I Married a Master(72)
Author: Melanie Marchande

When I heard another voice, my heart almost stopped.

"Right over here, or you want me to take them upstairs for you?"

There was someone else there. A stranger. What in the fuck? He let someone else in to carry his luggage, knowing that I was in here waiting with my ass practically hanging out of my skirt?

"No, this is fine," Ben replied. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," said the other man. "You have a good night, sir."

"Thanks, you too."

The door clicked shut, and I breathed again.

For a moment, all I heard was soft noises, indistinct rustling, and it was impossible to tell what he was doing. Then there were footsteps. Closer, closer…then right past. I heard a few more unidentifiable sounds, then a few seconds of running water. More footsteps.

He was in the doorway.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he approached.

I felt his hand on my back first, sliding, up and over my shoulder, and down past my collarbone. It took me a moment to realize what he was checking for, and I lifted my torso slightly to accommodate his hand engulfing my breast. He squeezed lightly, exhaling, tweaking my stiff nipple just a bit between his fingers. I stifled a moan.

His other hand rested on my ass. Sliding down, to the hem of my skirt, fingers curling under and questing and feeling for the panties I hadn’t worn, as per his instructions.

I waited for something, for a good girl, or maybe I didn’t get one since this was all a prelude to a punishment. Still, didn’t I deserve something for doing all this? For waiting so patiently?

His hands still seared into my skin, but they weren’t moving. I held my breath.

After an eternity, he spoke.

"I didn’t tell you to put your hair up."

Damn it. Pulse pounding, I struggled to find my voice. I’d felt a little cheeky, doing it – knowing he might disapprove, but he hadn’t give me any specific instructions for my hair. So how could he get angry at me?

"You didn’t say I couldn’t."

His voice was hard, quiet. "I very clearly said a black skirt…" His hand tightened around one cheek of my ass. "…a white blouse…" His fingers pinched my nipple again, and I gasped. "And nothing else. But you’re wearing a hair band."

"A hair band isn’t clothes," I whimpered, trying to figure out why the hell I wouldn’t just let him win. It was pointless, arguing with him – especially when all I wanted was to finish the punishment and get on with the rest of our reunion.

God, I’d missed him. I just wanted to feel him inside me, feel his mouth on mine, his teeth scraping my neck, my collarbone, as he lost control.

"I didn’t say don’t wear any other clothes, I said don’t wear anything else. Period. That includes hair bands. Jewelry. A fucking watch." He growled, pressing his body against mine. He was so hard it must hurt. How could he hold himself back for so long? I was about to lose my mind. If I were in control, I would have jumped on him within five seconds. "This isn’t that difficult."

"I’m sorry," I whispered, finally. "I didn’t think. I just wanted to keep my hair out of my face."

I knew, without being able to see him, that he was shaking his head. "Too late. You could have apologized when I asked you, but you had to give me sass." With a sudden movement, he released his grip on my flesh, leaving me throbbing, somehow cold and overheated at the same time. His fingers plucked at the hairband, pulling it free and tossing it aside. Then he grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged, gently. Then harder. He released it, stroked the side of my face, and slowly made his way towards my lips. I opened my mouth obediently, taking his fingers inside and sucking eagerly.

He exhaled in a quiet groan. A thrill of triumph went through me. Not so cool and composed now.

"I’ll let you pick your punishment," he said, roughly. "More spankings, or no orgasms for a week?"

"How many more spankings?" I asked, breathlessly.

There was a smirk in his voice. "Does that really matter?"

Of course it didn’t. I would endure any amount of punishment, if it meant a relief from this incessant pressure between my legs.

"Spankings," I whispered, in defeat.

He didn’t waste any time.

I cried out, the impact jolting my whole body, stinging my skin and lighting every nerve on fire. It went on for as long as I could bear, and then a moment longer. I realized I was stronger than I thought.

One foot nudged against my ankle, gently kicking my legs apart. I knew what came next. Whining with anticipation, I arched my lower back as far as it could go, presenting myself to him like an animal in heat. I heard his low, dark chuckle as he unzipped.

I would never tired tired of this feeling. The skin on my ass throbbing with heat and pain, everything between my legs slick and swollen and screaming for attention.

"Very pretty," he rumbled, grabbing my waist and pulling me tight against him, so his hardness was trapped between my cheeks. "But not like this, tonight. I need to see your face."

He turned me around, hoisting me up onto the desk so that my ass just barely hung over the edge. It was the perfect height. I wondered if he’d chosen it for this. He kept my legs hoisted up with his arms, knowing he’d be able to take me deeper that way.

The soft noise he made, sinking in deep, was almost as good as the feeling of being completely filled. Briefly, he leaned over me, one hand stroking the side of my face, trailing down my body in a slow worshipful path. "I missed you," he murmured. "It was hell, these last few days. Not being able to hear your voice." He slid in and out, slowly, reveling in the sensation.

"You could have called," I said, softly. I was still feeling raw, rejected, because even though I understood his annoyance I didn’t think there was any reason to give me the cold shoulder.

"So could you." He punctuated with a deep thrust, pinching my nipple between his fingers. I keened, rocking my hips against his body.

Of course, he was right. I’d been too much of a coward.

"I’m sorry," I whispered.

"I’m sorry too." He let my legs slide down, gently, so he could lean over and kiss me. "No more silent treatment."

Nodding in agreement, I gave myself over to the feeling.

As we climbed higher together, spiraling, losing ourselves in each other, I let myself believe.

As my awareness shattered, I gave myself over to forgetting.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jenna

I sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding, waiting for him.

Although Ben had assured me last night that my punishment was over, he still wanted to "rectify the problem." I didn’t know what that meant, but my nerves were frayed to the breaking point.