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“Start your count over, beautiful,” he said as he stepped back. I could picture him standing there in front of me, that suit coat stripped off, his tie gone, and a wickedly satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
I couldn’t let my mind wander to the idea that there were other people who could see me. So I just did what he’d told me to do, I focused only on him and his voice. That’s all that mattered. I started my count over. His footsteps sounded off to my left, and then behind me again.
“When you get to fifty, this next part stops,” he said, the words holding an ominous edge. Before I had time to digest that, a snapping sound filled my ears and a sharp, stinging sensation lit up my left thigh.
I hissed, the pain pointed and more intense than the flogger had been. Shit, that hurt.
“This is a riding crop,” he explained. “Give me a color, Cela, for that level of pain.”
Color? A color? My mind apparently wasn’t translating English at the moment. It was too busy buzzing.
He snapped me again on the other thigh, and I cried out. “This is your test, angel. How well did you study? Stoplight colors were covered both in the binder and in class.”
I shook my head, bracing for another blow, when the picture of a stoplight entered my mind. Just like when I was taking a test, I remembered where it was on the page. Green for I’m okay; yellow for might be too much, check in with me; and red for stop, too much. He wanted me to give him an idea of how much pain I could handle.
“Green,” I said automatically, despite the angry protest my skin was giving. The level of pain wasn’t a breeze, but it wasn’t beyond what I could handle. In fact, after the initial sting, the warmth that chased it was kind of pleasant.
“Good girl,” Foster said. “Get back to your counting.”
I resumed my count, and the blows began to rain over my back and thighs in a steady rhythm. I winced for the first few, the bite of the crop hard to ignore, but by the time I got down to seventy-five, my entire backside was tingling with heat and a pleasant, heady sensation was clouding my thoughts.
As promised, he stopped when I hit the right number, and I sagged in my bindings, letting the rush of it all filter through my bloodstream. His palms ran over the welts that were, no doubt, rising on my skin. “Still with me, gorgeous?”
“Yes, sir,” I said softly.
“God, you are so fucking sexy, angel.” He pressed his front to my back, my skin seeming to throb in time to my heartbeat. He left a trail of kisses over my shoulder. “I’ve lain awake at night, imagining you like this. Tied up and trusting and enjoying being under my hand. I can’t even tell you what it does to me to know you’re taking this risk for me, pushing past your fear.”
The words vibrated through me, creating a glowing warmth and a catch in my throat. His voice was so sincere, so reverent, that in that moment, I may have done absolutely anything he asked. It should’ve scared me—the depth of my willingness—but right now, I couldn’t think past the blind pleasure of knowing I could make him sound so truly awed. “Thank you, sir.”
He gave me one last squeeze, then stepped away again, letting the breeze soothe my burning back. “That round was for opening your door without checking. You’ve got one more to go for lying.”
I nodded, fear getting choked out by far more potent things—like lust and need and pleasure. “I understand.”
He touched the back of my head, and the blindfold slipped away. It took me a second to realize what he’d done, my eyes still closed, but soon the light registered. I lifted my lids, afraid of what I was going to find. If other people were there, I knew the panic would come back. I’d prefer to have the safety of the blindfold. But when I blinked, focusing, I saw no other soul. Instead, a beautifully lush garden spread out before me, gilded in moonlight and the glow of twinkle lights that had been strung through some of the trees.
My gaze moved downward, finding my feet nestled in the soft earth, my legs surrounded by lovely, white flowers. I lifted my head, taking in the rope holding me between two thick-trunked trees, the branches providing a canopy above me. It was like going to sleep in one place and waking up in Eden. It was . . . magical. And breathtaking.
Foster stepped around from one of the trees, riding crop rolling between his fingers and his gaze hot on me. The embodiment of temptation in the garden. “Hi there.”
I shook my head, still a bit stunned. “What is this place?”
He walked forward, the low light tracing the angles of his face. “The restaurant’s vegetable and herb garden.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, my eyes on him.
“Now it is.” He traced the tip of the riding crop along the curve of my breast. “You look like you sprung up right out of the earth like those flowers. So naturally gorgeous.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I let my gaze move around the span of the garden, over the rows of bell peppers, tomatoes, and dark green bunches of rosemary and thyme. No wonder the place smelled so heavenly. “Is Kade still here?”
Foster’s lips tilted. “He helped me tie you up and brought me my bag from the car. Then he left and locked the door behind him so we could be all alone.”
“But I thought—”
He pressed the flat leather tip of the riding crop against my l
ips. “I told you every man here was turned on. And that’s the truth. I am very, very turned on, angel. I needed to see that you would trust me. You did well.”
