Page 95 of Watching Her

He ignored everything, bringing down his hand with swift ease. As he moved from one side of my bottom to the other quickly, I was jarred into a crazy realization that there was no way to stop the madness.

I was also tingling all over as I’d been before, the throbbing in my pussy never lessening. It was as if my body was determined to betray me, hungering for more than just his sexual domination.

The pain was biting because his hand was so large, the cracking sound echoing in my ears. There was such a strange reward in having him punishing me, although for the life of me I couldn’t put why I thought so into coherent words.

This was just an incredible and embarrassing event that would linger for a long time.

Another smack of his hand and I yelped, the anguish intensifying. We were now going round and round again, never slowing. Whoever was manning the controls was hearing every bit of my discipline. I shifted and kicked out, even slapping his legs to no avail.

Four more brutal smacks and I was brought back into his lap, so breathless all I could do was laugh.

But everything was suddenly different.

The sensations subtle yet more powerful.

The sky even darker.

The rapid beating of my heart more irregular.

The air between us suddenly felt thick, charged with a gravity I hadn’t agreed to. When his hand brushed mine, it wasn’t a polite touch, but a quiet, dangerous promise. My heart didn’t skip a beat, instead changing its rhythm entirely, adapting to his pace. I looked at the intense look in his eyes then at the soft fabric of his shirt, and felt a terrifying urge to rest my forehead there and just breathe him in.

That’s when I knew I was coming dangerously close to falling in love with him.

And that simply wasn’t allowed.

CHAPTER 21

Christian

A storm had found its way into Louisville somewhere late in the night.

I’d felt the vibrations long before they reached the city limits, a deep thrumming that had kept me stimulated.

Almost as much as having Penelope in my bed.

I’d watched her as I’d done so many times, both inside her house and on camera, now within the dark confines of mine.

My private space.

My bedroom.

No one had ever been inside the private areas of my house before. I simply hadn’t allowed it. That would mean the woman had been given permission to discover more about me. My likes and dislikes, my tastes in everything from liquor to clothing.

Even music.

And my painting.

Yet with her, I didn’t mind leaving her alone, but only after indulging in watching her sleep. Who did that kind of thing? Who got their jollies from doing nothing more than staring at a beautiful woman while she was dreaming?

Evidently that’s what had sparked my creativeness for the first time in months. Now I stood in my studio, almost finished with a painting I’d started less than two hours before.

A decent night’s sleep had always been elusive, but normally, I’d spent hours in my office, working on whatever crisis needed my attention. To feel so free in expression while savoring scotch was a gift that had been offered by the beautiful woman still asleep in my bed.

Like Goldilocks or Sleeping Beauty. She’d been shocked when I’d brought her to my house, taking several minutes to explore the downstairs. There were a couple of paintings hung, artistry she’d gravitated toward. She’d remarked on the use of color and brushstrokes, offering a sense of knowledge that was also very rare.

I’d kept my full attention on her, enjoying the way she offered brief glances to ensure I hadn’t gone far and of course, I hadn’t.

Lightning struck somewhere close, leaving a trail of electric blue dancing across the sky. I never closed the blinds, the location of my home preventing anyone from appearing unwanted or unneeded.