Kenna
“Nine pm tomorrow night. Don’t forget your instructions.” Jonas steps away, leaving my back exposed to the cool air of the club. I’m waiting for another spank to land, but there’s nothing. I stand there, bent over, hands on the chair for at least a minute, but the delicious slap never comes. Hesitantly, I stand straight. He didn’t release me, but he didn’t tell me to stay there either. And that sweet, devastating kiss to my temple felt like a goodbye.
I lift the edge of the blindfold a fraction of an inch and peek around the alcove. I’m alone. I guess I’ve been dismissed for the night after all. Jonas set off a nuclear bomb in my panties, and I should be satisfied, but I want more. So much more.
My ass is still hot to the touch by the time I get home, cloaking my body in an awareness unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve encouraged past boyfriends to get a little kinky, but all it ever got me was a wussy pat on the butt. Not Jonas. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, but he definitely wanted to leave a calling card, and his handprint on my ass is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
A shiver runs over my skin. I don’t know what Jonas is planning for tomorrow night, but it doesn’t really matter. After getting a peek into his world, there really is no going back. I’ve always wanted Jonas, but now that I’ve had his hands on me, I’ll take everything I can get. Sooner or later, I know I’m going to have to come clean. That… or walk away. But that’s a problem for Future Kenna.
I expect to have a hard time sleeping, but as soon as my face hits my pillow, I’m out like a light. I sleep a deep, dreamless, and endlessly peaceful sleep, but waking up is another matter. From the second I open my eyes, I’m restless and I know it’s because I have to wait all day to feel Jonas’ hands on my body again. Fourteen hours of pure, lonely torture.
And then his directive floods back, wreaking havoc on my panties. Think about me and finger yourself. I can hear the hunger in his voice, like he’s speaking in my ear all over again. Do it slow and deep until you’re dripping.
I shudder and reach a hand between my legs. I think that man could talk me into coming if he went at it long enough. Running a finger between my folds, I’m shocked at how slippery I am. Good lord, what he does to me isn’t normal. He’s not even here and I’m waking up wet. I press two fingers inside me and honestly, it’s not that exciting. But then I close my eyes and do what Jonas said. I think of him. His rough hands on my throat, fist pulling my hair until a prickle of pain spreads over my scalp. His thumb, coated in my arousal, gliding over my lip in gentle appreciation.
Taste yourself and imagine licking your cream off my cock.
Oh, sweet Jesus. That image alone would make me ignite. Mental images flare like they have a mind of their own. Flashes of Jonas fucking me hard up against the wall. Jonas, eyes heavy as he pushes me to my knees, demanding I open my mouth for him. Jonas, shoving his cock between my lips and fucking my throat, slathered in my juices.
I want you wet when I get my hands on you tomorrow night.
Yeah, somehow, I doubt that’s going to be a problem. I drive my fingers in and out, riding my own hand until I’m so wet my body is making obscene sounds. I do as I was told, tasting myself and wishing it was Jonas’ dick instead of my small fingers.
I get so close to coming that it’s hard to stop. I’m trembling and needy, but Jonas said my orgasms are his, and I really want to obey. I let out a frustrated growl and get up so I don’t cheat. Eyeing my naked body in the mirror, I smooth a palm over my butt cheek. His handprints have faded, and I want them back. I want him to spank me again. Harder. Longer. I want Jonas to mark me. Claim me. I want him to redden my ass and make me beg to come with my skin burning for him.
Good kittens get to come. Bad kittens get punished.
I smirk at my reflection, reaching down to touch my clit. I guess I’m the bad kitten today.
* * *
The streets of Sugar Creek are blanketed in fog as I stroll downtown. I can’t stop smiling. I keep picturing ways Jonas might punish me for breaking his rules. Something about carrying this secret around with me is exciting. Naughty. I love it.
I stop in at the bakery for coffee and a croissant. I’ve sparked up a friendship with Alexandra, the head baker, since she moved to town. She’s a frequent visitor at The Pub and bakes the best pastries I’ve ever tasted.
I catch her eye as I place my order, and she bounces out from behind the counter. “You look like you’re in a good mood,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me.
“I am.” I grin back, but don’t elaborate. “How is the pumpkin explosion going?”
Alex shakes her head and laughs. “City people have nothing on you all. You know we sold three hundred pumpkin pies last week?” Alex’s eyes land on something over my shoulder and she sucks in a breath. I glance back and catch Branson, the town doctor, eyeing her from his place in line. His expression is nothing short of hungry.
“Oh, hello…” I whisper to Alex. “He’s still making eyes at you? I thought you shot him down.”
“I did—but I can’t stop him from buying his coffee here, can I?”
I laugh because she absolutely could refuse to serve him, but judging by her breathy tone, she won’t.
“Good luck with that,” I whisper as I turn to leave, ducking so I don’t interrupt the way they’re eye-fucking each other.
Jonas is at the stove, stirring something that smells delicious when I open the back door of The Pub. He glances up, and when his eyes meet mine, they light up. A crooked smile pulls at one side of his lips, and I’m pleased that his mood matches mine.
“Morning,” he rumbles. “How was your night?”
“Good morning,” I reply, pressing my lips together so I don’t smile like a crazy person. “It was… nice. Uneventful.” That’s a fucking lie if there ever was one. “Yours?”
“Same,” he grins down at the chicken he’s butchering. I can’t remember seeing him smile like that in… ever? I love that I’m the one that put that smile on his lips. But then I remember he doesn’t know it was me last night. That dims my mood a bit.
I try to ignore the twist of guilt in my stomach and shut down the jealousy rearing its ugly head in the back of my brain. Technically, I’m jealous of myself, which is ridiculous. Or I’m jealous of the fictitious woman Jonas thinks he was playing with last night, even though that was very much me. I hate that he didn’t know it was my body in his lap, his hands on my skin, his fingers in my pussy and my mouth. Shit, this is complicated.