Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,33

tussle with the strong Lycra yoga pants, he managed to turn it on.

A yelp escaped me even though I prepared myself for the buzz, but when he started switching through the settings until he hit the fastest one, I tensed up as the vibration felt better than I’d like.

Which meant I was wet already.

It kind of felt like a pencil being sharpened when I wasn’t—I’d tried that this morning. Then I’d watched a bit of porn, got myself lubed up and I’d tried to get off.

It hadn’t worked.

It never did.

I’d had to try though. Cruz’s cock wasn’t charmed; there was no reason why he and he alone should be able to get me off the way he did.

At least, that had been my working theory pre-vibrator.

Now I was less certain.

Orgasms and Cruz were like mac and cheese. Destined to be together.

God help me.

“Tell me why you bought this,” he rasped, his knees making an appearance in my line of sight.

It was easier to focus on the denim than it was on his eyes. Those green orbs saw far too much for my liking.

Even so, I didn’t answer, just let my mind fade a little as the vibe did its job.

Like it hadn’t done this morning.

A whistle warned me, and only the Lycra protected me from the sharp whack.

Shit.

The ruler.

It didn’t connect with my butt though… it hit my sit spots.

“Christ!” I squealed as the sensitive flesh protested the move, sending my pain receptors into overdrive.

Jerking and wiggling moved the vibrator which was a kind of torture in and of itself. Especially as I prepared myself for two more… only, this time, he didn’t stop at three. He carried on. The fucker. Up and down the backs of my thighs, only the Lycra stopping the sting but not the whack. I jolted each and every time, hating that with each jolt, it was like him moving the vibrator. My heart started to beat double time, quickening and quickening as my skin began to turn dewy in response. My mouth began to dry, my tits ached, my pussy grew wetter and emptier as the dull vibrations pounded through my sex.

I came.

It hit me out of nowhere, timed only with the regular pattern of his spanking me with the ruler he’d left in my nightstand drawer.

A howl escaped me as pleasure surged through my veins, and I writhed on my knees, uncaring that my joints were aching, uncaring that my body was starting to protest the position. I cried out when the pleasure dropped off but his spanks didn’t.

I knew I’d bruise.

I was glad.

“Tell me why,” he growled.

He tapped the vibrator with the ruler.

I squealed.

The pleasure turned to discomfort as my clit protested the constant vibration.

Eyes blurring, I whispered, “O-Okay.” I fell silent as he hit the vibrator again.

And again.

Three times total.

A shaky breath gusted from my dry mouth and I squeaked, “I wanted to come by myself.”

He stopped spanking me.

“Thought you found it hard to do that?”

He sounded confused.

I couldn’t blame him.

“Impossible, not hard.”

My sexuality and I were frenemies at best, nemeses at worst.

Masturbation did nothing for me. Porn got me jonesing for the normalcy of sex.

Before Cruz, I’d never orgasmed.

Not once.

And I’d slept around a lot.

A lot, a lot.

Back when I’d been apprenticing, especially.

Some could call me a slut. Some, in our world, might think me no better than a clubwhore, but when your sexuality was fucked up from childhood, taking ownership of it, retrieving it from the clutches of a predator wasn’t as easy as one, two, fucking three.

He slapped the ruler against the vibrator, jolting me again, but this time, pleasure cascaded through me.

I wasn’t sure if I loved or loathed that he could do this for me.

Shuddering, my shoulders bunched as I dealt with the tingles that traveled up and down the length of my spine.

“No using this without me around,” he rumbled, which, even worse than the spank, sent delight rushing through me.

I didn’t get how I could hate being bossed around, but when he did it, I didn’t automatically want to punch him in the throat.

Something didn’t make sense here, and I wasn’t sure if it was him, me, or just my body. A body that, sometimes, I felt sure belonged to someone else.

Maybe, just maybe, it was his.

The thought had me swallowing nervously, but before I could freak out, I tensed when his boots appeared in my line of sight as he got to his feet, and when the front door opened, I jerked as