But that’s notyellow.That’s notred. Wolf slaps my arse with the flat of his hand before he moves to the head of the table.
“Please,” I plead.
He takes his time, peeling off his black turtleneck. He toes off his shoes. Slips off his socks.
“Let me go,” I beg.
He laughs. He’s in absolute control. He can use me any way he wants to, and there’s nothing I can do. I can smell my excitement, even with my cheek pressed against the table. The scent of fresh cream and brine makes me blush, makes my mouth water with need.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whine. “I’ll take off my knickers. I’ll be good.”
“Oh, you will be,” he says, as he takes his time with his belt buckle. That pause might be to build suspense, to make me think about everything he has planned. But it also might be because he has to negotiate his zip over a massive hard-on. “You’ll be very, very good.”
“Let me taste you,” I urge. “Let me go, and I’ll swallow. Every drop. I promise.”
Stepping out of his trousers, he laughs again before he crosses back to the table. I can see him in the mirrors. I can see both of us. His body is hard in the indirect light, carved fromsome warm wood—cherry or apple or oak. Mine is flushed marble against the table.
He tugs my knickers to one side and plunges two fingers deep inside me. I gasp as he pumps hard and fast, bringing me to the very edge of coming. One stroke shy of release, he pulls his hand free, ignoring my shout of outrage.
“Swallow this,” he says, setting his gleaming fingertips against my lips.
I suck greedily, taking his fingers deep, swirling them with my tongue and moaning at the back of my throat. I should be ashamed. I should be embarrassed. But all I want is to be choking on his cock instead of his hand.
I groan when he pulls away, my voice filled with disbelief and loss.
I barely remember to watch when he pads over to the armoire. My legs are shaking, like I’ve climbed to the top of Everest. I yank my arms hard against my bonds, but the table doesn’t shift, not even a millimeter.
He sets aside the paddle. He sets aside the crop. He sets aside the cat o’ nine tails, and I can’t keep from moaning at the sight of those leather strands weaving between his fingers.
The cane.
He picks up the bamboo cane.
My mouth goes dry.
I’ve wanted the cane from the first moment I set foot inside this dungeon. Since that first night, I’ve done my best not to tell him, not to make demands, not to beg. And finally, after all we’ve been through, after so many days apart, he’s choosing to give me what I long for.
He swipes the bamboo through the air, so fast I hear it whistle. My belly hollows. I close my eyes and clutch the table with both fists, ready, willing, waiting.
Another swipe, this one landing on the table above my head. I yelp in surprise, even as my knees give way.
“Please,” I whisper, knowing I’m breaking the rules, but healready owes me two counts, and I want more. I want three. I want four. I want everything he’s ever promised, everything he can give. I force myself to watch us in the mirror. “Please, please, please, please, please.”
The air howls as he pulls his arm back. His eyes blaze with a fire, with a purifying flame. His gaze meets mine in the glass.
And he brings the cane down hard across my shivering arse.
Agony.
Not fire, not ice, just the tearing apart of individual cells, my flesh disintegrating under the bamboo’s bite. My heart stops inside my chest. My lungs turn to stone. I can’t see, can’t hear, can’t think.
But a tiny light sparks inside my brain. A microscopic memory spins through my skull. My mouth opens. My tongue curls. And I manage to gasp out, “Red.”
57
COLE
She was ready.
