“You don’t do the demanding,” he says, fingers closing around the flesh he smacks and squeezes hard. “I do.”
I should protest that Neanderthal claim, yet my body doesn’t give a shit about feminism. All it cares about is feeling his hands on it—on every inch of it. I wiggle my ass beneath the hand still resting on my cheek.
“Was that spank the best you got?”
“Fuck,” he whispers as my heart thunders joyfully in my chest, but the sensation’s countered by the agonizing pulse between my legs begging for release. “Fucking hell, dirty girl. You’re more like me than I ever could have hoped.”
A sharp tug has my head lifting and turning as his lips find mine, the kiss is demanding, his tongue pushing inside to dance with mine. I buck up, not caring how wanton I must look as I grind my ass against any part of him I can reach.
“I thought you were a man of action,” I taunt.
“Oh I’ll act,” he warns with another slap of my ass. “You’re going to regret tempting me to completely unleash.”