It’s like she can read my mind, the way she rubs the red toe of her shoe against the inside of her calf. “I had impure thoughts about a man,” she begins, like she regrets her dirty mind.
“Just thoughts? Tell the truth, my child,” I order.
I can hear her swallow nervously. “Fine. They were more than thoughts.”
I sit up straighter. “Tell me what you did. Don’t leave out a single, salacious detail,” I tell her. “This is your penance. You must confess every filthy, lascivious tidbit.”
She lets out a nervous breath. “He spanked me, Father. And I liked it. I liked it so much when he hit me, and he marked me, and he made me hiss,” she coos in a rush.
And the temperature hits Death Valley levels or higher. The admission that she likes it—even though I know, I fucking know, I was there—cranks my engine.
I adjust myself in my seat, then hiss out in a mean voice, “You’ll need penance for that, but I can’t give it to you until you finish describing all of your grievous sexual sins to me.”
She gasps. “As you wish, Father.”
Ellie goes on to recount our nights in excruciatingly sensual detail, torturing me with her story of the filthy, beautiful sex we had. As she talks, my head goes hazy with longing. My chest tightens, glowing with this slow-burning fire.
I ball my hands into fists.
She’s seducing me all over again with the story of us, and I want to lunge at her and punish her with pleasure.
This time with her has been such a rush, such a wicked thrill. These last few nights have been a revelation. But I try to stay in the moment, not get lost in the haze of my own aching desire for her. When she’s done, I dig my nails into my palms as I ask, “And what else, my child? What else do you want to confess?”
She sighs nervously, making little gaspy noises like she’s struggling as she leans into her role as the naughty penitent. I bet she’s nibbling on that gorgeous lower lip. “Father, that’s only the start. There’s something else I can’t stop thinking about. Those impure thoughts I mentioned? I need to tell them to you. Now.”
There she goes again, wrestling all the control. “Tell me your impure thoughts so I can absolve you.”
“Well,” she says, stretching out her legs now, giving me a full view of those gorgeous limbs, “it’s more like a fantasy.”
My chest is a furnace. “Go on.”
“They’re about you, Father,” she whispers. “I want you to…” She stops. Then she goes quiet. I don’t say a word. I just wait for her.
Then she’s barely audible.
I’m not even sure I heard right. That two-word command.
“Excuse me?”
She clears her throat. “Leave marks,” she says, no more whispering now. “Hit me with a paddle and mark me.”
Holy. Fuck.
I stand, breaking character, coming to face her. I get down on my knees, looking at her wide eyes. “You do, sweetheart?”
Her lower lip quivers but with anticipation. Her irises seem to gleam with…wicked excitement. “Remember when you texted me—When I take you out in public, I get a thrill that I’m the only one who knows the private side of you.”
I nod quickly. “Yes,” I say eagerly, dying to know what’s next.
She swallows, then lifts her chin. “I want you to bruise me. I want to look in the mirror as I get ready for the party tomorrow and see marks. Your marks. I’ve never done that.”
God, I want this so fucking badly. But there’s one problem. “I don’t have anything to use. I don’t know if I can leave marks like that with my hand.” I think quickly. What do I have? “But I can look in the kitchen. Maybe a spatula. A wooden spoon.”
Her lips curve into a dirty smirk. “I brought a paddle.”
My eyes squeeze shut for a second. I’m lightheaded with lust. But that’s barely the beginning. I’m overwhelmed with emotions too. New ones, surprising ones.
But ones I’ll have to deal with later. First, I need to deal with her.
I open my eyes and take back control. “Say a prayer, my child. You’re going to take your penance bent over the counter. Ass raised. For me.”
Ellie’s brown eyes twinkle, then she darts out a hand, runs it across my chin. “You are such a hot priest.”
22
A PING-PONG KIND OF THING
Ellie
I didn’t come to Los Angeles to explore all my wild sex fantasies.
I came to this town to work.
But on the cusp of the biggest week in my career, I’m gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, and he’s railing me.
With a vicious grip on my hips, he fucks me deeper, harder, alternating spanks with tugs on my hair.
A sharp slap tears through me, the pain blooming into pleasure. I moan, a savage sound ripped from my soul.
Then, he whispers darkly in my ear, “You ready, baby?”
Like I’ve never been before. “So ready.”
He eases back, reaches for the ping-pong paddle on the counter, and lifts it. But I can’t see him, so I don’t know when it’s coming.
He pushes deep into me, then out, then whack.
The paddle stings.
The pain bursts.
And I jump. “Oh, god,” I gasp.
“Okay?”
But then I’m moaning because I’m warm all over.
“Yes,” I say.
He sinks into me again, one hand snaking around my waist, down to my clit.
As he rubs, I rock back against his cock, murmuring into the exquisite bliss of his fingers.
Then…smack.
A hard sting. The sharp ache spreads through my body chased by a burst of desire.
Then a luxurious wave of sensations saying more, more.
“Again,” I beg in a whisper.
He teases my clit with his fingers, pinching me, then hitting me.
Sharp. Hard. Deliciously.
“Oh god,” I yelp.
“Do you need me to stop?” he asks.
“I need you to do it again. Both sides. Mark me the same,” I urge, my voice a barren pant.
He grunts like an animal. “Fuck, Ellie.”
Then he pounds into me, smacking my other cheek with the paddle. Pain shatters under his touch, but I rock back into his thrusts, seeking that moment when it crests and breaks into this…bliss.
He paddles one cheek, then the other.
Soon, I’m lost in a trance. The sensations of pleasure and pain flip every few seconds, one chasing the other, one turning into the other.
I ask for more, and he gives me what I want until the pain overwhelms me. It’s too much and I hit my limit.
“Scooter,” I whisper desperately.
Immediately, he sets the paddle on the counter and slows his pace. “What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything,” he rasps out.
I need speed. Intensity. I need to be fucked good. And I trust this man, so I’m going to tell him.
“Give me the rest of my penance. Fuck me senseless till I scream,” I say, then I thrust my hand between my thighs.
Gabe pounds me in a ruthless rhythm as I feverishly stroke myself till I’m caught up.
My orgasm crashes into me, over me, around me.