Destiny's Chance by Cara Bristol Page B

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,