Chapter 35 His Rules
Claire
He smiled—almost sheepish, but the glint in his eyes promised anything but innocence. Leaning in close, he whispered against my lips, “Tell me, Claire… what do you want?”
His voice was velvet wrapped around steel, sweet and dangerous, while my hand kept stroking him slow and tender, feeling every thick pulse beneath my fingers.
I swallowed hard, the words tangling in my throat. I opened my mouth, tried to shape them silently first, too shy to give them sound.
“I can’t hear you, Claire,” he said, low and insistent.
My voice came out small, barely above a breath. “I want you to spank me.”
The grin that spread across his face was slow, wicked, triumphant. “If that’s what you wish, Claire… but you play by my rules.”
I nodded quickly, eager, already surrendering.
He released me from his hold and stepped back just enough to pin me with his gaze. His tone shifted—calm, deliberate, commanding.
“You will not call me Liam. It’s Mr. King or Sir. You will not touch me unless I allow it. You will not beg. You will not rush me. You speak only when I ask what you want—and when I do, you answer without hesitation. Do you understand?”
It sounded impossible, every instinct screaming to break at least one of those rules, but the anticipation was already coiling tight in my belly. I nodded again.
His voice turned hard in an instant. “When I ask you questions, Claire, you answer with your mouth. Yes, Mr. King.”
My eyes widened—I’d forgotten—and I rushed to fix it. “Yes, Mr. King.”
“Good girl.”
He turned and crossed to another drawer, pulling out a length of red ribbon. My pulse jumped—another blindfold? But no.
He stepped close again. “Put both hands out in front of you.”
I obeyed, extending my wrists. He worked quickly, looping the ribbon around them, then cinching it into a firm, unyielding knot. The silk bit just enough to remind me I wasn’t going anywhere.
Finished, he moved behind me. My breathing turned shallow, erratic.
“Bend over, Claire,” he murmured low against my ear, voice like dark honey. “Hands on the sofa. Ass toward me.”
“Yes, Mr. King.”
I folded forward at the waist, palms pressing into the soft cushion, back arched, ass presented fully to him. I bit down hard on my lower lip, every nerve singing with anticipation.
He stepped to my side. For a brief moment his palm settled on one cheek—warm, almost gentle—rubbing slow circles over the skin.
“I’m going to spank you now, Claire,” he said, voice rougher than before. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mr. King,” I answered, words tumbling out fractured and fast.
The first strike landed before the echo of my reply faded—hard, open-palmed, the crack echoing in the room. Fire bloomed across my ass; I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing the sound that tried to escape.
His hand rose again. Another sharp smack. I squeezed my eyes closed, pain blooming bright and hot. Then another. And another. Each one built on the last until the sting layered so deep I knew I wouldn’t sit comfortably for days. Tears pricked, then blurred my vision.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, Claire?” His own breathing had grown uneven.
“Yes, Mr. King,” I managed, voice cracking on the edges.
“One more,” he said quietly. “This one will hurt worse. Brace yourself.”
I shut my eyes tight, body tensing. His hand lifted high—then came down with deliberate force.
The impact stole my breath. A small, involuntary grunt broke free; my legs trembled violently beneath me. Tears spilled over, streaming hot down my cheeks in silent waves as the burn radiated outward, sharp and unrelenting.
He didn’t move right away. His presence loomed behind me, steady, waiting—letting the pain settle, letting me feel every second of it.
“You took it well,” he rasped, voice thick with approval.
I choked out the response through the lingering burn. “Thank you, Mr. King.”
My eyes fluttered open, but I stayed exactly where I was—bent over, hands planted on the sofa, ass still presented—because he hadn’t given me permission to move.
Then, without warning, he crouched behind me. Strong hands gripped both cheeks and spread me wide. His tongue—hot, wet, deliberate—grazed over my ass. He’d said he wouldn’t fuck me there, but right now he was lavishing attention on it anyway. Broad, slow licks circled the tight ring, sending fresh heat flooding through me. I felt my arousal leak out of my soaked pussy, dripping down my inner thighs in slow, helpless trails. My whole body had ignited again during the spanking, every sharp sting turning into molten want.
Suddenly his tongue trailed lower, dragging through the slick mess between my legs, spreading my juices further. His nose pressed against my ass as he buried his face deeper. When his tongue found my entrance, he pushed inside—slow, insistent—fucking me with deliberate strokes.
I opened my mouth in a silent gasp and quickly clenched my teeth to trap any sound. Every instinct screamed to rock my hips back, to chase more of that thick, wet intrusion tongue of his, to beg him to go harder, faster, to tongue fuck me relentlessly until I shattered. But his rules echoed in my head: no begging, no rushing, no moving unless told. It was torture—exquisite, agonizing torture—and it was killing me not to break.
Then he sealed his mouth over my clit and sucked.
I clamped my lips shut, fighting the whine building in my throat. I was so close—dangerously close—but I held on, muscles trembling with the effort. His tongue worked relentlessly now, flicking, circling, pressing flat and dragging up in long, punishing strokes. It was too much, too perfect, too sweet.
I couldn’t stop it.
My orgasm crashed through me without warning. My waist jerked violently; fresh wetness gushed out as my body convulsed in silent waves. I bit down so hard on my lip I tasted copper, tears streaming freely down my cheeks, face contorted in raw, wordless pleasure. No sound escaped—not one.
He drank every drop, tongue lapping greedily until the aftershocks faded. One final, slow suck pulled another tremor from me before he finally rose.
“What do you want now, Mrs. Claire?” he asked, the question I’d been aching to hear.
I opened my mouth to beg him to fuck me—hard, rough, relentless—but the words that came out instead were softer, almost broken.
“Make love to me.”