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Heather hooks one leg around my hip. “Those are mine. Don’t confuse them with your count.”

She lets me move again. This time she doesn’t stop me after one stroke. She sets the pace with her heel against the back of my thigh, pressing when she wants me deeper and drawing away when she wants me slower.

I follow every change. Heather catches my right wrist and folds my arm until she can bring the marked palm near her mouth. I nearly collapse when her tongue crosses the hot line. Then she bites it. I drive my cock into her.

Heather releases my palm and shoves it back beside her head. “Greedy.”

“Fuck you.”

“You are.” She presses her thumb into the wet mark left by her teeth. “You came back for it.”

My hips lose the pace. Heather catches them between her thighs and stops me while I’m deep inside her.

“Ask.”

“Please let me come.”

“What else?”

Her thumb grinds into my palm.

“Please make it hurt.”

She digs her nails into the bruised place over my ribs and tells me to move. Pain tears sideways through me on the first thrust. She keeps her grip there. “Exactly what I give you,” she says. Her other hand closes over mine and forces my palm flatter against the mattress.

I fuck her at the pace she sets. Every stroke drives pain through my hands, ribs, and back. Her nails sink deeper. I drive into her and stop where her legs hold me. She takes my right hand off the mattress and puts it around her throat.

My fingers freeze against her skin. She covers them with her own.

“You don’t decide how hard.”

She controls my grip while I keep fucking her. Her pulse moves beneath my palm, steady even when her body tightens around me.

“Who does this belong to?” she asks.

The question could mean her throat, my hand, or the pain beating through it. The answer is the same. “You.”

Her fingers tighten over mine. “Now, Simon.”

I come inside her so hard my other arm almost gives out. Heather keeps my hand around her throat and her nails in my ribs while my cock pulses. Pain and pleasure hit the same place.

She lets me finish before removing my hand. Then she pushes me onto my back and sits beside me. I expect her to leave me with the mess, but she takes my wrists and turns both palms beneath the red light.

Her bite sits across the ruler line on my right hand. She opens the nightstand and takes out a small jar. Whatever is inside smells clean and medicinal.

Heather rubs it into my left palm first. Her thumb works directly over the swollen line without avoiding a fucking thing. The sting comes back bright enough to make my fingers twitch.

“Keep them open.”

She does the right hand next. The bite hurts worse beneath the ointment, and Heather massages it until every place she marked wakes up again.

“If I find anything tomorrow that I didn’t put on you, you lose this,” she says. She closes the jar and checks the scratches on my back. “You won’t receive the ruler. Or my hands. I’ll keep you untouched until I want you again.”

“For how long?”

Heather pulls the red sleep pants from the dresser. “You don’t schedule me.”

She dresses me while I’m still sticky with her and too wrung out to argue properly. Once the sleep pants are tied, she puts me in the center of the bed and arranges my hands open on top of the blanket.