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“Ouch,” I sighed.

“Shall I stop?” He rocked his hips from side to side, his cock pressing deep inside on magical places that lit me up from my very center. The repeated pressure on my G-spot had me on the verge of coming, my limbs heavy with pleasure. My head light with anticipation.

“No, no, don’t stop. I’m fine.”

“You love it,” he chuckled and smacked my ass hard enough that I bucked.

He was right, I did love it. And he damn well knew it.

I pushed my forearms to the floor, resting my head on top. Every time the thrust, he drove me forward a bit. I inched my way toward the sheeted plastic even though Hampton had my hips in his tight grip. His fingers bit into my skin and I felt my pulse banging beneath the restriction. I’d have a purple fingerprint or two to show for our mid-day fun.

I pushed my ass back, moved just so, trying so hard to entice him into doing it again. I didn’t like to ask for things aloud. Not even with Hampton. But he knew that and sometimes he made me.

I wiggled again, driving myself back against his cock, impaling myself on his length. I pushed my bottom into his hands to try and trigger another blissful sharp blow.

It didn’t work. He was on to me.

“Got ants in your pants?”

“Please,” I said, wistfully.

“Please, what, Mac? You’ve had such a stressful week. What is it that you need from me?”

“Do it again,” I said so softly I barely heard myself.

He’d stilled. His big body not moving at all but for a small rocking back and forth motion that inched me closer and closer to coming without actually triggering an orgasm. Hampton covered me with his body, draping himself along my back and cupping my breasts with his hot hands.

He was doing the opposite of what I wanted. Damn him.

“It what, baby?”

“Spank me,” I said between gritted teeth. But my voice broke at the end. I was failing at my tough girl facade. “Do it again, please.”

That was all he wanted. For me to ask. For me to admit. A rain of blows came down on my bare skin. Fire licked at the edges of my perception as my skin tingled with heat and prickling pain. I was so tight, so wet, so…close. I kept my head down and when he started to move again, I felt the awful raw drag of the rug on sore flesh.

Rug burns.

Another blow came down and coupled with the sparkling bite of my raw elbows, I came. My body milked at him eagerly and I heard the rush of air out of him that said he was close too. He was playing it cool, but he was close.

My forehead pressed heavy to the carpet so I could feel and hear my thundering heartbeat as small sparkles of pleasure continued to work through my pussy. When I shut my eyes, I could see it. Little dancing magic lights in my darkened vision that matched my heartbeat.

“You’re pretty red, Mac,” he said, sounding almost awed. Now his touch on my bottom was gentle and humble. He stroked tender flesh that stung and I winced. “Some welts.” He traced them. “A bit of purple freckling of bruises. The way you like…” He touched what I presumed to be those tiny bruises and my cunt spasmed. Almost came again, but not quite.

The way he touched me spoke volumes. He knew when to be rough, when to be calm, when to be tender. It made my throat close up a little. I’m such a girl.

“Just the way you like,” he said again, almost to himself. I said nothing. Just moved back for each lazy thrust he gave. Hampton was trying to hold off.

“You do like that, don’t you, bad girl?”

I pressed my lips together, not answering.

He gave me one more blow and it was a hard stinging slap that made my head snap back and my cunt grip tight and my ears ring. It was perfect.

“You love it,” he said, answering for me.

He couldn’t see my smile, but he could feel my body’s response. His thrusts went from easy to frantic. His body a chaotic bounce and slide of aggressive motions designed to bring pleasure. If someone looked at us-were we to make a homemade girl-and-boy-next-door fuck tape for viewing-I was sure it would appear awkward and way too rough. When in fact, what it was, was the perfect dance of fucking and loving that worked for both of us. We’d been together so long, we found our natural rhythm. On any given day it could be wildly erotic to funny to rough or gentle. It was a constantly shifting tide of lust and love and need. Symbiosis.

My elbows, grated raw by carpet, stung the perfect amount as he slammed into me brutally. My trembling fingers found my clitoris. I worked myself with a practiced touch. After two much-needed orgasms, I needed a harsher hand. I alternated swirling circles and straight blunt strokes until I was panting and pushed almost flat to my belly. I barely managed to dig in with my elbows and knees as Hampton grunted and growled, his thumbs sweeping back and forth over the dimples he adored right at the small of my back. A rhythmic, metronome motion that turned me on and soothed me at the same time.

My orgasm arrived just before his, triggered by him pressing just a bit too hard as he thrust. His cock nailed my G-spot with the exact amount of pressure I needed. “Come on,” I growled and I heard him laugh.

“I can do that,” he said, pulling free of me at the last moment and painting my ass and back with warm jets of his come.

I squawked like some giant bird as the copious hot rain of semen splattered my back.

“You said come on,” he reminded me. Then he flipped me to my back before I could gain my balance. I hit the bunched up plastic and felt the come smear along my spank-reddened flesh.

“Oh, you are so bad,” I hissed, wiggling and feeling the stickiness spread even more.

Hampton pressed down on top of me, pinning me there with his weight. He kissed me-rough at first but then gentle and reverent. “You love it,” he said. His words were light but his face was serious. He put his thumbs to my raw elbows, making me tremble a little from the bite of pain.

Just the way I liked.

“Love. It.”

I turned my face away to try and hide my smile. But he caught me and laughed. I laughed too, because he knew me too fucking well. He’d known how badly I’d needed this afternoon tussle before the thought even entered my mind. Almost spooky-but in the most treasured way.

“We need to paint,” I growled.

“I know. Tacky paint! Weird patterns! Streaks!” he mimicked me.

“Shut up and help me.”

“Careful, girls who talk like that suffer consequences,” he said, pulling on his low-slung, beat-up jeans.

I turned away presumably to find my shorts. It was really to hide yet another smile, because that’s what I was counting on. Consequences. And as I pulled up my shorts, I could feel his intense gaze on my hot red ass. I loved it.

In the Line of Duty

“Mitchell called me but told me not to come,” Ro said, barreling at me.

I let the front door drift shut and opened my arms to her. I prepped for the impact and when it came I tried not to wince. My breasts were sore, my solar plexus, a line of bruised fire burned down the center of my belly, an invisible zipper of pain. She crushed herself to me and feeling her heartbeat calmed me. I dropped my gun belt by the front door and it felt like dropping the weight of a piano.

“You would have just had a lot of boring waiting and by the time you got there they’d have been letting me go.”

“You’re bruised,” she said, pulling back to look at me.

“I’m fine.” I gently disengaged and locked the door. “But I am beat. Beyond beat. I’m fucking whipped.” I took her hand and slowly walked down the hall.

“Wine?”

I shook my head. “Nah. They checked me over for a concussion because I took that tumble down the fire escape after…”

“After you were shot!”