A moment later, he’s on his feet, hand around my arm, my violin and bow hanging limply from the other.
“You’ll play for him but not for me?”
“Are you jealous?”
He snorts, setting my things down. He spins me so I’m looking away from him and bends me over the high arm of the leather sofa. My face is in the seat, my ass in the air.
“What are you doing?” I try to get up, but he keeps me pinned.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, flipping my skirt up, pushing my panties down. There’s no ceremony in it. He’s baring my flesh for his use. And it’s strangely arousing when it should only be degrading.
I reach back to push my skirt over my butt. “Jericho—”
“Isabelle,” he says, capturing my wrists and holding them in one hand. He flips the skirt back up and leans over so his warmth is at my back, his breath at my ear. “What did I tell you?”
I can feel him. He’s hard.
And I’m aroused.
With his free hand he cups my ass, fingers digging into flesh. “What. Did. I. Tell. You?”
“I’m yours,” I say, turning my head so I can see him.
He nods, satisfied, and straightens. Keeping me prone, he glances around. I don’t know what he’s looking for but a moment later, he leans toward the side table where someone’s half-eaten scone sits on a plate. He scoops up the butter with two fingers.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to wriggle free when he smears it into the cleft of my ass.
“Lubricating you. You’ll be thanking me in a minute,” he says and then he’s rubbing the butter into me.
Every muscle tenses. Instinct.
“Relax, Isabelle.”
“Not there.”
“There. And if I recall you came hard the last time I fucked your ass.” He keeps his fingers on me and releases my wrists. “Put your hands on the sofa.”
“No.”
“No? Let me put it differently then. Keep your hands on the sofa and I’ll let you come. Don’t and I won’t. Either way, I’m fucking this tight little hole. Which do you choose?”
“I don’t—”
“Choices, Isabelle. Remember? What’s yours? Come or don’t. It doesn’t matter much to me either way.”
I crane my neck to look back at him and slowly slide my hands to the seat of the sofa.
“Smart. Now.” He turns his attention back to my ass. “Relax.” He slips the fingers of his now free hand between my legs to find my clit and the instant he does, I do what he wants. I relax.
He takes his time rubbing my clit while easing his fingers into my ass, stretching it, smearing lubricant inside it. As much as I want to hate it, hate him touching me like this, I’m going to come. I’m going to come hard when he’s inside me. I remember the last time. How it hurt at first. How hard I came after.
I know he deems me ready when he pulls his fingers out and I hear him unzipping his slacks. I brace myself. He slips his cock into my pussy once, twice, and I’m open for him. Aroused enough that I stretch easily. I hope the other passage stretches as easily. He draws out and brings his cock to that entrance. I tense up and he rubs my lower back.
“Relax.”
I nod. This is the hardest part. It’s the thickest part I have to take. So I close my eyes and try not to fight the unnatural intrusion. It hurts at first, a moment of burn, but then he’s in, the butter lubricating his way. He doesn’t go slowly, doesn’t take me inch by inch. He slides all the way in, and I hear myself moan as his fingers play with my clit.
“So tight.” His voice is ragged, raw.
I arch my back as he pumps slowly then draws his fingers from my clit to grip my hips, drawing my cheeks wide.
“So I don’t get testy?” he asks when I look back. He meets my eyes and thrusts in hard.
I gasp, my body going rigid.
“Is that what he said?” he asks, drawing out and repeating.
“That hurts.”
“And what did you say to him?”
I close my eyes, trying to prepare myself to take another punishing thrust, not ready when it comes.
“Please!”
“Look at me.”
I shake my head.
He thrusts again.
I cry out, feel tears burn my eyes as I turn to look at him. He heard everything. And I know I was wrong.
“What did you say when he said that?” he asks, drawing out so only the tip is inside me. I know I’ll take at least one more. And maybe I deserve it.
I swallow, can’t answer.
“You giggled,” he says and delivers his most punishing thrust yet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say. How to react.”
“I can tell you how not to react. Don’t fucking giggle when some asshole is hitting on you and trying to belittle your husband.”
I nod. He’s right.
“I’m sorry. I am. Please.”
“You’re going to take my cock in your ass but you’re not going to come. That’s your punishment. Spread your legs. I don’t want you accidentally getting yourself off.”
I do it. It’s a small price to pay. And when he’s satisfied, he takes me and I want to come. I want to come so bad. I almost do. All it would take would be the lightest touch of my fingers to my clit.
“Please,” I say in a small voice as his thrusts grow harder, deeper, and I find myself meeting them. “Please let me come.”
I slip one hand between my legs, and he grabs it, then the other and holds them at my lower back.
“No,” he says, leaning over me as he fucks me.
“Please. I’m sorry. Please.”
He grins, eyes dark. “Are you begging me, Isabelle?”
I nod. I don’t even care.
“Fine. After.”
After?
He straightens, keeps hold of my wrists and looks down at us, watches. When he thickens inside me, he lays his chest to my back. I feel the rumble of him, skin slick with sweat as he takes what he wants from me, uses me and fills me as his cock throbs his release.
“Fuck,” he manages hoarsely as he slowly straightens, draws out. “Don’t move.”
I watch as he takes a used napkin and wipes his cock before tucking himself back into his pants. He turns back to me, looks at me spread out for him. His come leaking out of me. I want to cover myself. To get up and run out of the room.
But then he nods.
“Your turn,” he says.
“What?”
“Do it. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? What you asked for?”
“What?”
“Make yourself come.”
I blink, feeling my face heat up.
“You heard me,” he says. He resumes his seat in the armchair and picks up his whiskey glass. I hadn’t even noticed it before. He sips. “Get yourself off while I watch. Now. And don’t look away from me when you do it.” He says that last part just as I am about to bury my face in the seat of the couch.
I keep my eyes on his as I slip my hand between my legs. He never shifts his gaze from mine as I begin to rub my clit, hearing myself pant as my breath comes in short bursts. I’m aroused. I’m so turned on. And feeling his seed slide over the cleft of my ass and down my thigh, I come. It’s not as hard as when he fucks me, but I come. When it’s over, he finishes the last of his whiskey, sets his glass down and claps his hands.