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“Guys have tied you up before?”
Yeah, he wasn’t fooled—but this was way hotter than she’d ever imagined. Or maybe it was just him.
Her clit felt like it was ten sizes bigger than it was supposed to be. She was dripping, too, and there was no way to hide it from him, tied like she was.
“No. No one has ever tied me up before. No one has ever wanted to.”
He walked over and grabbed a crop—out of all of the implements dangling from hooks, she recognized that, at least.
“So, what? Just nice, polite sex for you?”
“I guess I haven’t inspired anyone to want to do more. I’m sort of boring.”
He raised a brow and used the crop to gesture at the predicament she was in. “Yes, I can see you’re a real bore in bed.” Walking around the mattress, he trailed the leather end of the crop over her skin, caressing her and yet making her all too aware of the violence he had to be planning with that thing in his hand.
“Untie me,” she demanded, as the end of the crop got far too close to the humiliating drops she could feel trickling out of her. Oh yeah, he’d noticed. The bastard. Her legs were starting to cramp up, and she was starting to feel stupid for letting him do this to her.
What color had she chosen as her safeword? She hadn’t wanted to make it too easy to blurt out. Chartreuse?
“Are you planning to safeword?”
She opened her mouth to say the word, then shut it again. Not yet. She shook her head.
He snapped the whippy thing at the end of the crop and left a stinging square of fire on her ass. It hurt, but not as much as the belt. The belt had left a much longer swath of pain. Warmth spread through her ass, the sting turning into something else entirely. She tipped her hips up in a silent plea for him to get on with things.
“That’s what you want? You’re sure?”
“Yes!”
Snap.
The square of leather had come down squarely on her clit. For one timeless moment she felt like her ass was levitatin
g off the mattress, and her eyes screwed so tightly shut they hurt. The shock released her and pain burst through her. She shrieked, bucking. Maybe she swore—she wasn’t sure exactly what had come out of her mouth, but it had been full of pain, disbelief, and . . . arousal.
“Did that hurt?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic amusement.
“Why would you do that?” she asked accusatorily.
“Because you knew I was going to do it, and you didn’t stop me.”
“But why?”
“Because I can.”
The crop came down again and again, ass, thighs, breasts—making her yelp and twitch. When she thought she couldn’t bear more, he’d stop hitting her and do evil things with his tongue. What kind of man liked torturing women and then kissing it better?
He stopped hitting her with the crop and reversed it, nudging the handle between her labia and coaxing it into her pussy. It was so rigid and felt wrong, but she was so horny she let him do it, the soft tug of his lips on her clit paired with the vibration of the handle when he tapped it with his fingers making her scream with frustration.
“Fuck me, you bastard!”
His gaze chilled.
Shit.
While the crop was still hanging out of her, he grabbed another thing off the wall—it looked like a fibreglass rod. He tapped it against the back of her thighs and a line of fire erupted there.
“This is a cane.” He tapped her again and red pain flashed, momentarily blinding her. She shrieked.
