Free Firebird by Annabel Joseph Page A

a cab. I don’t want you walking without panties after dark .” It was a generous tip, and the driver thanked her, then got out to open her door. As she stepped out in her tight dress, cold air blew up to caress her naked flesh. She shivered and ran up the stairs, then pressed the buzzer for Jackson’s townhome.
    The door swung open, and there he was. He pulled her inside, no words, no smile. He pushed her back against the door as it closed and locked the dead bolt with a sharp click . Her indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence of his home. The lights were low, and his face as she looked up at it was shadowed. Without preamble, he stuck his hand up her dress. He felt the top of her stockings, the garters. His hand cupped her naked sex, and then he bent down and kissed her forehead.
    “Good girl.”

    She was so hot, so wet. His fingers grazed her, felt the slick nectar there. He wanted to thrust his fingers up inside her until she went up on her toes, but he wasn’t going to maul her thirty seconds in. No. He wouldn’t maul her yet.
    His face was inches from hers. She looked up at him with a wide-eyed gaze that made his erection throb. He leaned against her so she could feel it against her belly. She quivered like a spooked sparrow trapped between him and the wall. He was her cage. He held her captured and still; she didn’t make the smallest attempt to get away. But what would he do with her now? The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he wanted to do to her that he didn’t know where to begin.
    So he held her trapped there while he grasped for control. He could feel the heat radiating from her. He wanted to push her to the floor, yank her dress up. Force himself inside, ride her hard. What would she do? How would she react? Would she struggle and pull away? Would she spread her thighs wider, let him sink in where he so desperately wanted to be? What kind of sounds would she make? Squeaks of fear, guttural moans? Urgent gasps?
    “I want to fuck you, Prosper.”
    Okay. Not exactly a love sonnet. She swallowed, took a shuddery breath.
    “I want to fuck you,” he repeated. “I need sex from you.”
    “Okay. I just better warn you, though, I’m not that good at sex.”
    “Aren’t you?” The very idea was ridiculous, but she seemed to believe it. “Are you at least good at sucking cock?”
    His words brought an instant flush to her cheeks.
    “I’m…I’m terrible at it…Sir.”
    A moment of utter silence. Then he laughed.
    “Honest to a fault. Your name should be Honesty, not Prosperity. So you’re not good in bed at all?”
    Prosper bit her lip, then shook her head.
    “One more head shake and I’ll spank your ass until it’s black-and-blue.” He took her chin hard in his hand, tilting her face up. “Your skill in bed aside, do you want me? Are you hot for me? Are you wet?”
    She nodded, then remembered and spit out a “yes, Sir,” but he was already propelling her toward the couch. Her gasp was muffled by the cushions as he bent her over the arm. He yanked up the skirt of her dress, then tore off his belt and doubled it over in his hand. She squealed and jerked as the first blow landed.
    “I’m sorry! Ow! I forgot!”
    She kicked her legs as he brought the leather belt down on her ass again. Her distressed yelps and jerks excited the sadist in him. Her ass cheeks clenched, and she tried to twist away from the pain. Three vivid stripes of red. He drew back and landed a fourth stroke on her gorgeous bottom.
    “Please! Please, Sir—” He noted her distress but continued the punishment with a couple more heavily placed blows. Even without her head-shaking issues, he would have spanked her before he fucked her. She would be in the space he wanted that way, the submissive, pain-evasive state where she would do whatever he asked.
    “Hush. Keep the noise down,” he said as her sobs and wails escalated. “I’ll gag you if you don’t.”
    She buried her face in the cushions