Page 100 of Filthy Little Lies

He reaches beside me to the counter, snagging the small bottle of olive oil I used for dinner and carries it with him to the couch. He makes easy work of throwing off the cushions and getting the bed pulled out, then sits on the edge.

Once I’m naked, I try to cover myself with my arms, but he shakes his head.

“Come here.” He pats his knee.

Maybe I was wrong. I don’t need a punishment. I can just apologize more.

“Should I come get you and make it worse?” He cocks his head to the side.

“What’s the olive oil for?” I glance at the green bottle sitting on the floor at his feet.

“You’re not really in the position to be asking questions. Come here.”

I’m barely within arm’s reach of him when he snatches my arm and yanks me over his lap. My whole body clenches, waiting for the first strike of his hand, but it doesn’t come.

He runs his hand up my thighs, over my bare ass, then dips down to my pussy. Moaning when he finds how soaked I am, he sinks two fingers into me.

“I’ve been waiting to touch this sweet pussy for weeks,” he says, curling his fingers and driving them into me hard. “Have you been fucking yourself while you’ve been away?”

My face burns with embarrassment.

“Now’s not the time to go quiet, Savvy.” He uses his free hand to slap my ass just hard enough to start an electrical fire inside me. “Have you been finger fucking this pussy?”

“Yes.” The mattress muffles my answer.

My muscles relax into the pleasure his fingers are driving into me, so it takes a second for me to register the first slap across my ass. By the third or fourth, I’m fully aware of the pain erupting across my ass.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this, spread over my lap, ass getting red from my hand, my fingers stuffed into your sweet pussy.” He spanks me more, harder, spreading the smacks across both cheeks and then down my thighs.

But he’s still stroking me with his fingers, so the pleasure and the pain entangle so much I can barely register one separately from the other.

An orgasm builds, barreling down on me, and I’m about to combust, when he stops. His forearm brushes across my sensitive skin as he reaches down to the floor. The plastic cap of the olive oil twists off and when I look back at him, he’s rubbing oil onto his middle and ring fingers.

“What are you doing?” My body tenses, already knowing what’s about to happen before my brain registers it.

“Reach back and spread your ass cheeks.” He taps my ass with his knuckles.

“Why?”

He sighs. “You’ve forgotten so much in the time you’ve been gone. That’s okay, I’ll reteach you every lesson.” He delivers a sharp slap to my thigh and then another until I do what he ordered.

My face burns as I pull my cheeks apart. This can’t be real. Maybe I ate too much of those spicy Cheetos last night, and I’m having a food dream.

But then he presses his middle finger to my tightly puckered asshole, and I know it’s not a dream. This is reality.

“Gabriel, wait, no—” Air shuts off from my lungs as he plunges his finger past the ring of muscle and pushes up to his knuckle. The burn is instant.

“Stay still.” He slaps my thighs again. “I don’t have the plugs with me, so you’ll take my fingers. It will make your ass fucking easier to take.”

I’m a statue.

“What?”

He wiggles a second finger in, and I shoot my legs out straight and let go of my cheeks. Which earns me more smacks to my thighs until I get back into position.

“I was wrong! I don’t need to be punished. I don’t.”

He chuckles, but it’s low and erotic. I’m not going anywhere.