#chapter Seventeen
At two in the morning, I should be scared by a shadowy form waiting for me on my front porch, but I know who it is. In stygian darkness, I would know that shape. Ignoring him, I push past and into my living room but leave the front door open behind me.
Ian closes it after himself. Locks it. He must be planning on staying awhile.
I take off my coat and hang it carefully in the close. I slip off my shoes and, letting them dangle from my fingertips, climb my front stairs without a word to him. Without looking back. In my bedroom, I loosen the first few buttons of my blouse before Ian appears in the doorway. Only then do I turn.
“Did you fuck him?” Ian asks.
I’d guessed it was what he’d want to know, but I hadn’t expected my soft-spoken Ian, my gentle-demeanored Ian, to be so vociferous in his questions. Facing him, I put my fingers to another button and slip it free. I watch his eyes go there. Watch his tongue press his lower lip as he bites down.
I shrug out of my blouse and toss it to the floor. Then I ease my skirt over my hips and down my thighs. I let it fall, stepping out of it. I stand in front of him in the emerald green satin and black lace bra and panties I’d so cleverly described to him earlier.
Ian is on me before I can move away, not that I’ve even tried. His mouth skates along my throat as he breathes me in. “I can smell him on you.”
My head falls back. I make no protest when he shakes me a little. My smile makes him angry, and I don’t care.
“Answer me, Maura. Did you fuck him?” Ian puts a hand between my legs. He finds my panties. Beneath, my bare cunt. His brow knits, his pupils wide and dark. His thumb strokes me. “Oh. Shit. When did you do this?”
“Few days ago.” I’m not drunk, but my words slur a little. I am woozy from his touch. “You like it?”
Ian pushes me a step or two toward the bed, then onto it. He pulls my panties down. He stares between my legs and runs his hands up my thighs. His thumb finds my clit; my head falls back as I sigh. When I look at him, he still looks angry.
“You did this for him?”
“I did this,” I say on a little gasp as his thumb circles my clit the tiniest bit faster, “for myself.”
“Answer me.”
I push his hand from me and sit up. Now I’m at the perfect height for my mouth to get at his cock, but I stare up at his face, instead. “What do you want the answer to be?”
“Damn it, Maura!”
“You want it to be no,” I say in a slow, thick voice. “But you told me to go out and find someone else, Ian. So maybe, I don’t know. Maybe you want it to be yes.”
He moves away from me to pace. I push up on my elbows to watch him. He is angry. So am I. I’m also incredibly, indescribably turned on.
“He wanted to spank me,” I say as I get up. I turn, watching Ian over my shoulder as I bend over and put my hands on the bed. Legs spread. “Like this.”
Ian makes a low, grinding noise from low in his throat.
I rock my ass a little and lean a little closer to the bed. Eyes closed. I wait for him to touch me, and I don’t have to wait long. He’s there in a moment, one hand sliding over my ass and then between my legs to stroke along my already slick cunt. The other grips my hip.
Ian has never spanked me. Never tied me up or blindfolded me. He’s never asked, I never offered. We’ve shared fantasies, but this was never one of them. Yet here, naked but for my bra, bent over the bed, all I can think about is how sweet the sting would be if he slapped my ass. Hard.
Ian rubs my ass cheek with the flat of his hand while the other works my clit. It feels so good I push back against him. He stops.
“Do you want me to spank you, Maura?” He says this so low I almost don’t hear him. “Is that what you want?”
“I want whatever you want to give me, Ian.”
He doesn’t hit me hard at all, but it still stings. I don’t yelp. I moan. I bury my face in the bed, my fingers clutching the bedspread into wrinkles.
“You want me to hurt you?” Ian rubs the flat of his hand over the heat his slap left behind. “Is that what you want?”
It’s not about that, but I’m not sure he’d understand. “I just want you to…own me.”
I think he will spank me again, but instead Ian pulls me upright. He spins me to face him, his hand between my legs. “Did you let him spank you?”
My voice catches as he finds my clit. “…No, Ian. I didn’t let him.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“No, Ian.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wasn’t you.”
His kiss is too soft. Too tender. I want it to bruise and sting and hurt; I want the taste of blood. Ian slides his hand into my hair and yanks my head back, exposing my throat to him. He bites me there, at last giving me the pain I so unexpectedly crave.
“Did you kiss him?” Ian asks against my skin.
“No. Not even that.”
He lets out a shuddering sigh. His fingers ease inside me. His thumb presses my clit.
I have been on edge for most of the day, and this is Ian. My Ian. I’m coming before he fucks into me more than four or five times. Shaking, I dig my fingers into his shoulder as the pleasure surges through me. My orgasm is sharp and hard and fierce, the sting of it sweeter than the slap had been.
He kisses me again, not hard. His tongue strokes mine. He holds me while the aftershocks shake me, until I’m finally still. Then he takes my hand and puts it to the bulge in his crotch. He moves it along the ridge of his erection, and I discover I’m far from finished.
I work open his belt, his zipper. Our mouths fused, I get Ian’s cock from his pants. I break the kiss with a small gasp at the heat of him in my hand.
Somehow, we are on the chair next to my bed. Ian’s so deep inside me it hurts. My knees press his sides. His hands cup my ass. Mine are on his face. We are not kissing, but our mouths are so close we might as well be. We breathe together. In and out. We move, slowly at first. Then fast and faster, each thrust inside me bringing me closer to another climax. We finish together, and I’m not at all ashamed that the noise I make at the end is exactly the sound of his name.
“Stay,” I say against his mouth as he throbs inside me. “Please, Ian. Stay with me.”