Destiny's Chance (10 page)

In the bedroom, he dug the chest out of the closet. Anything he chose would have been fine with her, but he selected the tawse, and her excitement spiked into the red zone.
This is really happening
. Oh God. Her pussy dampened, and butterflies stormed her stomach. He set the tawse on the nightstand, and it stood out stark and wicked, a shrine to naughty intent.

He spun her around and fastened his mouth on hers, and she forgot her nervousness, focused instead on the pleasure of his kiss, the way he stroked and explored with his tongue, caressed with his lips. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, plastering her body to his. His cock swelled against her, sending a lustful zing through her veins.

Chance wrapped his arms around her shoulders, almost crushing her, but she thrilled at his desire, his expression of need. He paused midkiss to murmur against her lips. “I missed you this week.”

She’d hoped the physical intimacy of the other night would have drawn them closer, but instead there’d been a distance, fostered at least in part by his absence. He’d worked late several nights. She’d waited for him, aching; missing her had been his choice, but she said, “I missed you too,” and sought his mouth. She worked his shirt buttons loose and shoved the garment off his shoulders. He broke hold to let it fall to the floor and to tug her black knit top over her head. With the dexterity of a master, he dispensed with her bra.

“Why do you wear that thing? You don’t need it.” He covered her breasts with his hands, his touch warm, arousing.

“Are you saying I have small boobs?” she demanded. Her old body had been top heavy. She’d jiggled too much to go braless.

He expelled a sigh of male exasperation. “I’m saying you have perfect tits. I like easy access.” He stroked his thumbs over her nipples, and they hardened. “See? Perfect. Perky. Cute.” He bent his head and captured one between his lips. Her clit responded to the suction with a pulse.

He released her nipple to shove her skirt down her legs and pull off her panties. His slacks and shorts went next, and then he palmed her buttocks, holding her against his cock as he kneaded her cheeks. “Quite spankworthy.”

Even the word made her pussy damp. Destiny slipped between their bodies to close her fingers around his cock and stroke his shaft. Precum pearled at the opening, and she swirled her thumb in the moisture, enjoying the smoothness.

Chance sucked in a breath of air, and his head fell back. He closed his eyes; his nostrils flared. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Gripping him tightly, she slid her hand up and down his shaft while cupping his balls. He jerked. Pleasure skipped across his face.

This is me, Chance. Destiny
. She willed him to understand.

His eyes flew open. A flush burned across his cheekbones.

Me
. She fondled.
Me
. She squeezed.

Bending, she sucked the crown into her mouth.
Me
. She drew hard while continuing to stroke. She relished the difference between the petal softness of his glans, the solidness of his shaft, the heavy texture of his sac. All male. All hers. At least for now. She traced the underside of his erection with her tongue, then engulfed the head again. Chance groaned an exhortation. Her pussy answered the summons, contracting on cue. He called; she answered.

When I’m calling you…ou…ou
… Strains of Jeannette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy singing “Indian Love Call” filtered through her head. She couldn’t prevent a titter.

Chance tensed. “Are you
laughing
?” Indignation reddened his face.

A giggle bubbled in her throat,
No. No. Oh, no
. She averted her eyes from his outraged gaze and swiped her tongue around the ridge of his cockhead, but suppressed laughter swelled.
When I’m calling you…ou…ou
…

She lunged for a distraction.
Tax audit. Waiting in line at the DMV. La. La. La. La. La.

Destiny squeezed her eyes shut and sucked hard. His body relaxed. A tiny groan of pleasure left his lips. Her pussy responded with a twitch. Reprise.
When I’m calling you…ou…ou

The bubble burst, and a full-on laugh snorted out the sides of her mouth. Her body shook, and she gurgled and choked. Her teeth threatened to chatter. Before she chomped, she let go of his cock, which released the reins on her amusement.

She convulsed in a fit of laughter.

“What the fuck?” Chance bit out.

Destiny peeked at him through the tears streaming from her eyes. His jaw had dropped, and he stared like she’d lost her mind. His erection had lost its magnificence.

Not funny. Except it was.

She pressed a hand to her chest and extended the other in a plea. “I’m s-s-sorry—” She doubled over. “I’m not, not laughing…at y-you-ou-ou.” The tune of “Indian Love Call” replayed like a scratched vinyl LP, and, she clutched her aching stomach. “Oh God, I c-can’t stop.”

Call her the mistress of bad timing. Just when she had an opportunity to get intimate with Chance again, she suffered a laughing fit.

“Would you like me to help you stop?”

“Y-y-yes!” Her stomach hurt.

With a gentle shove, he nudged her toward the bed. He sat on the mattress, pulled her convulsing body over his lap. She bumped against his semihard member.

“Maybe this will do the trick.” He stung her ass.

The painful shock reverberated through her. “Ow!” she cried out, still laughing.

He smacked the other cheek. Then switched to the first with a spank that choked off her laughter and halted the breath in her throat. He adjusted her on his lap and clamped his forearm across her waist.

Chance spanked firmly and fast, burning the center of her buttocks, the crease between her thighs and ass. Against her hip, his cock hardened to its former glory. Her pussy dampened, and amusement vanished.

She jerked with each blow, relishing the sting, the heat, the hand-to-ass contact. The muscles in Chance’s thighs tensed before each strike, creating a delicious mix of anticipation and dread.

“Now tell me”—
smack
—“what was so”—
smack
—“funny.”
Smack.

How could she explain it? He wouldn’t understand the “Indian Love Song.” He’d probably never even heard of it. She knew because as a little girl she’d sneak out of bed to watch late-night television, and commercials featuring recordings of oldies—real oldies—would air. She felt Chance raise his hand. Words rushed out of her mouth. “Every time you groaned, it made my pussy pulse.”

“What’s funny about that?”

“It was such an automatic response.” She peered over her shoulder. “Like my desire was wired to yours—like we’re in sync.”

He massaged her ass, easing the burn he’d caused, and goose bumps broke out on her skin.
In sync. Yeah, like that
. He slipped a caressing hand between her thighs to find her wetness, to dip two fingers into it. A groan rumbled from his throat. She clenched.

“Being over my knee gets you wet.” He growled with satisfaction and continued to apply his hand to her ass, transforming her into a writhing, humping mass of lust.

“And hot.” He roughly kneaded a throbbing moon.

He grabbed for the tawse, and time stopped. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

At the snap of the leather across her aching, heated ass, the breath left her lungs in a howl. Sweet pain sizzled across her flesh in two places. He brought the strap down again, and a line of fire blazed across the other cheek.

Two more snaps sliced across her flesh, lighting two places on fire each time. She writhed, a horizontal dance of pleasure too sharp to bear, legs thrashing, arms flailing.

“Easy. Easy,” he murmured. He rubbed her ass, smothered the fire, and then lit it again with several more strikes. And another. The tail end of the tawse marked the crease between ass and thigh.

Chance flung aside the leather strap and stroked her folds, slid his finger into her slit. She didn’t need his hum of pleasure to alert her she was sopping wet.

She expected him to fuck her then, but he sat her up and positioned her heels on the bed’s edge, the sensation cool and rough against her flaming bottom. He dropped to his knees in front of her splayed legs.

The tautness of his face betrayed his need, but his teeth flashed white in the most rakish grin. He bent his head. Wet heat engulfed her sex. If she thought his smile wicked, it couldn’t compare to his tongue, which he fluttered over her clit, teased her pussy lips, and delved into her channel. She clutched his head, curled her fingers into his soft, silky hair, and ground herself against his face. Her spanked ass rubbed against the bed, evoking tingles similar to the rasp of his five o’clock shadow against her sensitive sex. Soft mouth, hard, abrasive jaw. Delicious friction. Molten need.

With his thumbs, he spread her open. Licked. Pressure and heat built in her clit. She clutched his face, held him against her. Flung her head back in ecstasy. Close. So close.

He mumbled something, his words muffled against her flesh.

“What?” she gasped. Struggled to focus. Her clit burned. Closer…

He raised his head, and she bit her lip in frustration.

“I said, ‘
Did you notice I’m not laughing
?’”

“Neither am I!” She huffed. “I was almost there.”

He wiped his chin, rose to his feet, and positioned himself between her legs, folding them around his hips. He guided his cock to her entrance and rocked inside her. “Better?”

She sucked in a hiss of air in satisfaction at the stretch, the pressure. “Better.”

He gave her another inch. “How’s that?”

She locked her heels around his taut buttocks and thrust her pelvis to take him deeper. “You’re teasing me.”

His cheeky grin confirmed her accusation, but she forgave him when he buried himself deep. Pleasure so pure chased all worry, all doubt from her head, leaving her with only possibilities. Surely they couldn’t connect like this if only lust existed between them. Couldn’t physical closeness lead them to a deeper emotional intimacy? But sensation soon obliterated those wishes too. Her focus narrowed to his cock’s hard warmth, the press of his heavier body, the aroma of soap and musk. She recorded their sounds, her gasps, his groans, the slap of his hips against her thighs, an echo of the spanking. Resting on his forearms, Chance thrust into her, and together they improvised a rhythm, a slow dance, until instinct ramped up the pace. With every plunge, the wiry texture of his pubic hair grazed her bare sex. She cupped his raspy cheek while she snaked her other hand between their bodies to rub her clit.

Perspiration beaded and dripped from his temple onto her face. He stole a kiss, his mouth, hard and plundering. She closed her eyes and rode a wave of cresting pleasure.

“Look…at…me.” Chance groaned. “Need. To. See.
You
.”

Destiny opened her eyes. Ecstasy etched Chance’s face with fierceness, and his gaze radiated a heated need that scorched down to her core. Her pussy convulsed. He called, and her body responded. He needed, and she supplied.

Crying out, she came, and seconds later Chance followed.

Her ragged breath and his pants joined, a melody and harmony coming together. He slumped on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He grabbed a handful of her hair and closed his fist around it. Steamy breath warmed her neck.

“Whew!” he said. “I was afraid the sheets would catch fire.”

“Maybe they did. My butt feels a little hot.”

“Yeah,” he said drily. “I’m sure it was the sheets.”

She giggled and hugged him.

In the moment, he belonged to her. They shared spanking and laughter and hotter-than-hot sex. Of course, he thought he had experienced that with somebody else, but fate called the shots, and she was fine with that.

Could accept it.

Would get used to it.

Hated it.

But what other choice did she have? Give him up? Breaking up wouldn’t bring Zoe back. Wouldn’t change what had happened. But would staying with him be enough to fulfill the yearning of her heart?

It would have to be.

Chapter Eleven

The bus deposited Destiny five blocks from D and L Photography, the studio she and Laura had opened two years ago. Zoe had favored heels, but in her closet organizing, Destiny had found a pair of a ballet flats. After she figured out her finances, she’d shop for clothing and shoes more her style and comfort. Little of Destiny’s own clothing would fit her taller, slimmer body. And for such a striking woman, Zoe had surprisingly big feet.

D and L Photography was squeezed between a small hair salon and a kitchen gadget store on a tree-lined boulevard. She and Laura had chosen the location for its reasonable rent and potential for walk-in traffic. Through the wide window she spied Laura hunched over the computer at their reception desk.

The shop consisted of a large room with a storage area in back and a restroom. They used accordion screens to section off the studio into a modest waiting room, a staging area, and a small work space.

Destiny hovered on the curb. The studio’s ordinariness taunted her. How could so much have remained the same when she had changed so drastically? She glanced at her feet, shoved into size ten shoes, then at her still-startling reflection in the big window.