinching skin between his teeth. That felt good, satisfied a primal need to both give her pain and mark her.

He leaned back, cupped her left breast, and then bit the upper curve. Holding the flesh between his teeth he sucked, drawing blood into the trapped skin. It had been a long time since he’d deliberately given someone a hickey. An irritating little voice inside his head was pointing out how juvenile this was, but he didn’t care.

He wanted her marked, but he had no right to leave her with bruises or welts from impact play. So instead he would leave his mark on her breasts. Declare them his personal property.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, kissing the splotchy wet spot he’d just left on her tit.

Pinching the apex of one breast—compressing nipple, areola, and more between his fingers and thumb—he lifted her breast and fastened his teeth to the soft underside.

It was harder to get a good bite here, because her skin was taut, but his attempts—which resulted in a few pinching bites before he managed to get a mouthful—wrung cries of pleasure and pain from Autumn.

Satisfied, he sat back