Chapter Three

"My turn," she suggested with a smile before he could say a word.

Considering how close they had been for all those years, she had been pretty scrupulous about not touching him often. They kissed cheeks hello and goodbye and occasionally hugged, sitting close on the couch when they were together, but there was no overt touching between them, certainly nothing sexual in origin in the least.

But she'd always wanted to feel free to do so, and this was her time. Honey did much the same thing he did, soaping her hands, then laying them on his shoulders. He even shrunk down a bit for her, so that she could get at them more easily. Sabin wouldn't have had any problem maintaining that squat forever, even if he hadn't been in great shape, as long as she continued to touch him.

Honey did her best to massage his shoulders, too, although they were much less supple than hers were, since he was hard as a rock all over. Still, she did her best, getting the occasional pleased grunt out of him, mostly when she scratched his back hard enough to leave marks.

She took it as a great compliment when he stretched himself back to his full height, indulging in a full body shudder as he did so.

Then he turned around, and she dutifully began to rub her palms over his lightly hairy chest then down his arms. She'd never seen a man with such well defined muscles up close and personal like that. It was awesome and nearly overwhelming.

Trying to be as thorough as she could, she touched him everywhere, even flicking his tiny nipples to see if he'd have any reaction at all.

He gasped, and she liked it.

"Minx," he growled teasingly, and she just grinned.

After she finished with his washboard abs, she completely skipped the most obvious area, in favor of sinking down before him to wash his thighs and calves, which had more hair than his chest. Not that she cared in the least.

He lifted his feet for her to wash them, too, and when she was done, she knelt in front of him, his cock bobbing literally inches from her lips.

But when she began to bend forward to take him in her mouth, she found herself brought to her feet instead.

"Nope. Can't do that." His tone was clipped and even sounded a little angry or terse, she thought.

Instead, he used a washcloth to clean himself there as quickly as possible, then he rinsed them both off and put her under the heat lamp while he shut the water off and joined her.

After toweling both of them off briskly but efficiently, while Honey wondered what she'd done to make him refuse her, he startled her by lifting her off her feet and carrying her into his bedroom.

Honey felt a little bereft at how his mood seemed to have changed, especially when she would have been only too happy to bring him off with her mouth—she was right there, after all—and it gave her pause.

He was about to put a leg on the bed and tuck her beneath him when she said, "No. Stop. Put me down, please."

To his credit, Sabin did stop immediately, but he kept her in his arms for a long moment as she heard him bring his heavy breathing—and the rest of him, she would bet—under control before setting her down with a palpable reluctance. He remained as close to her as he could be without standing on top of or behind her. She had to wonder what would have happened if he had been unable to talk himself down.

Would he have imposed his will on her? she wondered. Taken her anyway? And why did she—a hard line feminist—find that idea so damned hot?

A crooked index finger found her chin, tilting shy, troubled eyes to his.

"What is it, Honey B?" There was that smooth, chocolate voice he'd used with her before, to soothe and comfort her or calm her down. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" he asked, making no attempt to hide his anxiety about her answer.

"No." Her eyes glided away from his then back again. "You just seem…brusque and unhappy."

He was horrified to hear that she thought that, but he could understand how she might have misinterpreted his actions.

Sabin held her face between his palms, intent eyes on hers. "I want you to know that that is not the case. The bald-faced truth of it is, baby girl, that I couldn't let you take me in your mouth. I want the first time we're together to be you beneath me, in a bed. I definitely want your mouth on me, but not right now. And I guess I got all focused on getting us here because I seem to have a hair trigger with you." He kissed the tip of her nose, continuing sincerely, "I'm sorry I didn't notice that the way I was acting was making you uncomfortable. You are the star of this relationship."

She opened her mouth to protest that utterly ridiculous idea, but he gave her the look.

"Are you really going to try for a second spanking, little girl, instead of holding your tongue? I know you're smarter than that, and, if you're not, that ought to earn you a third."

As much as she wanted to argue with him—and she really did—her teeth clicked together loudly at that threat.

"You are the star of this relationship," he reiterated, holding her tightly. "You are the center of it. You always have been. And I'm sorry I let myself be diverted away from you. Do you accept my apology?"

"Of course," Honey croaked, on the verge of tears, although even his smile at her response was positively sinful.

"Thank you, baby."

When he talked like that, she could almost see him as the housecat he usually presented himself as, to her, instead of the dangerous panther she knew he was with everyone else.

With that, those enormous hands cupped her behind, using his hold to lift her onto the bed, expertly angling her beneath him so that when he stretched that incredible length of himself out, he was already on top of her.

"I'm going to hold off for as long as I can, Honey. Try not to think less of me if I can't do it for very long."

As if that was even possible. She knew who he was and what he'd done in the early days of his career, she knew all about his background, and she had never once thought any less of him, ever. Honey wasn't sure what that said about her, but it was an absolutely true statement.

His obvious need for her was a compliment, and she wanted to reassure him of that, but he was too good at what he was doing, of course. Although, she wouldn't have thought it to look at him. He kept his eyes glued to her, watching for the slightest of reactions to anything he did. Every touch was the gentlest, most caring imaginable as he drew his fingertips through her hair then down the back of her neck, which he knew was one of her erogenous zones.

Honey felt those callused fingers drawn over her collarbone then down the insides of her arms, to meet again at her sternum as they each cupped a breast at the same time. This time his touch was less tender and much more possessive as her nipples were discovered and pinched firmly at the same time before being rolled like some gnocchi between his thumbs and the sides of his forefingers.

Her eyes had drifted closed as soon as his touch had become more intimate, and there was no way that she could exert any control at all over the sound she was making, although she knew she would probably regret her lack of control later.

"Jesus Christ, you're perfect," he breathed against the underside of one breast.

She opened her mouth to protest—as she automatically would any kind of compliment—but closed it again, earning a chuckle from him.

"I knew you were trainable."

He was being deliberately provocative, she knew, and gave him a fierce glare.

"Put your claws away, kitten. They are no defenses against me, nor should there be." She wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not, and his tone gave no clue.

Suddenly, she found herself on her stomach as he straddled her thighs, both hands held at the small of her back by one of his.

Damn—she hadn't realized just how vulnerable she was going to feel when she was like this with him. But her worrisome little mind was easily derailed from that stressful line of thought when his hand came down across her cheeks with a tremendous crack.

Honey reared up, as much as she could, and kept rearing up as his hand continued to descend, delivering searing swat after swat to a backside that had been thoroughly sensitized and made just that much more vulnerable to his ministrations, by the hot shower.

"Sa-bin! Ow! Stop! No! Stop!"

She hurled herself one way and then the other, she tried to twist and turn, hoping to wrestle herself from beneath him. But none of her efforts yielded any kind of advancement whatsoever. Absolutely none. She was exactly where she'd started, while her backside was being most thoroughly roasted, the most thoroughly—and expertly—roasted it had ever been.

This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. Now, finally, she would utterly agree with everyone else's assessment: this was a very dangerous man! Especially to her, at this very moment!

The swats, she was barely able to notice, began to come less often, although they were delivered with much more force, so as to compensate for the fact that they were fewer in number.

She was quite sure that she felt it just as much as she would have if he had given her lighter, more frequent smacks—although she wasn't much interested in making that comparison. Ever, although she also knew that she wasn't likely to be offered a choice about it, either.

He didn't seem like the lenient type—concerned and caring, yes. Surprisingly so. But lenient? No. She'd have to bet against that, from personal experience!

There was no doubt when the spanking was over—sometimes, with some men, there was no clear delineation. But that was not so with Sabin, apparently, at least not this time.

After the last swat—that she didn't know was the last swat—he rolled himself to one side, taking her along with him, leaning back against the headboard with her on his lap, the both of them still distractingly naked.

Then he cradled her in those freakishly long and strong arms of his, holding her very tightly and using the side of a thumb to brush the tears from her cheeks.

Her eyes nearly filled with even more tears when he breathed quite reverently, "Oh my God, I've wasted so much time with you! How have I not done this before? Spanking you is…" He, a man with one of the best vocabularies she'd ever encountered, sputtered to a stop there, unable to finish his thought.

Honey colored prettily at what she knew were his heartfelt compliments. He didn't give them often, but when he did, he was absolutely sincere. But she couldn't just say nothing about them. They were too glowing—too much. "Stop! You don't have to say that."

His hand immediately found one very sore bottom cheek and squeezed as he growled low in his throat, imbuing it with no small amount of scolding—so much that it had her contracting involuntarily at his words, "I know I don't, little one, and I think we'll have to work on you naughtily thinking that you can tell me to stop." Honey had to suppress a groan at that. "But it's the truth. I'm not an effusive man, except where you're concerned, apparently. I don't think it's ever felt quite so right to me to spank a woman, and I've spanked more than my share."

But then she closed her eyes, thinking she could have lived her entire life without ever knowing that particular fact.

Sabin wasn't sure if her lack of response meant that it hadn't been as good for her, but then she was on the receiving end, and he supposed he could understand her natural reluctance to cheer about it.

Although she was barely crying any more, he still held her for a long while, thoroughly enjoying the suddenly freedom to touch her in places and in ways that he never would have before, not all of them sexual.

Mostly, he simply held her to him, letting her cry or cling to him or snuggle against him as she would while he touched her tenderly but possessively. His eyes found her unreadable ones often, although they weren't much help in judging her mood, because they were also often closed.

His body was demanding that he take her, but Sabin didn't want to be rough with her—this time—so he backed himself down as best he could, through sheer strength of will. He turned with her in his arms to lay her on her back, unable to resist the urge to bury his face between her breasts and drink in that sweet, feminine scent of her as his hands claimed her breasts.

Experienced fingers plucked at extremely sensitive nipples that had been standing at aching attention for a very long time before they were discovered. The pressure they were applying was driving her out of her mind, until they had tugged hard enough that the very tips of her nipples finally escaped their painful hold, only to have the delicate torture begin again immediately.

Honey wanted to be more circumspect—why, she wasn't exactly sure—but she was utterly unable to keep herself from moaning loudly, gasping as her flesh was pinched in a fashion that should have been purely painful but wasn't.

Sabin's concentration was entirely on her, and he was very glad to see that the somewhat wary, detached look she'd had after the spanking had disappeared as if it had never been. She was writhing in his arms, and he swore he would ask for nothing more than that from the gods for the rest of his life.

Having brought her breasts to life, noticing how they swelled, her nipples becoming agitated points, he flipped her bodily over so that she was on her tummy before him.

Immediately, she craned her head around to look back at him, alarm in her expression. "You're not going to spank me again, are you? But I haven't done anything wrong!"

That earned her an evil chuckle. "And who says you have to misbehave to be spanked, Honey B? Sometimes, I will spank you merely because I very much enjoy doing so, and it turns me on to no end—as it does you, whether or not you're willing to admit it."

She "humphed" loudly and gave him the back of her head.

Sabin hadn't intended on spanking her again so quickly, but he did drive home his point by swatting her—hard—five or six times, just to remind her of the reality he had mentioned. And because he fucking loved that he now had the freedom to do that whenever he wanted.

But he stopped quickly, not wanting to go down that path again with her—at the moment.

He was more concentrated on pleasuring her, although he did have a feeling that there was definite merit in exploring the concept of spanking being a part of sexual pleasure for her, and he tucked that idea away for another time.

So, he set about sitting on her thighs, as he had before, which he knew made her nervous. He dispelled her wariness by massaging her shoulders and back, in a way he couldn't just before their shared shower, always being careful of his considerable strength but working out a lot of kinks for her, too.

By the time he'd finished with her back and arms, she was lying there in a puddle beneath him, more relaxed with him than he thought she'd ever probably been and having treated him to a chorus of the most erotic sounding vocalizations he had ever heard. Several of them almost brought him off immediately and definitely against his will. She was too damned potent without even trying!

Then he began to massage two very red and sore cheeks, digging his thumbs into the lower curve of them. She came back to life then, to turn back toward him again and protest vociferously, although he could see that her eyes were still unfocused and the lids drooping.

"Shhh," he soothed. "Put your head back down. I promise this will feel good."

"Hah," she grunted, but she obeyed him.

And it did, much to her amazement. His skill rivaled any professional massage she'd ever gotten, and she was even more liquefied when he very gently rolled her onto her back, while still keeping her easily caged by his body.

But it was different to face him like this, to see him doing what he was doing to her as he continued to lay claim to her. He was very gentle with her, overall, but there was no mistaking the possession that lay just beneath the surface of his touch. And no spot on her body was safe from him—not a one.

His eager tongue found the folds of her ear, firm hands touched her armpits—which made her actively resist his touch, but she did stop as soon as she heard the quietly dominant, almost eerily calm way he simply said her name, "Honey."

Her belly button was kissed, as well as the creases of her thighs, the backs of her knees, and the soles of her feet, which she tried to remove from his hand and found she couldn't.

"Don't, I'm ticklish!" she whimpered, and he knew he wanted to hear that sound again, when it didn't involve her feet.

Still, he held on to that foot. "Stop." Again, softly said, but full of steel nonetheless.

She gave one more tug—as if she felt she had to—before surrendering to him.

"I'm glad you told me you're ticklish, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to touch you there. I'll just do so without tickling you."

But Sabin could feel that him being in that area was making her tense, so he moved up to a much more tantalizing one, inserting a hand between knees that had naturally separated during her protest and moving it up to cup her right there—where he'd wanted to touch her since she'd arrived on his doorstep tonight. And long, long before that.

His fingers were immediately dampened, and he felt an unusual—and tremendous—sense of relief. No other woman's reactions had meant more to him than hers. And although he thought he knew that she was becoming as engaged in what they were doing as he was—if more slowly—this was undeniable evidence of how her body felt about his efforts, and he wanted to let out a whoop but somehow managed not to, although it was close.

She was so small and delicate there, smaller than most, he thought, letting his middle finger follow that puffy furrow down to where it ended, then tracing teasingly back up. His eyes were glued to her as he let the tip press past those soft lips to the source of her honey.

Honey's honey.

Now, whenever he said her name, it would forever call that to his mind.

She was drenching him, and his cock was barely able to stand the thought of all of that sweet, musky warmth. His body wanted him to cut to the chase and drive himself into her, to take her, to be inside her, to forever dispel the idea that she belonged to anyone but him.

But still, he resisted the urge. He was no small man, but she was a tiny woman, and he would do his best to make certain that nothing he did in claiming her would hurt her in anyway.

He wouldn't always be that way with her. He was equally as interested in taking her quite roughly, eventually, and entirely for his own pleasure.

But not now, not the first time they were together—came together—he fervently hoped, despite what she'd told him.

That bold fingertip gathered some of that liquid gold to bring it up that beautiful seam, parting her lips carefully with his thumb and ring finger as he did, and watching her head move restlessly back and forth on the pillow even before he found what he was looking for.

And when he swept the eager, slightly rough pad of his finger up and over that swollen little bump the first time, she arched beneath his touch, reaching down towards his hand, as if she would dislodge it at the same time as he heard her moan deeply, contradicting her attempt to remove him.

Even though it was obviously a half-hearted attempt, he still scolded her, feeling her entire body contract as he did so, voice pitched at a more deeply chiding level, "Honey, I know you know better than that. Do you need another spanking?"

Her eyes, wide and full of supplication, flew to his as she lay back down, shaking her head back and forth solemnly and whispering, "No, Sabin."

"Well, then, lace your fingers behind your head, and keep them there until I tell you that you may move them."

She gave him a hesitant look, and he encouraged firmly, "Go on. Do as you're told, sweetheart."

That was all she needed—a bit of reassurance from him, which he'd sometimes found was simply having the courage of his convictions and displaying them to his submissive. She needed to know that obeying him was the right thing to do in that moment, although it would make her that much more vulnerable to him, which was what he—what they both—wanted.

Her hesitance was completely understandable, and she responded perfectly to his calm tone.

"Very good," he praised when she'd done as he asked.

As he continued to stroke that big, rough finger over her most sensitive spot, she began to writhe in earnest, and Sabin moved his thighs between hers, spreading her wide open before him.

There was that whimper again as her eyes sought his, looking a bit worried.

"There you are," he breathed, voice very deep and husky, eyes moving from the delicious treasures before him to her eyes and then back again. "I'm going to make you even more all mine than you already are, Honey."