Come again, when she was so wrung out from the first time? But she could. She might. The ginger burned, but now she liked it. Somehow, she enjoyed being bound and helpless and tormented. “Oh,” she said in wonder, as her arousal began to climb. “Oh…oh my. It’s so very…”
“Yes, my darling wanton,” he said when she couldn’t finish. “It’s very, indeed. Let go. Enjoy what you will.”
It was as if he understood the conflict within her, that she ought to be good and proper, but that she also loved to be made love to like this, with reckless perversion.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you. Marlow, I love you.”
“I love you too. I adore you. It’s all right.”
Twice more he drove her to pulsing satisfaction, to squeezing, climactic pleasure that made the ginger burn hot in her bottom, not that she minded now. When he finished, reaching his own completion, he pounded in her so hard and fast she was obliged to cling to the bench. He stayed inside her, his member pulsing for long moments. She drifted upon warm waves of fullness and contentment as he kissed the back of her neck.
“How beautiful you are,” he whispered, making her shiver. “I wish I could leave you bound here forever, so I might stroke and tease you at my leisure, and ogle you whenever I liked.”
“That wouldn’t be very practical,” she whispered back with a nervous giggle.
“No. But I still dream of it.” He sighed as he pulled away and finally relieved her of the ginger. She hoped figging wouldn’t always be part of the weekly spanking regimen he’d spoken about earlier. She felt in no condition to ask for clarity, not until she was cleaned up and bathed and ready for bed, cradled in his arms. But she didn’t ask then either. Why ruin such a magical interlude?
Yes, magical, for he’d made her feel so awful and sore, and yet so incredibly satisfied by the end. Each day she was more certain they were meant to be together, fated for one another. He was simply too perfect. Everyone had been foolish, considering them a bad match.