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“Do you want another?”
“No!”
“Then stand up.”
Stiffly, she rose to her full height. She turned to him with an accusing glare, moisture welling in her eyes. Liam wondered if those were the first genuine tears she’d ever cried for him.
“You did well,” he praised softly. “Your ass will be a lovely shade of red for days.” He wended around the sofa and eased down, setting the paddle on his right and pointing to a spot on his left. “Sit here.”
Gwyneth frowned and followed with slow footsteps. Apparently, she’d already realized that sitting on leather was going to be bitterly cold and hurt even more.
Beside him now, she sank gingerly toward the sofa. The instant her ass made contact, she stood again. “I don’t think I can.”
“Breathe through the pain. It’s much easier than childbirth, and you survived that so well.”
She shot another glare in his direction.
“Or do you need to say that safe word? Like I said, I know that what I want now may be too much for you.”
Her face bunched up with determination, and she eased back down to the couch with a hiss. She wriggled, seeking a comfortable position, leaning on the unoffended cheek.
He slung an arm around her shoulder to set her flat again and nestled his lips against her ear. “Struggle for me. I like to watch you endure.”
Finally, she stilled, her whole body tense, eyes closed, shoulders halfway up her neck. “You do?”
When she squeaked the question, Liam bit the inside of his cheek. “Hmm. I’d like to see a bit more.” He reached around the side of the sofa and dragged the duffel to his feet. After a quick search inside, he found something else she was guaranteed to hate.
He unwrapped the little metal implements from their plastic packaging and handed them to her. “Put them on, slut.”
She tensed, her eyes narrowing. No doubt, she hated that word. Finally, she dragged her gaze back to the object in her palm. “What are they?”
“I thought you’d researched for me.” He sent her a disappointed scowl.
“I-I did. I just…” She shook her head. “I can’t recall. Jet lag’s got me a bit.”
“They’re Japanese clover clamps.” He sent her a raised brow. “For your nipples.”
Shock crossed Gwyneth’s face as she looked down at the molded metal. She studied the shiny pair of clamps, then turned them over in her hand with a frown.
He grabbed them and squeezed the sides. “Open them like so. Set your nipple between these rubber pads, then let go. They’ll pinch a wee bit.”
“Oh.” Her face tightened. “All right, then.”
When she took them from his hand, she looked less hesitant. That won’t last long…
He sent her a benign smile. “You’re doing fine, slut.”
She bristled again for a moment before she smoothed her expression and squeezed the sides of the clamps, trying to line them up with the hard tips of her breasts. Then she drew in a steadying breath and slowly let go.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath hitched. She looked at him as if he’d gone mad. Her high-pitched keening followed. She sounded a bit like a braying donkey.
“Help me. I can’t…” She gasped again and yanked the metal contraptions off. “Please!”
“You’re not ready for this?” He took the clamp away with a scowl, then tossed both on the coffee table. “Gwyneth, I’ve got to tell you… I don’t know if we’ll work out. I like a sub’s struggle through the pain. So far, you’ve done little but complain.”
“I’ll get better,” she vowed. “I need practice. Maybe…if we share a little pleasure first, then I’ll be able to do anything.” She reached for his zipper.
Before she could touch him, he snatched her wrist in his tight grip and scowled at her with a thunderous expression. “You don’t have permission to touch me.”
“Permission? I can’t be with you if I don’t touch you,” she wheedled. “This game is confusing, Liam.”
“Try to open your mind. Maybe we can work up to these tasks soon. For now, let’s try something that doesn’t involve pain.”
“Yes.” She latched on to his offer immediately. “I’d like that.”
He sent her an indulgent smile, knowing she’d hate what he planned next even more. “Wait right here.”
Liam rose and went into the kitchen. It took him a moment to search for a bowl, but he found one that would work well enough, then filled it with water and set it on the floor in front of the sink.
Repressing his smile of evil glee, he sauntered around the corner and hovered just inside the kitchen. “Come to me.”
With a wince, she did her best to rise from the leather sofa. But her raw backside stuck to the surface. She whimpered as she peeled herself free and rounded the arm of the couch.
“Stop,” he commanded. “You misunderstand me.”
She sent him a quizzical stare. “I’m coming to the kitchen, like you asked.”
