I giggle, burying my face in the pillow, then let out a yelp of surprise as his hand suddenly comes down hard across my ass. On instinct, I try to wiggle away, but he grabs me and pulls me back in place with one hand, using the other to soothe the swatch of stinging skin.
“One,” he says firmly.
His hand rises and falls again in the same spot and I cry out.
“Two.”
Three and four land in different spots, then smack number five returns to the original spot. When number six lands and fire rips across the skin of my ass, I cry out, “Stop!”
“That’s not the word that stops me,” he reminds me, since I’m new at this.
Right. Cheesecake. I hesitate to use it, though. My ass is burning, but I don’t want to use that word unless I really can’t take more and need him to stop. “How many more?” I ask instead.
“Two more,” he says.
I nod, hugging the pillow. “Okay.”
He spanks my stinging ass two more times and I manage not to try wiggling away, but then his touch is gentle, his big hands soothing the hot skin on my ass. He sits up and pulls me into his lap, facing him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, tenderly running his hand along the side of my face, then pushing his fingers through my hair.
I nod my head. “My ass is on fire, but overall fine.”
Smirking faintly, he presses his lips to my forehead. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be using the cane on you. If you think my hand hurts…”
I shove his chest. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m not hardcore. I still want to try. Probably not the cane since that seems to be an advanced tool and I’m hanging out in the minor leagues, but the flogger or a paddle. I might like it. Who knows?”
“Floggers are gentle, they only look scary. Perfect beginner toy. You’ll probably like that.”
“You know what I like a lot?” I ask him.
“What’s that?”
“Your dick. Anytime you’d like to put it back inside me…”
Rafe laughs, shoves me off his lap, and positions me on all fours. His playfulness makes my heart flip over, then his sure hands grabbing my hips steady it. Finally, his long, thick cock invading me causes my heart to thump loudly in my chest. I bear down and take it, dropping to my forearms and keeping my ass up the way he likes it.
Pleasure builds inside me as my husband pounds me into oblivion. I don’t know if it’s his size or his skill level, but the way his cock slides against my walls results in the most incredible friction. God, I’ve missed this. I love being fucked by Rafe.
He knows I’m close when I start whimpering and crying out, so he holds onto my hips and fucks me even harder. He fucks me like he wants to break me until I do break apart, crying out with pleasure as he pumps into me until he finds his own.
Collapsing on the bed behind me, he locks an arm around my waist and pulls me back against him. “I love the sounds your pussy makes when I fuck you.”
I smile sleepily. “I love everything about you fucking me.”
We’re quiet for a few blissful moments, just spooning. It’s delightful. He finally breaks the silence, his tone a little heavier. “I need to know something.”
A hint of alarm pierces my pleasure cloud. That sounds potentially serious. “All right.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your memory?”
Attempting to keep the mood light and pleasant, I keep my tone faintly teasing. “I was afraid you might react poorly. Boy, was I wrong.”
He doesn’t bite. “I’m serious. Once it came out, it became clear you didn’t even keep it a secret. You told Laurel when you barely knew her, but you never told me.”
Sighing, I roll over so I can face him. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t mention it soon enough for it to be nonchalant, and then it got to a point where mentioning it did feel like I was making a big deal out of it. It’s just how my mind works, you know? It’s not that weird to me. This is my normal. It’s been normal to me for a long time, but sometimes other people make too much of it.
When I was a kid, I didn’t understand that my mind worked a little differently. I thought everyone could watch their memories like movies. When my first best friend outgrew me, I mourned it the way people mourn break-ups with loved ones, replaying all the good times and missing her. Then my actual first boyfriend also dumped me for another girl, and I was so alone. It was a rough year. But my mom started to get upset about it, she would always say I was living in the past and it wasn’t healthy. She thought I was fixating on things instead of just browsing my library of memories. It really wasn’t until she made me go talk to a psychiatrist and he seemed to agree more with her than me that I realized I must be the different one.”