Page 70 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“Ten strikes,” I tell her. “Five for each cheek.”

No sooner do I finish than I swing my hand and bring it down in a firm crack against her right cheek. Her toes curl, her glutes and thighs flex, and her body hums for me. I bring my hand down with more force on her left side. She whimpers, but fuck…I didn’t expect her to arch her back and push her ass toward me more.

“Count them,” I direct.

“Two—ahh, three!” she cries as I alternate, then massage the reddened skin between each blow.

I land two more smacks back to back. Her hips rock, her back bows, but she still grips the counter, her knuckles white.

My body shakes with my need to sink inside all her soft, flushed heat. But this is not about my need. Nor desire. It’s about hers. And when I land the final blows, my fingertips brush her pubic lips.

“Hmm…” I sink my fingers in, thrilled by her hiss. “You’re drenched, Princess. Should I praise you for being a good girl, or are you a dirty girl for enjoying this punishment far too much?” Her ass wriggles against my throbbing erection. Fuck.

“Um.”

I plunge my finger inside her and feel her shriek down to my bones.

“Both, both!” she responds, her nails clawing at the marble.

“What do you want now, Jubilee?”

“Ugh, you bastard, you know what I want.”

I chuckle low in my throat, then grip the messy bun, tugging her head back. She yelps, but I bring my lips to the side of her forehead. “Let’s try again, Princess. But this time…you beg.” And because I am a bastard, I sink one more finger inside her.

She lurches, swallowing hard. “Please, just touch me more. Fuck me with your fingers. I want to come more than I ever have. And I want you to make me come, if you would, please.”

So fucking sweet. So much more than a simple ‘please’. If there were an award for grade-A begging, my girl would take home the grand prize.

I kneel, remove my fingers, position my head between her thighs, and sink my face into pure, soaked heaven.

CHAPTER 19

Jubilee

“Not…ugh…fair!” I moan, unable to get a good grip on the counter.

Ferocious heat flares all over my ass, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in my core while his tongue works me with relentless destruction. Because I’m not coming back from this. We’re not coming back from this.

My hair sticks to my face, sweat clinging to my skin. My head spins. The pleasure swirls a mad fever inside me. When my hips instinctively move, Gage grips my thighs, his power anchoring me in place.

“Stop moving,” he commands, his voice a low, rough husk, breath skimming my wet lips. His beard creates a tantalizing contrast to his hot tongue. “You’re not in charge. And I’m damn well enjoying my first time doing this.”

The words jolt through me, and I gasp out, “Your first—what?! Oh, God!” I cry out as his tongue sinks deep to torment my entrance.

But the moment I thrash and buck, Gage smacks my thigh and leaves the region between my legs, taking his tongue with him.

“What? No, please, I’ll try not to move!” I protest—until the broad tower of his masculinity engulfs me. He takes my hips in a strong grip, turns me around, then lifts me with ease, depositing me on the counter. The cool marble hits my inflamed ass, and I hiss at the contact, but when he levels that flat stare at me—dark eyes filled with male hunger—all my protests, all my rebellion die.

Without losing my gaze, he jabs one rigid finger into my thigh. “Legs.” A deep growl. “Open. Now.”

I instantly spread them.

A subtle smirk of approval, but he doesn’t brag or balk. Now, that authoritative finger taps my knuckles. “Hands.” A guttural need. “Behind your back.”

I obey, knotting them at the base of my spine. It pushes my chest out more, which is still covered by my shirt, but thanks to the now-loose bra, my puckered nipples prod through my shirt. I’m so wet, I know I’m leaking on the counter.

“Good girl,” Gage approves, and I shiver when he traces a finger down my cheek.