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/> The little bite of pain was like sweet elixir in his blood, but her words brought his attention back into focus. “What?”
Sam stepped around him, moving into his line of sight. His gaze first landed on the knee-high lace-up leather boots and then traveled upward. All of the air in his lungs evaporated. Sam wasn’t in the corset he’d seen her in the other night. That would’ve been enough to set fireworks off in his head. But instead she was wearing a white button-down shirt—his white shirt. And the cotton was thin enough for him to see the rosy hint of her nipples and the shadow between her legs. She was wearing nothing beneath. He groaned.
She smirked, pleased. Only then did he see what was in her hand. Her phone. She squatted down next to him, the tails of his shirt falling between her thighs and blocking the gorgeous view he knew to be underneath. Sam spread and open. Was she wet already? Did seeing him like this turn her on?
She stroked her hands through his hair, petting him. “I said, I was thinking of making my own porn. If I only get you for a week, I want to preserve the memory.”
The phone became a looming specter in her hand. He wet his lips. “You don’t mean . . .”
She lifted a brow. “Oh, yes, I most certainly do. The lighting in here isn’t the best, but it’ll do.”
She gave his hair a little tug before releasing it and standing, giving him a flash of the bottom curve of her ass as she turned around. She rearranged a few things on the antique dresser and set her phone against it. Reality smacked him in the face. She was going to record him? Like this? A big wave of oh, fuck no went through him. “Sam, you can’t. I look—If someone saw—”
His words wouldn’t fall together.
She peered at him over her shoulder, mild disinterest on her face. “Did you say something, pet?”
“You can’t record this.”
Her brow arched. “I can do whatever I want. And right now, I want to commemorate how sexy you look and how hot you’re going to be when you beg for me, come for me.”
He closed his eyes, abject fear of exposure twining with that other part of him, the part that liked a dose of humiliation in his fantasies. “Sam . . .”
“You know what color cherries are. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”
Red. His mind whispered it. She was reminding him of his safe word, giving him an out. But if he said it, this would stop. He’d have chickened out before they’d even started. He’d have failed her and himself. But what if she recorded him and the video somehow got out? There were phones involved and the mysterious cloud and what if she hit the wrong button and it went into the ether? He was spiraling, panic whirling up and taking over. His ears buzzed.
So he didn’t hear her move, didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t know she’d returned to the spot behind him until he felt the sharp, blinding slash of pain across the back of his thighs.
“Fuck!” His eyes snapped open. Another hit came right below the last and his body reared up, everything going on alert. Wires crossing. Pain. Arousal. Confusion. Fire. So much fire.
“Pay attention, Gib. I don’t like it when you don’t answer me.” Another hit came, another blazing line. A cane.
She was using a cane. His sweet, pretty mistress had gone straight to one of the most brutal tools in the arsenal. He gasped when she slapped her hand over the stripes she’d put on him. Swift, hard slaps. Ones that made the pain flare even hotter.
Fuck. Fuuuuuck.
Blood roared in his ears and his arms flexed against his back. His skin ignited, agony spiraling. But the panic he’d been drowning in was a distant call in the back of his head. “Mistress.”
“Oh, look who’s back with me.” Her voice had a hardness to it, one that went straight through him, made his cock ache. “Remember the color of cherries yet?”
When he didn’t answer, she flicked the cane against his ass, right over his exposed hole, and his eyes nearly rolled out of his head.
He wet his dry lips, panting. The pain was buzzing through him, adrenaline showing up to the party, making everything bright and tingly. The reality of the situation played at the edge of his mind, but things were getting blurred in the rush of endorphins. He fought to hold on to the threads of his thoughts. She wanted to record him. Wanted to expose him in front of the camera. It would only be for her. She would respect his hard limit. The fear was still there, but the pain dulled it, made him want more, made him want to give in to her. “I don’t like cherries, mistress.”
“Excellent.” Her hand reached between his spread legs, cupping his balls and massaging the heel of her hand over his perineum, braiding pleasure in with the pain still pulsing over his skin. “That pleases me, pet. I’m going to film you. Then one day when I’m all alone, I’ll watch you like this and touch myself. I’ll come thinking of you spread for me, ass covered in my cane’s stripes, cock leaking onto the floor.”
He groaned and pressed his cheek hard into the wood, silently begging her to stroke him, to offer some relief. He was never going to last for any kind of extended scene. It’d been so long since he’d felt real pain that his arousal had gone from zero to two million. And imagining Sam fucking her fingers while watching a video of him only made it worse.
Without meaning to, he rocked his hips, trying to encourage her grip. But she didn’t let him get away with it. She tugged his scrotum and gave a little twist. The sharp jolt made his toes curl but did nothing to alleviate his throbbing erection. “You trying to come, Gib? Trying to get me to jerk you off before I’m ready?”
His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand. “No, mistress.”
“You gonna last for me?”
“Yes, mistress.” If it fucking killed him, he would last.
“Hmm.” She released him. “Not sure if I believe that.” She got up and strolled over to the phone, putting him on guard again. She pressed the button and he heard the telltale sound of a recording starting. “Smile for the camera, love.”
