She made a grinding moan, the sound leaking out between her teeth. Good God. He popped her a few more times against that oh-so-sensitive skin, not hard, but firm enough to take note, and all that pain from before started to turn into a hot tingling burning over her skin. She squirmed, needing more pressure against her clit, but Colby shifted and hit her with what felt like the wooden spoon on the back of her thigh, sharp.
A little cry of pain slipped out.
“No coming yet, gorgeous. I give that to you when I’m ready. You still have three more tools to go.”
Her head was spinning, but she didn’t protest. He worked her over with the wooden spoon and then with some other kind of spatula from what she could tell. But frankly, it was all starting to run together in a haze in her mind now. The pain had left, morphing into something altogether different. Now her only discomfort was from the fact that she wanted to come and couldn’t.
The swats slowed and then stopped. Colby pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Do yo
u want to come?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you trust me not to harm you?”
“I do.” And she did. In that moment, she totally did.
“Excellent.” He moved his fingers against her, and she almost came from that, but he knew what he was doing and didn’t give her enough stimulation to put her over the edge. Then something foreign was pushing against her. She stiffened. “This is a soft rubber handle, baby. You’re wet enough to take it. Relax.”
Oh, God. The whisk. He was going to fuck her with a damn kitchen implement. “Colby.”
“Shh,” he said, his voice more soothing now than commanding. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The handle slipped in and she groaned. The handle wasn’t overly large but it was grooved and textured and the feel of it inside her made her heels lift. Jesus.
“That’s my girl,” Colby said, his voice going thick, as he moved the handle in and out slowly. “You’re so goddamned sexy.”
The fact that he was getting so aroused only dialed up her need more. She could only imagine what she looked like to him right now, tipped over his lap in the middle of his kitchen, half naked, and being violated at his bidding. Her fingers pressed against the floor, the coiling tension in her almost at its breaking point.
He rocked her against him with each slide of the handle, rubbing her clit against the rough denim of his jeans. She wasn’t going to make it much longer. Then with his free hand, he began to pinch her. The flesh of her ass, the backs of her thighs, little biting squeezes that reignited the effects of the spanking. Pinch and stroke, pinch and stroke. Rasp, rasp, rasp against his jeans. Her mind began to fuzz.
“Colby,” she pleaded.
“Come for me, Georgia.” He reached around with his free hand and found her clit. “Come for me and let me hear it.”
That was all she needed. She launched into orgasm, her body clamping around the invasion, her hips rocking against his fingers. And despite her best effort, she couldn’t keep herself quiet. She cried out loud and long—a desperate, wanton sound that had to have reverberated around the house.
But in the moment, she didn’t care. Colby wanted to hear it, and she wanted to give that to him.
Right now, she’d give him just about anything.
EIGHTEEN
Georgia followed Colby to his bedroom after they’d cleaned up the kitchen. Her legs still felt like they were made of pudding after her orgasm, but she managed not to stumble as she made her way down the hall. When she passed Keats’s room, she put her palm to the door for a brief second, offering a silent apology and promising herself that she would talk to him tomorrow. Maybe they needed some boundaries after all, because it seemed both of them were playing with fire without them.
But when she stepped into Colby’s bedroom, finding him standing there in front of his bed, big and broad and intimidating as hell, she forgot all thoughts of tomorrow. Because finally, right now, she’d arrived at the site of so many of her fantasies. She glanced at the window.
“No one to watch us tonight, gorgeous.”
“I don’t need an audience.” She closed the door behind her.
He smirked. “Though you like one sometimes.”
“Said the pot to the kettle.”
He sat down on the end of the bed, legs wide in that cowboy don’t-care way, and leaned back on his hands. He nodded at the spot in front of him. “Take off your dress and show me what number you decided on.”
Nerves hopped in her belly as she walked over to where he wanted. She’d left her shoes somewhere in the kitchen, so she had only one thing left to take off. She pulled the shoulders of her dress down, the stretchy fabric giving way easily, and slid the dress to her waist, exposing her chest to the cool air.