Body Talk Read online

  He froze. “For real? Are you safewording?”

  She thrashed her head from side to side. “No, no, don’t stop. It just…it just burns, oh God.”

  “And that, sweetheart, is why we have safewords.”

  Roughly, he squeezed and massaged her cheeks. Between her legs, her swollen sex glistened. He couldn’t resist plunging two fingers into her channel and pumping.

  Her moan of pleasure nearly undid him.

  Get a grip, Bevy. Collecting the tatters of his self-control, he reclaimed his fingers and resumed the chastisement.

  He could spank her every night and never tire of it. If she was his girlfriend, she’d have to get used to living with a sore bottom because it would never be any other way. She’d be plugged often, too, so she would know she belonged to him.

  Possessive much?

  The jeans she’d poured herself into had molded her curvy derriere, but he’d prefer to see her in dresses so he could check the rosiness on a whim. So that giving her a booster spanking would be as simple as hiking up her skirt.

  He growled and skipped a stroke to adjust his hard-on.

  Serenaded by moans and whimpers, he lit her ass scarlet.

  * * * *

  The paddle hit the floor with a soft thump.

  “Stay like that. Don’t turn around,” Jordan rasped.

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.” Her voice wobbled.

  Never in Hannah’s life had she slept with a guy on the first date. Technically, they hadn’t had sex, but he’d had his fingers inside her, and a bare-bottom spanking seemed more intimate than the horizontal tango.

  Body and emotions were exposed. He couldn’t fail to notice how wet she’d gotten. The paddling had hurt like a motherfucker, but every blazing smack increased the ache to be fucked, to be taken, to please him.

  Jordan’s breathing grated, something that had escaped her attention, perhaps because the crack against her flesh had drowned it out or she’d been too focused on the fire he lit across her skin. She’d never considered how a vigorous paddling might be a workout for the spanker.

  Lose 10 lbs. in the Spanking Exercise Program or your money back.

  He didn’t need to lose weight. He was perfect, fit and trim, muscles taut.

  More than muscles were hard. His erection had been rock obvious. Maybe exertion hadn’t caused his heavy breathing. Her pussy pulsed at the notion he might be as turned on as she was.

  She wished she had bigger breasts and a smaller butt. Her throbbing behind felt swollen. Gargantuan.

  Good God, her ass couldn’t have gotten bigger, could it? When she’d sprained her ankle once, it had doubled in size. Her butt throbbed like a massive, ugly balloon inflating and deflating. Whomp. Whomp. Whomp. She wished she could check in the mirror, but he’d told her to stay put, and she wasn’t sure of the protocol. At what point was she free to move around?

  The graze of a fingertip on her right cheek startled her, and she jumped.

  Jordan chuckled, his rich, deep, masculine rumble transmitting another surge of lust into her core. With feather strokes, he examined her chastened skin. His touch felt almost reverent, and, with shock, she realized his hand trembled. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “You’re gorgeous anyway. Like this?” He slapped her cheek. “I could spank you all night, but you’ve had enough.”

  No, she hadn’t. She craved more.

  Still with a light touch, Jordan skimmed over scorched moons, down her thighs, and back up to the apex, and stopped.

  Now he hesitated? Hannah squirmed inside. Please.

  “If I continue to touch you, I won’t be able to resist fucking you.”

  “Touch me,” she said.

  She moaned in relief as he slid his fingers along her cleft, igniting little blazes there, too. He penetrated her sopping channel with two digits. Desire, red-hot and pulsing, arced when he flicked her clit. She rocked against his hand, while his previous growled warning rang in her ears. “If you come, I’ll spank you harder, and longer.”

  Did that still apply?

  “Do you need to come, little one?” No one had ever called her little one, not with as much junk in the trunk as she had, and the affectionate nickname warmed her from the inside out, except he laughed when he said it in a growly, sexy, taunting rumble like he guessed how tightly coiled she was, and she could kill him. Shoot off the bench and strangle him.

  Yet the desire to please was greater than her sexual hunger or her homicidal tendencies. If he said don’t come, then she didn’t want to. Well, no, she did, because his prohibition increased the urge, but she wouldn’t because, because—with a shock, it occurred to her she might be a submissive. Was there a test for that?

  You may be a submissive if…you find yourself bare-assed naked and spanked and begging for more.

  You may be a submissive if…serving him fills you with pleasure you never expected.

  Hannah screwed her eyes shut, and said, “Not if you don’t want me to, sir.”

  “Really?” he said conversationally and manipulated her clit. Pleasure wound to a knot of pain.

  Don’t come. La. La. La. La. La. Think of something else. Car needs a brake job. Final exams. Big cleaning job tomorrow. Not helping. Hannah twisted the straps on the spanking bench.

  “You may come at any time,” he said.

  Hannah didn’t so much as let go, as she snapped. Physically, she remained earthbound, but her consciousness catapulted into another mind space where she whirled in a vortex of bliss, soaring like she never had.

  When her exhausted body relaxed, she felt Jordan moving behind her then he parted her folds with his thumbs and his breath wafted over her still pulsing flesh a second before his mouth covered her sex.

  He licked her too-sensitive clit. If her hands hadn’t been twisted in the straps, she would have shot off the bench. She cried out and tried to wrench away. Oh. God. Oh. God. I can’t take it.

  He sucked on the bud, and she emitted a small shriek. “Stop, stop. Too much. Too much.”

  Crack! Crack! He smacked her tenderized ass. “Trust me,” he growled.

  She couldn’t. He asked too much.Hannah squealed, fought him, but he had her immobilized, and then sharp discomfort coiled into hot pleasure, and she climaxed again.

  Hannah panted, her bones like water. Jordan’s belt buckle jangled, a zipper hissed, a condom snapped. “I need to fuck you,” he bit out.

  Even though her hunger had been sated, and she hoped he wouldn’t touch her clit again, a shaft of heat pierced her at his hoarse utterance. She wouldn’t, couldn’t come again, but the prospect of taking his cock, being his vessel, had her pussy clenching. Stirred a need in her womb.

  His cock prodded her slit and then he pushed inside. Her moan and his growl merged into a harmony of satisfaction. He fucked like he spanked—hard and deliberate. Perspiration slickened the bench’s leather, and her body slid across the seat with every thrust.

  The slap of his hips against her smarting ass ignited pleasurable, painful tingles. She felt possessed by him, owned, as he used her body to claim his pleasure.

  And then he squeezed a hand under their moving bodies and captured her clit.

  Hannah squealed. “No, Jordan, sir, please.” Sandwiched between the bench and his thrusting body, she couldn’t even squirm.

  “It pleases me, that you come again,” he growled. His fingers moved furiously.

  Her poor clit was on fire. “No, I can’t. “ Vacuum. Vacuum. Vacuum. She gritted her teeth.

  He jerked his hand away, but her relief was short lived. He probed her back entrance with a finger lubed with her moisture and invaded her most private hole. A twinge of pain, but, oh, the pleasure.

  Wicked, shameful lust ricocheted through her—she could hear it in her moan. His triumphant bark revealed he could, too. He finger fucked her ass while pounding into her. “Come for me, again,” he bit out.

  She did. Her climax came roaring at her with a force greater than her two previous orgasms. Jord
an gave a hoarse shout, buried deep, and ejaculated.

  His body pressed hers into the sticky bench. The scent of sex pervaded the room. Residual pulses twitched in her aggrieved clit and her pussy still filled with his cock.

  With clarity came the discomfiting realization and sensation that his finger remained up there. She was afraid to move, not that she could go anywhere, since he had her pinned. With a grunt, he disengaged, and chilly air and cold reason swept over her.

  What happened now? She sensed finality like they had crossed a bridge. Natural ease born of intimacy had dissipated. Awkwardness filled the void. Had she given herself to a man who had no intention of seeing her again? Where’s your bravado now?

  Should she get up and get dressed or wait for him to tell her to?

  Jordan saved her from having to decide by lifting her off the bench and into his arms. Feeling better, but no less shy, she burrowed her face against his neck.

  * * * *

  Irresistible Attractions Description

  College student Hannah Laurie works nights for a cleaning service. Among its clients is the Rod and Cane Society, an organization of domestic discipline practitioners. As she cleans the mansion headquarters, she becomes fascinated by the idea of being spanked. One evening, she surrenders to the impulse to try out the equipment in the secret disciplinary chamber.

  Billionaire cybersecurity magnate Jordan Bevy, Rod and Cane’s disciplinary proctor, ensures the rules of the organization are followed to a T. Using the disciplinary chamber for personal pleasure is strictly forbidden. But when he catches the shy little cleaner girl trying out the equipment, what’s a fellow to do but bend the rules and give her a hand?

  Everything seems like fun and games, until their relationship deepens and their respective worlds collide and clash. Can a lowly cleaner girl ever find acceptance in her boyfriend’s monied world?

  Irresistible Attractions was a 2016 Golden Flogger Award finalist for Best BDSM book of the year, All Rod and Cane Society romances can be read as stand-alones.

  Body Politics

  Rod and Cane Society, Book 3

  Genre: Spanking Romance, BDSM light

  Stephanie Gordon is a diehard, card-carrying feminist who is fixed up on a blind date with the criminally sexy deputy chief of police Mark DeLuca. Problem? Mark is Dom and a member of the Rod and Cane Society, an organization of men who spank their women. Let the fireworks begin…

  That’s her.

  The instant the leggy beauty entered the bar, the urge arose to leap from his chair and hustle her to safety, away from the prying eyes and itchy palms of the other tops.

  The woman scanned the interior, turning her head to reveal a perfect feminine profile, her short hair crackling like an auburn flame. She clutched her handbag under her arm as if expecting to be mugged but threw back her shoulders in defiance. Defensive and aggressive. She wore a man’s white shirt and had unbuttoned the collar and rolled the sleeves to her elbows, then muted the masculine effect by cinching it with a wide leather belt to reveal an hourglass figure. A loop of gold chain rested against her generous breasts, while a heavy cuff bracelet manacled her left wrist. Blue jeans hugged her from hips to feet, which were encased in black motorcycle boots, styled for ass-kicking in addition to comfort.

  She nibbled on her lower lip but then lifted her chin in a show of bravado. Her charming nervousness eased his.

  Otis’s wife had nailed it. Strong but vulnerable. Gutsy but feminine. She was his type. Her discomfort called out to his protective side, to reassure her she didn’t need to put up a front with him.

  Mark stood up, and she spotted him, hesitated a fraction, then strode to the corner table he’d snagged out of the traffic.

  “I’m Mark DeLuca,” he said right off.

  “Stephanie Gordon. It’s nice to meet you.” Up close her facial features were delicate, her voice even more girlish in person than it had sounded on the phone. She gripped his hand, her too-firm shake shorter than he would have liked but long enough to note the softness of her skin, the slenderness of her fingers—and that her nails were nibbled to the quick. The tiny chink in her armor sent the blood rushing south, finishing off the job that had begun the moment she’d entered.

  She lifted her chin, and consternation flickered in her blue eyes. “You’re taller than I expected.” She studied the toes of her flat boots, then met his eyes again. She worried her kissable lower lip with her teeth, and his groin tightened.

  At six feet six, he towered over most people, men included. He estimated her height at five ten. He liked a tall woman he didn’t fear crushing, wouldn’t lose in bed, who stood up to him. But he still topped her by several inches. He liked that too. “Don’t most women want a man to be taller?” he asked.

  “Most do.” An unspoken but clung to the end of her answer.

  “You don’t?” he asked and pulled out her chair.

  Surprise flashed in her gaze at what was for him an automatic gesture, making him wonder what kind of men she’d dated in the past. Then she narrowed her eyes and hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, a hint of feminist resentment scoring her polite words. His lips twitched with humor. A woman needs a man the way a fish needs a bicycle. No doubt Stephanie would purport to ascribe to the 1970s feminist slogan. But only those who felt insecure erected a shield to protect themselves. Her emotions were easy to read.

  She sat, and he assumed his seat, noticing a decrease in her shoulder tension now that they met eye to eye. That he unnerved her bespoke of her awareness of him. She was attracted but didn’t want to be. The gauntlet had been thrown. The only thing he enjoyed more than the company of a lovely woman was a lovely one who challenged him. He wanted to break through her defenses, put her at ease, then put her on edge.

  “I’m not used to it.” She sniffed, revealing to Mark that she lorded her height over the males who orbited her. Yet she’d worn flats when heels would have given her a greater advantage. He hadn’t told her how tall he was and doubted Liz had, yet she had downplayed her height to avoid topping her date. Did she realize the contradiction?

  A waitress set a basket of popcorn and another of peanuts on the table. “What can I get you?” she asked Stephanie.

  “I’ll have bourbon. On the rocks. A splash—and I mean a splash—of water,” she said.

  “Got it.” The waitress glanced at Mark.

  “Beer, please. The local microbrew on tap.” He met Stephanie’s eyes. “Would you like something to eat? Hot wings? Potato skins? Deep-fried onion?”

  She gave a little shudder. “No, thank you.”

  “Just the drinks, please.” He nodded at the server.

  The waitress had taken a few steps, then turned to Stephanie with a hopeful expression. “Could I offer a suggestion? Our drink special is the Bottom Burner. It’s our most popular cocktail, and it comes now in a new signature keepsake glass. The drink has a nice little kick. If you try it and don’t like it, I’ll bring you the bourbon.”

  “It doesn’t have an umbrella, does it?” Stephanie asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Great!” The waitress beamed and departed.

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “You have something against umbrellas?”

  “Not in the rain, but I don’t know why people assume all women are into frilly froufrou crap.” She mimicked that which she disparaged with a graceful twirl of her wrist.

  “You’re not, I take it?”

  “No. So how do you know Elizabeth Alexander?”

  “Who?” He blinked. “Oh, Liz Davenport.” In her public life as a family law attorney, Otis’s wife used her maiden name. In private and around the Rod and Cane Society, she went by his surname. “Her husband and I belong to the same organization. Liz is an ancillary member as well.” Rod and Cane was a men’s club primarily, but members’ wives were strongly encouraged to join its Auxiliary. Liz had arranged the date between him and Stephanie.

  Coerced it.


  “She’ll challenge you. And you’re exactly what she needs. Get together for coffee or drinks. Don’t call it a date. Just a midweek meet and greet. If I’m wrong about the two of you—but I’m not—you can go your separate ways,” Liz had said after cornering him at the mansion headquarters.

  He’d appealed to Otis for help, but the older man had only shrugged. “Sometimes it’s best not to fight.” Affection in his gaze, Otis had glanced at his wife. “Unfortunately matchmaking is not a spankable offense.”

  Unfortunately. Some matchmakers deserved to be spanked for their woeful lack of attention to compatibility. In truth, most of the women well-meaning friends had fixed him up with had been nice enough, but he’d experienced no deep connection or even real chemistry. Since his friends were not in the domestic discipline lifestyle, no thought had been given to fulfilling his real requirement: a partner who was amenable to being spanked. But Liz herself was a spanked wife and had a reputation for reading people. And forty loomed on the horizon, reminding him that time was running out to find that special someone, a woman who would love him for better and for worse, a woman who got him, who would stand at his side as his true partner. So he agreed to the blind date, doubtful yet hopeful that this time he would meet the one. “How do you know Liz?” he asked Stephanie.

  “She’s a board member of WAN.”

  “WAN?”

  “Women Act Now. It’s a women’s support organization I founded and direct.”

  He nodded. “Liz told me you ran a feminist nonprofit.”

  “What else did she tell you about me?”

  Liz had described her as a lioness in need of a mate, but he suspected Stephanie would not appreciate the comparison. He shrugged. “The basics. She said you were thirty-five. Divorced two years. No kids.”

  “Those stats were enough to convince you?” Genuine amusement curled her lips into a beautiful smile, and her eyes sparkled, transforming her from lovely to knockout.

  Conversation at a nearby table ceased as the three men seated there noticed also. His hackles rose. Fuck off. She’s mine. The reflexive surge of possessiveness surprised him. Never had he had such a strong reaction to a woman. Yet never had he met one who’d instantly and so intensely attracted him the way Stephanie did. Not even Ronnie. Especially not Ronnie.