Charm. Flora Dain

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      He pulls me back and puts a foamy finger to my lips. ‘Hey. Not yet. Keep washing.’

      Obediently I run my hand down his hard, muscular abdomen and slide my fingers deep into his hair, reaching deep to soap and fondle him and then slip further back, between his legs. I feel his thighs tense along mine as I ease in deep, sliding in the slippery gel-laden foam like he did with me, and he captures my mouth again.

      When he pulls back his face is stern. ‘Enough. We’ll get out now. We have things to do.’

      He surges smoothly out of the water like Neptune in all his glory, knots a towel at his hips and then raises me up, scoops another towel round me and pats me dry all over. I’m sleepy after my scary morning, all soft and clean and ready for sex.

      More than ready.

      But sex is not on offer, I remember with a snap. We have things to do.

      Still swathed in our towels he leads me into the bedroom – or rather one of them – and sits on the bed. ‘Now for your spanking. You know why I’m doing this?’

      ‘Because you like it?’

      His eyes glitter as he hauls me over his lap, pushes my head down onto the quilt at one side of him and starts to arrange my legs on the other. ‘Try again.’

      He sounds angry but I’m still defiant. ‘Because you think I’ll like it?’

      I shriek as his hand makes contact with a real, stinging slap. ‘Nowhere close. Try again.’

      ‘That’s assault,’ I wail.

      He pulls up my head by my ponytail and puts his face close to mine. He looks angry too. ‘So is kissing strange men on the mouth without warning. This is long overdue. And another reason is you’re infuriating. You take risks when I’ve tried to be reasonable.’

      At that moment his phone sounds. With a sharp sigh he leans over me to reach for it, keeping his elbow pressed into my back and his leg planted firmly over mine, pinning me down.

      ‘Wolfe.’

      The voice hums too low for me to make out the words. I see him frown. ‘The interview with BGN? Not now, I’m busy.’

      The phone hums gain, the sound reproachful.

      ‘Make it tomorrow.’

      It hums again, fainter now.

      ‘Contact the owners of the network. Offer a global discount on their contract for the next two months. No more calls for two hours.’

      He tosses the phone across the bed and turns back to me. I’m staring at him, open-mouthed. ‘You’re doing an interview with BG News?’

      He grins, his hand gliding smoothly over my soft, scented ass, which is now high in the air over his lap. ‘Nope. I’m giving you a well-deserved spanking. I’ll do the interview tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever.’ He feels me once more, his touch firm and sensual, his breathing quicker. His voice lowers to a purr. ‘You’re right, I do like it. But it’s not just a punishment. I should have done it the minute we met. I wish to fuck I had. We wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

      His hand lands again and all at once this has stopped being a joke, it’s harsh and it stings. After a while I wonder if I’ll ever draw breath again. When I do nothing’s changed. His hand’s still landing, the blows still raining down. The first few knock all the breath out of me but as I start to relax long enough to draw in air they keep coming. Their pounding rhythm settles deep in my groin, making me ache with arousal. After a while the pain and the jolting fuse deep between my legs into an agonising, regular throb.

      At last he pauses to admire the view, keeping his elbow and his leg firmly in place. I hear him laugh softly as he runs his hand over my flaming backside. He’s out of breath. So am I, sobbing as I draw in air, my bottom on fire, and my groin an aching, needy furnace. Each blow delivers a violent jolt of arousal. His hand long ago lost the power to sting. Now my sex is all on fire, swollen and hot.

      Seconds later he finds this out for himself. ‘Did you enjoy that, Ella?’

      I sniffle. ‘You expect me to answer that?’ How can I? Heat, shame, fire and rage are burning me up all at the same time.

      His voice lowers. ‘I’ll give you a clue. From what I can feel down here –’ his fingers slip slowly and deliberately along my sex, making me writhe ‘– I’m guessing you did. Be honest with me. Why are you so wet?’

      I sniff again.’You have to ask? OK, I enjoyed it. Very much.’

      ‘Then maybe I’ll give you a tiny reward. Would you like to come?’

      What a question. I squirm but it’s no time for pride. I hiss a strangled ‘yes’ through clenched teeth.

      He caresses my punished backside with a loving sweep of his hand, cool now against my fiery skin. ‘Then you shall. But you’ll have to earn it. You’ll have to beg.’

      And now the torment really begins. His hand lands hard, making me cry out, and instantly his fingers sink into me and over my pulsing mound, barely grazing my hottest place.

      Yes, yes, I’m nearly there … I strain to reach his hand but he wrenches me back and removes his fingers, leaving my quivering orgasm poised in space. ‘Another?’

      I’m frantic now. ‘Yes, yes, another.’

      Nothing happens. ‘And the magic word?’

      I grit my teeth again, earning a painful tweak on my nipple. ‘Please. Another.’

      Another fearsome blow lands on one side of my fiery bottom and his fingers mercifully slide into me again. I lean into his hand as my climax edges even closer.

      Again he holds off. ‘Another?’

      I writhe and once more he takes his hand away.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘Yes, yes, another already,’ I wail. With an effort I remember my manners. ‘Please.’

      It goes on far longer than I’d have thought possible. I start to tremble, tearful with the constant agony of denial. But at last he takes pity on me and his hand lingers, his fingertips circling gently. They slip along my wire-live sensitised folds, probing intimately as the jolt of his final blow jerks me against his fingers. My orgasm explodes and I convulse round his hand, shrieking at the suddenness of it and overwhelmed by the wave of rapture that engulfs me.

      I hang over his lap, sobbing. He sits very still and holds me in place over his knee. He waits in silence. As I grow calmer he hauls me off his lap onto the bed and I curl up in a ball, sobbing into the quilt. He curls round me in a warm, protective shell as the spasms fade into a deep, contented glow. He reaches between my legs to cup my still glowing mound, his hand warm and firm.

      For a while we talk, for a while I doze. He keeps his hand firmly in place, taking possession, staking his claim and stubbornly refusing to give ground. But I’m growing edgy. I want him inside me. I want him to fill me. He must want it too, surely?

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