I felt the crack of Creed’s hand on my ass, my body jumped and fire shot between my legs.
“Spread,” he growled and, instantly, I did as he said.
I was draped belly down over his thighs, na**d except my bronze sandals and Creed was spanking me. This was after he spent some time doing other delicious stuff to me.
No sooner had I opened my legs than Creed’s hand dove in. His fingers scored through the wet, rasping across my cl*t and since I was beyond ready, my head flew back and I came.
Hard.
Still coming, suddenly I was flying through the air. Creed lay back on the bed, his legs still over the side, feet on the floor and suddenly I was on top of him, my pu**y to his face, his hard, thick c**k right in front of me.
“Suck me off,” he ordered, voice thick and I moved, lips latching around the tip, immediately I sucked deep.
He lifted his head, buried his face in my pu**y and groaned against me.
Then, his hands at my h*ps yanking me down, he commenced eating me. My head bobbed, sucking, stroking, I engaged my hand and gave him everything I had as he devoured me.
I came in his mouth.
Creed returned the favor.
After, coming down, he lapped. I licked.
He let this go on awhile before I was up again, Creed repositioned so we were righted in the bed, my head no longer at his crotch but at his throat and he settled us down, him on his back, me partly on him, partly pressed to his side with his arm around me.
“You take it up the ass. You like to be spanked. And you swallow. Seriously, Sylvie, you were born for me,” he muttered.
I lifted my head and looked at him. “That was hardly hearts and flowers.”
Creed grinned at me. “A man finds a woman who swallows, that alone, for a guy, is totally f**kin’ hearts and flowers.”
I rolled my eyes.
Creed kept talking.
“Add gettin’ off on bein’ spanked, we’re talking rainbows and pots of gold.”
Again, I rolled my eyes.
“Takin’ it up the ass and beggin’ for it every time, baby, seriously, you and your body, slice of heaven.”
“Not sure any of that will make it into poetry books, hot stuff,” I informed him.
“If badasses read poetry, it’d be a bestseller.”
I couldn’t argue that.
“I just came hard twice, stop annoying me,” I ordered.
He transferred his gaze and grin to the ceiling, muttering, “Anything for my Sylvie.”
That got me a tingle, not the usual one, but a great one all the same.
I settled in, cheek to his chest and saw the still ugly, livid, blue and purple bruise edged with yellow that marred him where the bullet hit his chest.
I tipped my head back, my cheek sliding against his skin and saw the bandage that covered the stitches at his neck.
That would make another scar.