[ greer's begging sends a stricken look of betrayal careening across his face, his throat working uselessly. she's asked him for nearly nothing since their parting in chicago when she conceivably could have made his life miserable if she'd wanted. she could have told ash anytime she wanted, could have revealed the depths of embry's depravity — most of which ash knows, but he doesn't know that embry fucked her first and regrets it not because of how much it would hurt ash, but because he can never have her again.
his cock dampens the fabric of his slacks when ash pinches him, leaking hopelessly, harder than mount everest. fifteen what? but he already knows, staring down at the curve of greer's ass, because he's been right where she is now, bent over ash's knee, his hand bearing down on his neck to keep him down while he rained fire on his ass until embry's rabid thoughts emptied, sweat slicking his skin and tears staining his face.
greer doesn't move despite the tightness he can feel in her body, her quiet breath and the rapid flutter of her heart. there's no inclination that she wants to go, and he hates her for being so willing, and he hates ash for knowing her so well already, and he swells with desire and love and need for them both.
ash's hand cracks down, and embry feels every bit of power reverberating through his thighs, greer's skin reddening instantly, her muscles going taut in the most achingly familiar way. he keeps his grip locked around her ankles, secure, but his other hand glides to her hair, stroking it from her eyes, his thumb gliding gently across her cheek, cradling her. ]
Breathe. You're doing so good, princess. [ heat blooms at his thigh, a groan caught in his throat when he realizes she's wet, and he shifts his leg to offer her a solid force to grind against. his erection pushes painfully against the prison of his slacks. ] You look so fucking hot like this, like —
[ like five years ago, when he'd had her to himself. he chokes the words down, ash's jeweled gaze abruptly in his face, the force of his presence massive and overwhelming. if he wasn't already seated with a lapful of greer's quivering body, he'd want to sink to his knees and let ash ravage his mouth. ]
Fuck you. [ he has the grace to say it a little more quietly than usual. it's as solid a confirmation as any, his eyes glazed with hunger, color high in his cheeks. his hand travels tenderly down greer's spine, veering dangerously close to where ash's sits. ] You lied to me. You didn't tell me — you and her —
[ that they've gotten so fucking comfortable that they can do this, right in front of his fucking face. ]
[ There is a moment, brief at best, when the panic starts to set in — when Greer realizes, all too helplessly, that she's assumed a position solely to Ash's liking, where anyone who walks into this bar right now could see. No, not solely to Ash's liking, that's unfair to even so much as suggest; she's here because she wants to be, draped over Embry's lap serving as the makeshift table for this offering of flesh, and Ash's hands are warm, too, like Embry's holding her ankles together, and she realizes then, too, that Ash has positioned himself to mostly shield her from anyone who might even cast a casual glance in their direction.
It might still be obvious, in a moment, what they're doing, especially when Ash's hand comes down on her the first time, and Greer's heart practically leaps up into her throat — it stings, smarts, but then more heat blossoms in its wake, spreading out over her. She's tensing, even though she knows it's the good kind of pain, and after the first five of the twenty smacks he's deemed necessary for her, her breathing is already leaving her in sharper pants, her thighs reflexively tensing. Whether the pause is there for her or for Ash to collect himself, for Embry to decide whether he's in this too, she almost lifts her head to promise she's fine — and then finds herself pressed down against the cushion of the booth seating, only Embry fully in her view with her head turned to one side. When he reaches down to brush her hair out of her face, the gesture is so tender she wants to weep from it. Maybe she's already weeping, and she doesn't know it, doesn't feel the tears streaming down her cheeks; her ass is already throbbing, pulsing in an echo of her heartbeat, and between her thighs, the crotch of her panties is starting to grow damp. ]
That's five.
[ It feels important, somehow, to let Ash know she's been keeping track — that she'll count all of them, each one he's deemed to deliver to her tonight, whether as punishment or reward. She can't fully tell, and the rabbiting rhythm of her heart is a result of being made to squirm in Embry's lap while she's becoming more and more aroused. She thinks she might be able to feel his erection too, nudging against her stomach, whenever she arches just right, a move that brings her hips flush to the top of his thigh and has her tempted to relieve some of the pressure right then and there.
She could make herself come like this, humping Embry's leg out of sheer shamelessness and desperation, but she suspects that would only earn her more of Ash's bruising touch. She can already feel the outline of his hand burned into her, palm and five fingers, and when he brings his hand down again, she makes it to ten before the first real moan spills out of her, more beyond the whimpers she's been successfully stifling — a keening sound between pleasure and pain as she gulps for necessary air. You're doing so good, princess. But she can feel the tension in Embry's body, hear it in the words meant for Ash. ]
We only just — it's new. All of this, it's — [ Her and Ash, and safewords, and the bruises left behind into the plush softness of her thighs. But it's what she needs, has needed since long before she even had the words to describe it, could successfully understand it. Ash's hand settling like a makeshift collar around her throat, and the instinctive way she'd lifted her chin to offer herself for it — everything had clicked into place after that. Both of them have hands on her now, and her stomach is roiling with guilt, the truth of that night between her and Embry threatening to out itself, but she doesn't want them to stop touching her, to go back to the moment before she knew what it felt like to feel Embry's fingers strafing down to where Ash is making her tender and raw. ]
( the benefit of the position is while embry acts as greer's restraints, greer is doing the same back for him. keeping his little dolls locked in a little dance, watching them form and reform strategies, like ash can't see the connection between them sparking like the tail end of a pipe bomb. he doesn't mind embry offering her his leg — greer knows better than to let herself cum, and ash is rapt by the sight of it, her cunt wet enough that her underwear goes translucent on her mound, excessively wetting the dark material of embry's slacks. embry's slacks on embry's long, toned legs, hugging his firm thighs and tight ass. ash's teeth sink into his bottom lip, imagining his cock in embry, his cock in greer, laying a hand flat on his back and crushing the two of them together, making a diamond between their bellies.
embry's brand of vitriol doesn't hit the way he intends it to. ash gives him a dead eyed, dommy stare before resetting his gaze on greer's plump, curvy ass, fingers stroking up her cunt, cinching around her underwear at her tail bone to lift it up, tight against her ass, watching the lips of her cunt swallow the fabric up greedily. he lied? not quite. if anything, ash is brutally honest and this is his honest — leaning over greer's back with a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her into an arch, free hand pinching her cheeks together with how he cinches her jaw. it's turned to embry so he can watch — greer's glimmering eyes, her perfect mouth, the almost leisurely way ash manhandles her. a bit like looking in a mirror. )
If you're focusing on him, you're not focusing on your punishment. Do you want twenty more? ( empty threat, for now. it won't be if she keeps it up. his grip loosens and he taps her cheek, not a slap but not anything short of degrading. ) Open up, princess. ( before he spits in her mouth, and resettles his position, knelt behind her.
five more unkind spanks follow. ash's palm isn't enough to have her bruised, but her pale skin is red hot, sensitive from the abuse. that's fifteen. ash's hand moves from squeezing greer's ass to sliding into embry's hair, fisting it until his angry gaze meets ash's, clashing glares like swords crossing in a duel. because he's feeling generous, ash uses his spare hand to squeeze his swollen cock in his pants, pointedly staring at embry's mouth like he'd like nothing more than to fuck it into bruised, beaten submission. like he wants to cum deep down in the pocket of his throat, so every stupid, senseless word from his mouth is flavored by ash's semen.
instead, he lets himself go, slides his fingers into greer's panties and around the sopping wet of her hole, before shoving them into embry's mouth meanly, like it's not a gift he's giving him, but a punishment. pointedly, )
My hand's tired. ( unarguably untrue — he's beaten embry for hours before, and could always beat him for an hour more. ) Mr. Vice President, do the last five.
[ the hardest part of it all is knowing that despite the agony of greer writhing in his lap, of having to stare down his former lover while he extracts his fill from them both in ways he knows they crave in equal measures, embry wouldn't stop this for anything. he doesn't have a safe word and he doesn't need one because he'd never, ever use it. he wouldn't dream of stopping ash from destroying him from the inside out, whether it's from this or marrying someone else or forcing embry to break his heart all over again. he lives for this, for these moments when ash enters his bloodstream in the worst ways, because the only thing that burns hotter than his hatred for himself is him, him, him, searing his thoughts and branding his lungs.
he's so hard it hurts, every shuddering breath pulling greer taut pushing down against his dick. she's a live wire, blooming sparks with every crack of ash's hand, and he knows how she feels and even worse, he knows that she loves it. he imagines her dress gone and his lips trailing down her spine, imagines his fingers pressing to the wet space between her legs to offer her swollen clit relief. greer is counting like a good girl, which is all well and good because embry is definitely not, too busy staring at her spit-wet mouth, then flushing with excruciating jealousy when ash's fingers are the ones that end up in her cunt. ]
Fuck.
[ he's blocked out the image of ash fondling himself, because he's so embarrassingly close to creaming his own pants, every brush of expensive fabric its own exquisite torture. he can't help it; his fingers twitch and he tries to reach for her, just one touch to her slick lips would be enough, ash's spit glistening from her panting mouth, and before he's even halfway there it's ash's fingers again that have the last laugh, crammed into his mouth like he's a hole to be used, like ash knew exactly what he was thinking and said very funny, embry moore. ]
Fuck.
[ only it comes out muffled, drowned out around half a moan as the taste of greer floods his tongue, and he's sucking, mortified, like a man starved — which he is, because it's been years since he's tasted greer like this, even if he has to lick her off of someone else's fingers. he's a mere second away from deep-throating ash's fingers before he loses that too, leaving embry breathless and hateful, so desperate that his cock weeps through his pants, pulsing at ash's words.
he can't say no. greer's reddened bottom squirms in his lap, and he trembles with the need to pull her against him and feel every quiver dancing across her skin. his eyes flicker up to ash, uncertainty nearly caving him in. can he? he can, because ash told him to. should he is the real question, and he already knows the answer to that one. no, unquestionably fucking no.
his hand releases greer's ankles, leaving her legs to ash while he reaches selfishly for her throat, sliding along her damp skin, cradling her first before squeezing just enough to feel the labor of her breath and the hard flutter of her pulse. he isn't careful like ash, arrested by the force of his lust, too far gone to hide how wildly he wants her, and this — both of them, all three of them in this fucked up tangle of pain and sex and love. it's primal and raw and it terrifies him as much as it excites him, like the first time he laid eyes on ash all over again.
his hand makes impact and he nearly comes at one or sixteen or whatever the fuck number he's supposed to be on, because greer mewls out in the most delicious way at the abuse of her tender flesh, grinding down against him, and he's acutely aware of ash's eyes on him as he goes again, and again, and again. embry hasn't touched himself, not once, but heat pries him open, his breath shuddering the last time his hand cracks down and glides helplessly across greer's heated skin, coming with a raw groan, spurting hot and wet right in his pants, right where greer can feel it — not that she looks any more dignified. not that she's ever looked better, in his opinion.
he releases her throat and slides a hand to her cheek, a brief touch as he stifles the urge to kiss her, looking away as he catches his breath, his own cheeks inflamed with the haze of lust and burgeoning shame. ]
[ Greer's stomach flips, in that way that can only be described as wanting, shameful and aware, when Ash threatens her with the possibility of more blows. She can't deny that her focus is divided, torn between Ash's looming presence and Embry warm and firm beneath her, his cock jutting hard through his slacks and the thin fabric of her sundress in that way that makes her want to drop to her knees right here, tuck herself into the tight space between floor and table so she can take him out of his pants and suck him down.
Ash's spit tastes like gin on her tongue, and her cheeks are burning with the keen pleasure of mortification; she nearly opens her mouth for more, lifts her chin like a supplicant eager to receive this form of holy communion. The body and the blood, spilled for you. She's giving her body to both of them, and how can it be anything other than worship? She can't hide her moan when Ash hands over the last five smacks to Embry instead, even though she suspects he's not wholly being honest about his hand tiring. Somewhere along the way, this has turned into just as much of a punishment for Embry as it is for her, even though she still hasn't confessed the full truth to Ash about their night together. There have been signs hinting at it the entire time, to say nothing of how she'd so readily draped herself across Embry's lap like a prize to be claimed.
In the interim, Greer's given a moment to catch her breath, to watch, with eyes shining bright with unspilled tears, as Embry sucks the taste of her off of Ash's fingers. She aches, with unfulfilled need and the unrepentant stinging of her ass, and fights not to squirm, but the merciless plunge of Ash's fingers against her is a persistent reminder of how desperately she wants to come. Denying herself, refusing to let herself surrender to that selfish desire without permission, serves as proof of her fealty; if she gives her orgasms to Ash, there'll be no question of her love.
But the way she lifts her chin into the encircling, possessive grasp of Embry's hand around her throat is irrefutable, the fluttering of her lashes as damning as a vocal profession of devotion. Her thoughts briefly stray to the fantasy of what it would feel like to have both of their fingers inside her — one of them stuffing her cunt full while the other rubs digits across her tongue, or hooking through the sensitive pucker of her ass, hoisting her up onto her toes with the strength of it. She wants them to make a home for themselves inside her, wants herself to be the place where their cocks slide against each other while they're buried deep in her weeping, pulsing core.
Then Embry's hand comes down and Greer nearly comes out of her body; there's no more pausing, no more respite, he just strikes her, again and again, hitting flesh already abused by Ash's palm. This time, the tears do come, rolling fat and salty down her cheeks, quivering on her jawline before falling onto Embry's pants. She hiccups, once, as she counts each and every one of them, gasping for breath, and somewhere in the midst of all of it, she feels where Embry's come is cooling in a damning little wet spot on her dress, but she's too warm, too needy, too desperate to dwell overlong beyond her own unfulfilled orgasm. His hand leaves her throat and it's all she can do not to whine, hoarse and reedy, as her head drops lower, as she fights to draw in deeper breaths while shudders wrack her frame.
Only then does she realize she's murmuring something under her breath — ] Thank you, thank you.
[ For the punishment, for administering it by his own hand, for hitting her so hard she'll be bruised and sore and wincing every time she sits down tomorrow. ]
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no subject
his cock dampens the fabric of his slacks when ash pinches him, leaking hopelessly, harder than mount everest. fifteen what? but he already knows, staring down at the curve of greer's ass, because he's been right where she is now, bent over ash's knee, his hand bearing down on his neck to keep him down while he rained fire on his ass until embry's rabid thoughts emptied, sweat slicking his skin and tears staining his face.
greer doesn't move despite the tightness he can feel in her body, her quiet breath and the rapid flutter of her heart. there's no inclination that she wants to go, and he hates her for being so willing, and he hates ash for knowing her so well already, and he swells with desire and love and need for them both.
ash's hand cracks down, and embry feels every bit of power reverberating through his thighs, greer's skin reddening instantly, her muscles going taut in the most achingly familiar way. he keeps his grip locked around her ankles, secure, but his other hand glides to her hair, stroking it from her eyes, his thumb gliding gently across her cheek, cradling her. ]
Breathe. You're doing so good, princess. [ heat blooms at his thigh, a groan caught in his throat when he realizes she's wet, and he shifts his leg to offer her a solid force to grind against. his erection pushes painfully against the prison of his slacks. ] You look so fucking hot like this, like —
[ like five years ago, when he'd had her to himself. he chokes the words down, ash's jeweled gaze abruptly in his face, the force of his presence massive and overwhelming. if he wasn't already seated with a lapful of greer's quivering body, he'd want to sink to his knees and let ash ravage his mouth. ]
Fuck you. [ he has the grace to say it a little more quietly than usual. it's as solid a confirmation as any, his eyes glazed with hunger, color high in his cheeks. his hand travels tenderly down greer's spine, veering dangerously close to where ash's sits. ] You lied to me. You didn't tell me — you and her —
[ that they've gotten so fucking comfortable that they can do this, right in front of his fucking face. ]
no subject
It might still be obvious, in a moment, what they're doing, especially when Ash's hand comes down on her the first time, and Greer's heart practically leaps up into her throat — it stings, smarts, but then more heat blossoms in its wake, spreading out over her. She's tensing, even though she knows it's the good kind of pain, and after the first five of the twenty smacks he's deemed necessary for her, her breathing is already leaving her in sharper pants, her thighs reflexively tensing. Whether the pause is there for her or for Ash to collect himself, for Embry to decide whether he's in this too, she almost lifts her head to promise she's fine — and then finds herself pressed down against the cushion of the booth seating, only Embry fully in her view with her head turned to one side. When he reaches down to brush her hair out of her face, the gesture is so tender she wants to weep from it. Maybe she's already weeping, and she doesn't know it, doesn't feel the tears streaming down her cheeks; her ass is already throbbing, pulsing in an echo of her heartbeat, and between her thighs, the crotch of her panties is starting to grow damp. ]
That's five.
[ It feels important, somehow, to let Ash know she's been keeping track — that she'll count all of them, each one he's deemed to deliver to her tonight, whether as punishment or reward. She can't fully tell, and the rabbiting rhythm of her heart is a result of being made to squirm in Embry's lap while she's becoming more and more aroused. She thinks she might be able to feel his erection too, nudging against her stomach, whenever she arches just right, a move that brings her hips flush to the top of his thigh and has her tempted to relieve some of the pressure right then and there.
She could make herself come like this, humping Embry's leg out of sheer shamelessness and desperation, but she suspects that would only earn her more of Ash's bruising touch. She can already feel the outline of his hand burned into her, palm and five fingers, and when he brings his hand down again, she makes it to ten before the first real moan spills out of her, more beyond the whimpers she's been successfully stifling — a keening sound between pleasure and pain as she gulps for necessary air. You're doing so good, princess. But she can feel the tension in Embry's body, hear it in the words meant for Ash. ]
We only just — it's new. All of this, it's — [ Her and Ash, and safewords, and the bruises left behind into the plush softness of her thighs. But it's what she needs, has needed since long before she even had the words to describe it, could successfully understand it. Ash's hand settling like a makeshift collar around her throat, and the instinctive way she'd lifted her chin to offer herself for it — everything had clicked into place after that. Both of them have hands on her now, and her stomach is roiling with guilt, the truth of that night between her and Embry threatening to out itself, but she doesn't want them to stop touching her, to go back to the moment before she knew what it felt like to feel Embry's fingers strafing down to where Ash is making her tender and raw. ]
no subject
embry's brand of vitriol doesn't hit the way he intends it to. ash gives him a dead eyed, dommy stare before resetting his gaze on greer's plump, curvy ass, fingers stroking up her cunt, cinching around her underwear at her tail bone to lift it up, tight against her ass, watching the lips of her cunt swallow the fabric up greedily. he lied? not quite. if anything, ash is brutally honest and this is his honest — leaning over greer's back with a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her into an arch, free hand pinching her cheeks together with how he cinches her jaw. it's turned to embry so he can watch — greer's glimmering eyes, her perfect mouth, the almost leisurely way ash manhandles her. a bit like looking in a mirror. )
If you're focusing on him, you're not focusing on your punishment. Do you want twenty more? ( empty threat, for now. it won't be if she keeps it up. his grip loosens and he taps her cheek, not a slap but not anything short of degrading. ) Open up, princess. ( before he spits in her mouth, and resettles his position, knelt behind her.
five more unkind spanks follow. ash's palm isn't enough to have her bruised, but her pale skin is red hot, sensitive from the abuse. that's fifteen. ash's hand moves from squeezing greer's ass to sliding into embry's hair, fisting it until his angry gaze meets ash's, clashing glares like swords crossing in a duel. because he's feeling generous, ash uses his spare hand to squeeze his swollen cock in his pants, pointedly staring at embry's mouth like he'd like nothing more than to fuck it into bruised, beaten submission. like he wants to cum deep down in the pocket of his throat, so every stupid, senseless word from his mouth is flavored by ash's semen.
instead, he lets himself go, slides his fingers into greer's panties and around the sopping wet of her hole, before shoving them into embry's mouth meanly, like it's not a gift he's giving him, but a punishment. pointedly, )
My hand's tired. ( unarguably untrue — he's beaten embry for hours before, and could always beat him for an hour more. ) Mr. Vice President, do the last five.
no subject
he's so hard it hurts, every shuddering breath pulling greer taut pushing down against his dick. she's a live wire, blooming sparks with every crack of ash's hand, and he knows how she feels and even worse, he knows that she loves it. he imagines her dress gone and his lips trailing down her spine, imagines his fingers pressing to the wet space between her legs to offer her swollen clit relief. greer is counting like a good girl, which is all well and good because embry is definitely not, too busy staring at her spit-wet mouth, then flushing with excruciating jealousy when ash's fingers are the ones that end up in her cunt. ]
Fuck.
[ he's blocked out the image of ash fondling himself, because he's so embarrassingly close to creaming his own pants, every brush of expensive fabric its own exquisite torture. he can't help it; his fingers twitch and he tries to reach for her, just one touch to her slick lips would be enough, ash's spit glistening from her panting mouth, and before he's even halfway there it's ash's fingers again that have the last laugh, crammed into his mouth like he's a hole to be used, like ash knew exactly what he was thinking and said very funny, embry moore. ]
Fuck.
[ only it comes out muffled, drowned out around half a moan as the taste of greer floods his tongue, and he's sucking, mortified, like a man starved — which he is, because it's been years since he's tasted greer like this, even if he has to lick her off of someone else's fingers. he's a mere second away from deep-throating ash's fingers before he loses that too, leaving embry breathless and hateful, so desperate that his cock weeps through his pants, pulsing at ash's words.
he can't say no. greer's reddened bottom squirms in his lap, and he trembles with the need to pull her against him and feel every quiver dancing across her skin. his eyes flicker up to ash, uncertainty nearly caving him in. can he? he can, because ash told him to. should he is the real question, and he already knows the answer to that one. no, unquestionably fucking no.
his hand releases greer's ankles, leaving her legs to ash while he reaches selfishly for her throat, sliding along her damp skin, cradling her first before squeezing just enough to feel the labor of her breath and the hard flutter of her pulse. he isn't careful like ash, arrested by the force of his lust, too far gone to hide how wildly he wants her, and this — both of them, all three of them in this fucked up tangle of pain and sex and love. it's primal and raw and it terrifies him as much as it excites him, like the first time he laid eyes on ash all over again.
his hand makes impact and he nearly comes at one or sixteen or whatever the fuck number he's supposed to be on, because greer mewls out in the most delicious way at the abuse of her tender flesh, grinding down against him, and he's acutely aware of ash's eyes on him as he goes again, and again, and again. embry hasn't touched himself, not once, but heat pries him open, his breath shuddering the last time his hand cracks down and glides helplessly across greer's heated skin, coming with a raw groan, spurting hot and wet right in his pants, right where greer can feel it — not that she looks any more dignified. not that she's ever looked better, in his opinion.
he releases her throat and slides a hand to her cheek, a brief touch as he stifles the urge to kiss her, looking away as he catches his breath, his own cheeks inflamed with the haze of lust and burgeoning shame. ]
no subject
Ash's spit tastes like gin on her tongue, and her cheeks are burning with the keen pleasure of mortification; she nearly opens her mouth for more, lifts her chin like a supplicant eager to receive this form of holy communion. The body and the blood, spilled for you. She's giving her body to both of them, and how can it be anything other than worship? She can't hide her moan when Ash hands over the last five smacks to Embry instead, even though she suspects he's not wholly being honest about his hand tiring. Somewhere along the way, this has turned into just as much of a punishment for Embry as it is for her, even though she still hasn't confessed the full truth to Ash about their night together. There have been signs hinting at it the entire time, to say nothing of how she'd so readily draped herself across Embry's lap like a prize to be claimed.
In the interim, Greer's given a moment to catch her breath, to watch, with eyes shining bright with unspilled tears, as Embry sucks the taste of her off of Ash's fingers. She aches, with unfulfilled need and the unrepentant stinging of her ass, and fights not to squirm, but the merciless plunge of Ash's fingers against her is a persistent reminder of how desperately she wants to come. Denying herself, refusing to let herself surrender to that selfish desire without permission, serves as proof of her fealty; if she gives her orgasms to Ash, there'll be no question of her love.
But the way she lifts her chin into the encircling, possessive grasp of Embry's hand around her throat is irrefutable, the fluttering of her lashes as damning as a vocal profession of devotion. Her thoughts briefly stray to the fantasy of what it would feel like to have both of their fingers inside her — one of them stuffing her cunt full while the other rubs digits across her tongue, or hooking through the sensitive pucker of her ass, hoisting her up onto her toes with the strength of it. She wants them to make a home for themselves inside her, wants herself to be the place where their cocks slide against each other while they're buried deep in her weeping, pulsing core.
Then Embry's hand comes down and Greer nearly comes out of her body; there's no more pausing, no more respite, he just strikes her, again and again, hitting flesh already abused by Ash's palm. This time, the tears do come, rolling fat and salty down her cheeks, quivering on her jawline before falling onto Embry's pants. She hiccups, once, as she counts each and every one of them, gasping for breath, and somewhere in the midst of all of it, she feels where Embry's come is cooling in a damning little wet spot on her dress, but she's too warm, too needy, too desperate to dwell overlong beyond her own unfulfilled orgasm. His hand leaves her throat and it's all she can do not to whine, hoarse and reedy, as her head drops lower, as she fights to draw in deeper breaths while shudders wrack her frame.
Only then does she realize she's murmuring something under her breath — ] Thank you, thank you.
[ For the punishment, for administering it by his own hand, for hitting her so hard she'll be bruised and sore and wincing every time she sits down tomorrow. ]