Page 90 of Black Light: Cured

up?’”

Despite the laughter rumbling through his chest, there’s still just the slightest niggle of guilt at my

actions. I was in my place of business, and he was a client. Nothing about that interaction was

professional. It doesn’t matter that we can laugh about it now, I didn’t behave appropriately.

Pulling away from him, I walk over to the closest bench and lie down, making sure my ass is high

in the air for him to strike. Tonight, I’m wearing one of my sexier thongs and bras, just to give him

something to look at. With a smirk on my face, I turn my head to watch him approach, my core

clenching with need at the look of determination on his face.

“Ready for me to take you in hand?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin of my ass before

skimming his lips over the very spot he’s probably going to strike.

“Oh, God. Yes, sir,” I moan, rocking my hips back and forth.

I just want his hands on me. It doesn’t really matter how it happens. His fingertips skim the curve

of my ass before he spreads my legs farther, exposing just about everything to his gaze. I’m probably

already shamefully wet, but right now, I don’t care. I just want relief from this constant ache that

hasn’t let up since that night in the hotel room.

When the first blow connects with my ass, it startles me. He’d been taking so much time touching

and caressing me that I nearly forgot why we were here in the first place. The strike sends warmth

flooding through my body, putting me back in that place where I can let everything go and just be.

The next smack comes, and this time, I’m prepared for it. I lean into it, letting the burn sizzle

across my synapses. Groaning, I rock my pelvis against the bench as his fingers flutter over the sting

—pain with pleasure. It’s heaven. The next smack hits just a bit lower, jostling everything, vibrating

through my clit.

His lurid groans match my own as we find a rhythm with his hand driving the motion. Around us,

other members gather, watching the small scene, their faces flushed as we arouse them. It’s a heady

sensation, one that floods my system and has me floating on air.

No matter how hard he strikes, I don’t really feel it. At least not in a pain response sort of way.

It’s more in a spiritual, metaphysical sense. Every strike is just a blaze of warmth that slides along my

veins and fills my core with unrequited need.

All too soon, his hands stop and move over my body, touching, squeezing, gliding in between my

shoulder blades only to drift down to the cleft of my ass. Moaning, I arch my back, lifting my ass off