Out of Control by Teresa Noelle Roberts Read Free Book Online

before she was bare-assed over Drake’s knee on the edge of the bed. She was naked; he was still dressed. It wasn’t the first time she’d been spanked, but this position, and especially the naked/clothed dynamic, was different and remarkably right. His jeans were dark, new-looking, stiff on her bare skin. He smelled good. She hadn’t noticed before how good he smelled, in a non-cologne, non-soap, totally male sort of way, like he’d gotten up and worked out lightly, then rolled into clothes when he realized she and her movers were in the driveway. She breathed deeply, enjoying the smell and the position and feel of his hand on her ass, stroking over the curve as if he could read her soul through the skin.
    Just when she’d reached a relaxed, dreamy place, lost in the touch and almost forgetting why she was over Drake’s knee in the first place, he struck, and struck hard.
    She shrieked and jumped as best she could. When another blow followed, and then another, she tried to squirm away, even though a fire was igniting inside her, a fire hot enough to melt glass, from the combination of sensuality and pain. As quickly and instinctively as she’d tried to get away, she pushed back, craving more and dreading it at the same time.
    Drake laid one hand on the back of her neck. “Be still.” His voice was deep, calm, soothing. He stroked the nape of her neck as if he petted a beloved but jumpy pet. Something melted inside her, like glass would melt in a furnace, and she went limp across his lap.
    “Good girl,” he whispered. “Surrender to the sensation. Surrender to me.” Still stroking her hair, he spanked her again.
    Jen dimly though it may have been even harder than the other times. But the sting didn’t feel like pain. It felt like a gift, a gift Drake was giving to her, and that at the same time she was giving to him. Which made no sense, but the thought was the clear spring green of truth. She accepted it just like she accepted the pain and pleasure, the gentle hand on her head and the hard one smacking an ass that felt as red as her thoughts.
    She was molten. She was soft and pooling, ready to be molded and shaped—another one of those nonsensical thoughts colored like truth. She wanted to squirm, try to rub herself to orgasm against the coarseness of denim and the hard muscles underneath. Wanted to push back and beg for more. Wanted. Wanted. But at the same time, she just wanted to see what Drake would do next. So far, she had no complaints, though it was hardly how she would have anticipated things going their first time together.
    Hoped, maybe; anticipated, no.
    The blows were coming faster now but felt lighter. Was that real or was that just because her clit and pussy were throbbing more than her butt was, making it impossible to think of pain as pain?
    Colors exploded behind her eyelids, swirling together in impossible ways. She clung to the colors as best she could, some dim part of her knowing she could reproduce the effect, maybe even the surreal spangling, in glass if she could remember how it looked.
    Then Drake let his fingers trail between her throbbing butt cheeks to stroke her pussy.
    The colors exploded into fireworks of hues she saw only in dreams, and she exploded with them. No way could she capture those colors. She didn’t think she could see them again unless she was coming, and orgasms and hot glass would be a dangerous combination.
    Though with Drake’s hand on the back of her neck, maybe she’d be safe, as safe as she felt now to let go with a cry and soar among the colors.
    Drake eased her into a seated position on his lap, curled against him, a dubious mercy as the position made her deliciously aware of her tender butt. His chest was broad and comforting, and for a while, she was content to snuggle there, floating among the residual colors, enjoying the throb of her ass and the afterglow of the orgasm, enjoying the way his hand cradled the back of her head against his