“I don’t know how I feel about that,” I confessed, needing him to explain it to me. He’d been the one to do those things to me, so he had to know why I was disappointed to learn he never intended to do them again.
“Oh fuck, Scar, don’t say that,” he groaned while his hand stroked more firmly from my neck to midway down my back.
“Why not?” I whispered.
“Because you don’t want me to do those things. You just think you do because of what I did to you.”
He was leaning back, pulling away. I knew I didn’t want that. “Fuck me,” I begged before he could pull away completely.
He groaned, but then he was coming back, moving closer until I heard the zip of his fly and felt the thick head of his cock press against my sex. Yes, I wanted this. Plenty of other things were confusing, but this wasn’t. I wanted Derek inside me.
He pressed forward, entering me one slow inch at a time. I tried to press back against him, but he just went with me, making my efforts to draw him deeper futile. When he was finally inside, filling me, I experienced the same odd sensation I had the last time. Complete. Whole. Nothing had ever felt so right.
Then he started to move, and I was cognizant of nothing but the thousands of nerves firing in a symphony of pleasure. He cupped my breasts and teased my nipples while he rammed into me from behind. His balls slapped against me with every thrust, and when I threw my head back, I understood why he’d done it—why he’d carried me here and bent me over the bed like this.
We were at the foot of the bed, and looking forward, I could see the reflection of us in the headboard mirror. I barely recognized the girl in the mirror—her eyes were darkened with arousal, her lips were parted, her skin flushed, and her breasts bounced with every thrust of the man behind her.
Him, I recognized. His vivid blue gaze alternated between the view in front of him and our reflection in the mirror. It was the most erotic sight I’d ever seen. I watched, mesmerized, as he drove me higher.
And higher.
And at the top of the climb, when his hand slipped beneath me and his fingers found my clit, I knew I was done for. I watched the girl in the mirror being fucked from behind while an earth-shattering orgasm tore through her body.
I’d seen Derek’s face in the throes of pleasure before, but it was different to watch him like this—feeling him from behind but seeing him far in front of me.
His pace was already frantic. He gripped my hips and slammed into me one last time, as my aftershocks contracted my flesh around him. He swelled even bigger inside me and his liquid heat filled my body.
I remained there even after he’d withdrawn, the confused and tumultuous way this had started making it difficult to accept that I could just stand up if I wanted to. Seeing that I wasn’t moving on my own though, he returned once he’d zipped up his pants and leaned down to stand me up.
He didn’t say anything. He just gathered me against his chest and I closed my eyes to focus on the hardness of his flesh and the warmth that radiated from him. Capable of coherent thought once again, I debated bringing up the question. It seemed though, that while I’d regained the ability to think, I’d also gained back my ability to be embarrassed.
Did I want to tell him that I wanted him to spank me? To hurt me? Was it even true? Or perhaps what he’d said offered a better explanation—I’d only come to think I wanted it because of what he’d done to me? Still undecided, the question slipped from my lips nevertheless.
“I don’t understand why I want you to…”
“Scar, stop talking,” he cut me off. “You can’t talk like that. It isn’t real. It will fade. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to like…”
“But you do,” I finished his thought when it didn’t seem like he was going to. “I know that. All the times when you’d…you know…well, I could feel the way it made you respond.”
He breathed a heavy sigh, but then released me. “Eat your breakfast. I’m going to grab a quick shower before we leave.”
He left the room, and I resisted the urge to follow him into the bathroom. Given that I was the one who’d been spanked and whipped with his belt, you’d think it would make sense that I’d be the one in need of a shower to collect my thoughts. But Derek seemed almost plagued by the things he’d done to me, and even more so by the way they might have shaped some of the things I wanted now.